“She was about twenty-six years old, caked in makeup, and sporting stringy blond hair. She was appallingly thin, had several open sores on her face, and her hands shook. A maniacal smile was plastered on her face like one of those haunting clown dolls.“Who you think you are?” she spat out, the smile still there. She scratched her back with both hands, up and down, up and down.“Mrs. Coleman—”“I ain’t no Mrs. Coleman, bitch, and you quit calling the police on my family.” She held Shawn firmly by t...he arm as Carrie Lynn cowered behind her brother, gripping his hand. Shawn’s eyes were firmly on the ground. “You don’t know shit about what’s going on, so stay out of my business—you got that, girl?”I looked at her. Didn’t move, didn’t nod. No, I didn’t get that, ‘girl.’I wanted to say, “But do you ‘get’ your son’s bruises? What about Carrie Lynn’s? Do you get that she’s scared to death of you? Do you get that they’re starving? Do you ‘get’ that your children’s clothes are dirty?”But I didn’t say anything like that.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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