Lucy
Lucy“Honey, they say you’re not cooperating. What’s going on?” Gretchen says.
I shake my head, tears spilling down my cheeks. I’ve been at the police station for hours. I’m so tired I want to pass out, and I’m hungry enough to eat my own hand.
“I’m hungry,” I complain.
“I’ll be right back.”
She leaves and returns with a granola bar and a mini-pack of Oreos, obviously from a vending machine.
I rip into the cookies because God knows, I need a blood sugar fix.
She sits beside me and squeezes my shoulders in a side hug. “Hey. Talk to me.”
I just shake my head and drain the Dixie cup of water they gave me last time I whined about food and water. I haven’t answered any of their questions. As an attorney, I know better than to say anything at all that might be incriminating. Even if
