Making Faces
“His feet squished in his boots with each step. He wished he hadn't chucked his hat. The occasional streetlight shone down on his smooth head, and he felt exposed and vulnerable, unable to cover himself. His bald head bothered him almost more than his face, made him feel more like a freak than the ridges and scars, so when car lights drew up behind him and slowed to a crawl, he ignored them, hoping his appearance would scare them off and make them think twice about messing with him, or worse, offering him a ride.
“Ambrose!” It was Fern, and she sounded scared and upset. “Ambrose? I took Bailey home. Please get in. I'll take you wherever you want to go . . . okay?”
She'd obviously switched cars after she took Bailey home. She was driving an old sedan that belonged to her father. Ambrose had seen that car parked at the church for as long as he could remember.
“Ambrose? I'm not leaving you. I will follow you all night if I have to!”
Ambrose sighed and looked at her. She was leaning across... the seat so she could peer out the passenger side window as she inched along beside him.MoreLess
“Ambrose!” It was Fern, and she sounded scared and upset. “Ambrose? I took Bailey home. Please get in. I'll take you wherever you want to go . . . okay?”
She'd obviously switched cars after she took Bailey home. She was driving an old sedan that belonged to her father. Ambrose had seen that car parked at the church for as long as he could remember.
“Ambrose? I'm not leaving you. I will follow you all night if I have to!”
Ambrose sighed and looked at her. She was leaning across... the seat so she could peer out the passenger side window as she inched along beside him.MoreLess
Write Review:
User Reviews: