Chapter 37
MAGGIE
A chill in the night air pierced my sweater and I hurried inside the apartment, shopping bags balanced in both arms. Bronwyn wasn’t home, which I hoped was a good sign. She seemed to be getting better every day, less depressed, closer to her normal self. When she came home last night and told me I smelled like a frat boy’s bathroom, I knew she was almost there. I wouldn’t worry so much about her when I went home for Christmas in a week.
I dumped my bags on the bed, then perused my Christmas purchases. A planner with a black leather cover for my dad—he wanted a new one every year. A collection of Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers musicals for my mom. For Bronwyn, I found a black and white photograph of the London blitz during World War II. It was of a woman drinking tea and si
