Angela Dove: Award-Winning Writer

If only I had done some mild stretches before leaping out of bed and across the room in terror.

Why let a dead comrade ruin your lunch?

You'd think the drama at a playground would only involve children. But on this particular day, the grown-ups wanted in on the action.

I knew the matter was urgent, because it said so right on the envelope in red block letters. I scanned the letter. Oh, God. The worst had finally happened.

It was time to reevaluate our cellular calling plan.

The guy behind the car rental counter at the San Francisco airport dropped the small black case onto the counter. It landed with a clunk that should have tolled like a warning in my ears.

Billingsley and Carlotta. That’s what caught my attention first. A woman in a designer white linen dress, holding onto a matching white hat with exquisite pearl detail, was screaming at the top of her lungs.