"Please tell us," Dad's deep voice held no hint of warmth or fatherly concern as he stood over the chair where I sat, his official role as Nanna's assistant seeming to put a wall between us higher and thicker than ever, "what you recall of the events of the last two evenings."
I wanted to kick him I was so angry with his attitude. But we were far from alone, Nanna sitting across from me, beside Karyn Barrett at her big, wooden desk, Harvard Yard in the window behind them, beckoning me to escape this ridiculous third round of questioning in under twelve hours.
That's right, third. The Enforcers who came to my kitchen in Wilding Springs asked a bunch that Mom and GreatGram interjected their own opinions and short responses into, leading the three officials to take me here to Massachusetts
