“Krista said the next morning, her voice cutting through my foggy thoughts. I had trouble focusing and squinted in the late morning sunlight flooding the room. Goals. Is that what we’d been talking about? I couldn’t remember. Grace sat huddled in her wheelchair, her dull green eyes staring at nothing, her expression blank. The faded pink sweatshirt she wore was on inside out. Funny, I hadn’t noticed that before, either. My head seemed too heavy to hold up. I rested it back against the recliner, ...taking a slow, lazy breath. I had only one objective these days: to get Maggie back. Everything else seemed inconsequential. “Your goal for this week, Grace, is to eat in the dining room with the others,” Krista said. “I’da’wanna.” Grace’s words were slurred; she sounded drunk. I felt drunk. Punch drunk, maybe. That didn’t make sense. But then, nothing seemed to make sense. Had I fallen asleep? The clock read 11:45, but I’d only just arrived. Hadn’t I? Where had over an hour of the two-hour session gone?MoreLessRead More Read Less
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