I looked at her. New nails. Same ones from the photo, the white and gold. She’d had them done a week and a half ago and they still looked perfect and there was a can of black beans in her pantry her kids couldn’t open.
I didn’t give the speech.
“Brooke texted me,” I said. “By accident. She told me they were out of food.”
Cheryl’s face did three things continue reading …
