“As the detective asked me questions, I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes. He had dark eyes, intense and all-knowing. When I stared into them, I had the sensation that he could see right through me. That he could read me like a book. It was unnerving. Mom kept her hand on my leg, nodding every once in awhile as if to encourage me. It astounded me that she could give of herself right now. It seemed wrong that she was being strong for me. Especially because I didn’t feel like I cou...ld be strong for anyone. In fact, I sort of felt like I was unraveling, spilling out all over the couch like a loose bundle of yarn. “Did you see Jackson that night?” The detective’s voice was low, gruff. I thought about how he fit the role perfectly. I nodded. “How did he seem?” I bit my lip, wondering how honest I wanted to be. My mind flew back to the poem and our cryptic conversation.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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