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Summary
“You used to show up all the time,” the woman said. Her voice was rough. Strained. Quiet, but in a way that made the hairs on the back of Emmett’s neck stand on end. “Making a scene. Talking about how everything was wrong. How the world was broken.”
She staggered forward and clutched at the shoulders of his jumpsuit with both hands, pinning him against the wall. Her breath was hot on his face and reeked of alcohol. And suddenly, as he stared into her narrowed eyes and felt a thirty-year-old memory click ponderously into place, Emmett recognized her.
“Fix it,” snarled Lorraine.
