Jagged Truth

Robert Maxim's smirk feels a little like home, like the scary exciting basement steps with their shadows and hints of unnatural powers.A cold wind rushes across the fallow corn field, pulling at my cargo pants and dipping into the open neck of my long overcoat.It's too large for me, drooping off the shoulders and buttoned around my son, James, as he sleeps against my chest in his baby carrier.Blue's nose taps my hip. My son's breath warms my chest. This is home. They say you can’t ever go home again–but I think they're wrong. No matter where I stand, as long as I have these two with me, I am home.P.S. The dog never dies.

© 2027 Emily Kimelman (Hljóðbók): 9780466146474

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Hljóðbók: 31 januari 2027