CHAPTER 39
Grandma Lucy’s droning on about comfort. I’m still staring out the window. The sky has turned dark gray. This little flurry has morphed into a full-fledged snow storm. Good thing I don’t have anywhere to go besides my mother’s home. Curl up in a blanket and think about what I’d read if I had the energy to pick up a book.
Hester Lynne’s second novel, in spite of its somewhat cold reception from the critics, was exceptional. I loved it even more than the first. So did Reginald. This one wasn’t about infertility. It was about a baby who died of a congenital birth defect, spurring the young mother on a journey to seek out her biological family. I know when I put it like that it sounds like it must be a real downer, but it’s actually quite uplifting. The dead baby’s not the focus,
