years. The other one I don’t have a building for yet.
I picked up the phone. Rhonda had texted four more times. Jolene, for the first time in five years, had texted once: I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I would’ve split it. I didn’t believe that last part and I deleted it and I didn’t feel bad.
My thumb hovered over my mother’s number. The little green call continue reading …
