Whiskey’s Gone (A Fina Fitzgibbons Brooklyn Mystery Book 3) - Plot & Excerpts
I should know, I’ve stared up at her often enough. Snagged in amongst the electric wires and shining on branches losing their leaves, the heartless bitch beams her rays down on Denny and me. Sometimes I think she’s already decided my fate—ever on the verge, never willing to embrace love. But she knows the fickleness of relationships. As I lay next to Denny, his body breathing the slow rhythm of sleep, a shard of my father’s image smashed through my brain. I ticked off the years he’d been gone, well over ten. Mom burned the photos of him; Gran stomped on the frames. So when I try to imagine him, I can’t. I can’t even tell you if he was short or tall. Is he still living? I don’t care. I never think of him except for sometimes in the wee hours of the night, I remember one time he held me when I had a nightmare. All I really recall of him with any sort of vividness is the look of disgust he gave me through his Ray-Bans the day he left, a backward snarl that goes ever on. In his eyes, I never made the grade.
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