Page 123 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

“Okaaaaay,” Elgin said. His smooth tone a gravelly
patch.
Alice threw up her hands, pushed back her chair and
stomped to the door. She slipped onto the front porch with a
cigarette and lighter from her purse.
“Sorry,” Greta told Elgin, who had dropped his head in his
hands, his food barely touched.
Elgin shook his head. “Ever since Eleanor died, I can’t

win,” he said.
“Eleanor?” Greta asked.
“My wife. Alice’s mother.” His voice failed at the end of
mother, and he ducked his head farther away from them.
It was bloody awful. Pantless Elgin, who fed them lamb,
was possibly crying. Because they had moved in and had
no money. And his wife had died. Plus his daughter was a

freak. Greta pushed back her chair. She’d fix it somehow.
“Stay here,” she told Ash. She’d do whatever it took.
Greta slipped on her shoes and stepped onto the porch.
Alice twitched her head in Greta’s direction before blowing
a puff of smoke into the still air. The porch light shone
over icing-sugar dunes. Alice didn’t speak. Her eyes looked
glassy-fragile too, like her dad’s.
“Look, I’m so sorry,” Greta said, “for how this has
inconvenienced you. I want you to know we’ll do whatever it

takes to make it right.” Then she braced herself.
“Okay.” Alice nodded but still wouldn’t look at Greta.
Was that it?

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