of her life. Like bits of her were being torn out, chunks of who
she was, and she didn’t know how she’d ever replace them.
Was a person even if a person if they were full of gaping
holes?
Coralyn found stacks of leggings and athletic pants folded
up on the far side of the closet. There were tanks too, and she
chose a set of black on black. She finished it up with a soft
pink sweater, which was the first thing she saw hanging on the
rack when she turned around. It was fuzzy, probably cashmere.
It slid over her skin like the embrace she’d run away from
downstairs.
Whoever that woman was who had looked at her, a soft
storm of compassion brewing in her eyes, a need to comfort
and soothe, it wasn’t the woman who had basically laughed in
her face in her office when she’d made her plea about her
dying father.
Coralyn planned on exiting the house as fast as she could.
Giana thwarted her plans. She was standing by the front door,
a purple lunch bag and a stainless steel to-go mug in one hand,
a set of keys in the other. “I made you sandwiches. There’s
fruit in there too. Protein bars. Coffee in the mug.” She jangled
the keys. “Take the black sedan. I went into the garage earlier
and sorted out the cars and keys. I had to do a test of all the
buttons to figure things out, but never mind. That’s a lot of
crap you don’t need to hear about right now.”
“I can’t take your car.”
Giana’s lips twitched. “It’s the least sporty of all of them.
It’s an automatic. It’s got winter tires on. I checked everything
out this afternoon. I was planning on giving it to you. Your car
is on its last legs. We’ll find somewhere to donate it. Maybe