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The Worst Thing

The Worst Thing Gary Fincke You when don't their expect stories to make know the fiction murderers newspapers. Not if you're normal. Not if you own a house surrounded by other well-kept houses. But there she was on the front page, Amy Bender, a face I recognized, and she'd killed her own baby, one just a minute old. Given birth in her bathtub and let her newborn daughter drown. Told her boyfriend to take the body outside and throw it in the garbage, making sure it was good and covered by whatever else was in the can. It's hard to read these things. I stopped a few times that first day of her news and sipped coffee. I ate a third chocolate-iced, custard-filled Donut photograph by Byron Solomon 1 doughnut, something I hadn't done for ten years or more. And there I was, just retired, two weeks into the first summer that wouldn't end the last Monday in August when school took up again. Those fourth graders would get along without me. The school had hired a woman who was younger than all three of my daughters, and though her age didn't bother me, it bothered me that I'd been the http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

The Worst Thing

Fincke, Gary.
The Missouri Review , Volume 30 (3) – Oct 29, 2007
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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © 2007 by The Curators of the University of Missouri. All rights reserved.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
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Abstract

Gary Fincke You when don't their expect stories to make know the fiction murderers newspapers. Not if you're normal. Not if you own a house surrounded by other well-kept houses. But there she was on the front page, Amy Bender, a face I recognized, and she'd killed her own baby, one just a minute old. Given birth in her bathtub and let her newborn daughter drown. Told her boyfriend to take the body outside and throw it in the garbage, making sure it was good and covered by whatever else was in the can. It's hard to read these things. I stopped a few times that first day of her news and sipped coffee. I ate a third chocolate-iced, custard-filled Donut photograph by Byron Solomon 1 doughnut, something I hadn't done for ten years or more. And there I was, just retired, two weeks into the first summer that wouldn't end the last Monday in August when school took up again. Those fourth graders would get along without me. The school had hired a woman who was younger than all three of my daughters, and though her age didn't bother me, it bothered me that I'd been the

Journal

The Missouri Review – University of Missouri

Published: Oct 29, 2007

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