HER DAUGHTER LAUGHED AT HER HANDMADE QUILT

threw away.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Into the fabric. Not to me. To it.

“I know,” I said.

Hollis read Bradley his rights by the dessert station. Diane left in a separate car with a lawyer’s number in her hand. The string quartet wasn’t booked that day; the room was just quiet, the kind of quiet where you can hear the ice machine in the kitchen drop a load continue reading …