Chapter Eighteen
One day, however, Samantha came home rather late. It was a little unusual that she hadn’t called or texted, but sometimes she got really involved in some project for her class and lost track of time, so Tom didn’t think much of it. At last, however, he heard her car in the driveway, and he found himself smiling mildly. He clicked off the television. “Hey, sweetie,” he called as she came in. “How was your day? Anything interesting to—”
Suddenly he stopped, though, for her eyes looked strangely large in a face gone very pale, and her lips were tight, drawn down faintly at the corners, with tiny lines etched just above her soft chin. Unsettled, Tom jumped up and hurried over. “Samantha,” he asked in nervous concern, grabbing her arm, “are you okay? Is anything wrong? Y-y-yo
