|
|
|
|
|
|
|
throat tighten. Her eyes burned as they filled with tears. 'What is it?' she asked. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
'Oh, Mom!' She lurched forward, threw her arms around Francine and hugged her fiercely. She gasped for air. Spasms jerked her body. 'I loved him,' she blurted. 'I loved him so bad and they killed him.' |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Denise Gunderson, done with her cheeseburger, folded the paper plate in half and dropped it into the waste container. She took a chocolate chip cookie from the freezer side of the refrigerator. Munching on it, cupping a hand under her chin in case of crumbs, she wandered into the front room. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
'And what have we here?' she asked, her voice muffled by the mouthful of cookie. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
She knew what she had here: a plastic bag containing the three video tapes she'd rented that afternoon. But whenever she was alone in the house, she liked to talk to herself. It broke the silence. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
She sat on the floor and crossed her legs. She poked the remains of the cookie into her mouth, then brushed her fingers against the leg of her sweatpants. The noise of her teeth crunching the frozen cookie sounded a lot louder than the soft whispery rustle made by the bag as she spread it open. She took out |
|
|
|
|
|