Chapter Seven
“So, Kayla, Shawn tells me you’re a writer.” Margaret McKay had just set her wine glass down and was looking at Kayla from across the table.
Everyone at the table turned to her. That included close to twenty people, as Kayla had found out when they got back to Shawn’s mother’s house in the Dorchester neighborhood where Shawn had grown up. Of course, there were Laura’s and Una’s husbands and then Laura’s two teenage sons and Una’s twelve-year-old daughter.
Kayla wiped her mouth and laid her napkin across her lap. She’d been wondering when the conversation would get around to this. So far, the only topic had been Ryan’s year in Iraq. Truthfully, to Kayla, she, as a topic of conversation paled next to a journalist’s year spent reporting on the front lines but she didn’t feel
