Page 24 - My FlipBook

L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

Before her body wasted. Greta remembered patting her
mother’s leg under the hospital sheet. There was nothing
but bone and waxy skin left, not like a living person. Not the
same mother. Before Mother and After Mother.
So many times, memories of After Mother drowned out
the others. Memories of her gasping for some relief Greta
couldn’t bring. She had failed that mother—failed to save
her, failed to make her smile, to distract her with pictures,

crafts, teddy bears. Already gone, the mother she had
known for eight years. Now Patty had burned a picture of
Before Mother, a picture that was the only way Greta could
remember her some days. The flame had eaten into her face
before Patty stamped it out. Half her chin, one eye and one
reindeer earring remained. Her smile gone.
Greta staggered to her feet, arms reaching for Patty. ADVANCE READING COPY

Patty stumbled back into the vanity, bumping it hard. The
candle swayed and tipped on the plate, into the ashes of other
pictures. There were more. More.
Greta choked on every ugly thought, every ugly feeling
she’d ever had about Patty. She reached for the worst words,
the ones that destroy, but only ended up with a growling in
her throat. No escape—no way for Patty to get away from her.
Patty cowered against the wall.
“I’m sorry,” Patty sputtered. “It’s like she’s always here.

You can’t imagine.”
Then she couldn’t speak, as Greta’s forearm pressed
against her throat. Patty’s bones against her skin, so frail.
Why hadn’t Greta seen it before? She’d grown tall, strong.

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