Saturday 22 June 2013
'Touch wood' by Paula McGuire
‘I’m a little busy here,’ she grumbled, distractedly. ‘Please,’ he appealed, ‘touch wood’. Sigh. ‘I’m
not superstitious.’ ‘Neither am I,’ he
reminded, pushing the well-handled clothes peg towards her tensed fingers, ‘just
this once’. One cracked nail grazed the bleached
timber: a perfunctory gesture. Later, as
they whipped the newborn urgently from the muggy room, she grabbed up the
discarded peg. His hand clamped around
hers, forcing the wood deep into her palm.
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