His demie perched on a spinning stool at the bar like an exotic bird, her nose pink and her cheeks damp. Splashing cold water on your face was supposed to cover traces of weeping, but all it did was make hers more visible. At least she didn’t flinch when Jack started taking out papers—certified copies, cover letters, inquiries and bank statements, Xeroxed utility bills and school records from districts Angelina had dragged her through as they wandered the Midwest, finally settling in Nebraska—and arranging them, attempting to treat it like a report for legal counsels who needed to be brought up to speed on a particularly complex case.
demieShe’d also rebraided her hair, though he would have preferred it down. The blue-black strands were pure silk, and the feel of them under his palm durin
