Becky ranted and raved about how heartless Reece Kavanagh was all the way home and was still going the following morning. After venting to me over breakfast, she retreated to her room and poured out her emotions on canvas in dark, angry colors. I escaped outside to the garden to call Ellen.
We lived in the same three-bedroom house we'd inherited from our parents. It was a middle-class cream brick home in a middle-class suburb. Our neighbors were mostly empty nesters over fifty with houses that looked the same as ours and gardens filled with roses, azaleas and camellias. I liked it. It was home to me and always had been. Becky found it boring and wanted to move closer to the inner city or bayside suburbs where her friends met at cafes or jogged along the foreshore. But we couldn't afford t
