Chapter 5“What’s going on?” Roberto moved from the window toward Carl, who’d managed to sit up on the hardwood floor, legs splayed out before him—a marionette whose strings had been cut. He wasn’t crying. Shouldn’t he be wailing?
All he felt was numbness, as though he’d found himself trapped within the confines of a dream—or better, a nightmare.
Roberto squatted down beside him, obviously sensing his distress.
It took Carl ages to process the question, to recall what the phone call had been about, and how to get his mind and mouth to cooperate long enough to form a few simple words. Maybe he’d imagined it. Perhaps the call had been yet another solicitation for an extended warranty for his Prius.
And then it all rushed in, a punch to the jaw.
“It’s Mom,” he managed to say.
“Is she all
