Chapter 21W
hat sounds like thunder turns out to be the rolling boom of metal trashcans on concrete, Connie realizes, as soon as she hears the garbage truck’s accompanying squeal and grind. She opens her eyes and glances across the pillow at Vincent’s face, sleep swollen, a smudge of bristle along his jaw.
On the ride home last night she’d entertained the thought that they’d sleep in separate beds—presuming lying together an act too intimate, too soon—but nestling with Vincent had felt as comfortable as settling back into a familiar chair, its contours molded by her shape. Ceci took all her dolls and stuffed animals to bed with her, fell right to sleep. Only Anna was disconsolate, wanting Connie to stay with her and Ceci in their room, reluctant to relinquish her mother to her father’s b
