I spun around, and with my back to Fourth, I stood with Frannie’s hood pulled over my head—a deer freezing to blend in with the trees. None of it seemed right: me hiding from Father, Father fearful for me—or maybe even of me. In his view of the world, I likely resembled a fairy-tale witch who baked children in pies. Or, even worse in his eyes, a witch who could destroy both his home and his right to drink. I strode to Harrison’s Books on unsteady legs, looking over my shoulder every few seconds. Frannie let me inside after I knocked on the glass door. “Is everything all right?” she asked, and she locked the shop back up behind me. “Well . . .” I sighed and unbuttoned the cloak. “I think we might be ready for Tuesday.” Phonograph music drifted downstairs—a piano song that sounded as old and romantic as the Harrisons’ twenty-year marriage. She took the cloak. “Is this to be a farewell supper, then?” I couldn’t meet her eyes. “It is, isn’t it?” Her voice cracked.
What do You think about The Cure For Dreaming (2014)?
