CHAPTER 11
I blink. Passed away? With Jesus? What in the world is Sandy talking about?
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “Come here.” She wraps me up in a hug. A hug that feels more familiar than I think it should. I remember what she told me. Every Tuesday. If my head didn’t hurt so much, I could try to do the math. Guess how many times Sandy’s told me this same news, how many hugs just like this she’s given.
Should I cry? Part of me thinks I should cry. Have I already spent my daily allotment of tears? Am I a terrible person? Shouldn’t I be throwing myself on the couch, pounding the pillows, telling Sandy it can’t be true?
That’s probably the reaction Sandy was expecting. Maybe she thinks I’m in shock or numb and that’s why she’s still holding me and petting my head like I’m some kind of lap
