ter hit

ake, my che

ripping glass in his hand. He l

randma Carol sa

child's, sharp

diner's break room

bered was the filthy Philadelphia alley,

ays so easy t

ness. That

my mother-in-l

t disapproval, was younger,

ain, Chloe? You think t

dollar bills from the table

you. His hero firefighter l

firefighter Mark Bishop, die

k wasn't dead.

hing but not with th

er, the smell of stale grease – it

job I hadn't w

the wall read:

sed death. Nine years bef

a cold wave, then

I was alive,

e, Carol complicit – it wasn't just a final, taunting revel

flooded me, s

ylvania, a town

alone, believing

se, her stealing

sentment, fed by

very diner, my hands ra

a, a desperate attempt to fi

Mark, alive and th

ister, the quiet girl

ng. My husband, my fut

4. Rain, so cold

, Amelia, even Carol was

en, had looked at

o! Amelia is more of a moth

ned me. Le

side me as I lay br

res, your UPenn acceptance. I even took your father's story. Capt

final twist

d, the emptin

y replaced the re

resolve settl

, her hand still

y voice was flat, devoid of t

ed it for what?

h, Mom, Grandma ne

rroting her, alre

betrayal lanced through

hings would

an excuse for Mark's "hero fund" c

nd ways to take any

reedy. She was actively supporti

live. She was part

Oakhaven bills; they were fundin

ss was a fam

gs a little shaky

Philadelphia

rowed. "Philadel

smooth on my tongue. "And to talk to the city. Mark died

, but it was a start.

dn't be a grievin

the truth. And I w

from suspicion to a flick

something in that," she

"You can't go alone

d still save him from their influence. Or, more cynically, he was my ticke

surprised. "L

eed to see the child who

e. A piece of the strat

slowly. "Fine. But don't you

't. Not