more honest; I just don’t think they have the time.
My mother stood behind Lowell, tapping her foot, and when he stepped back, she moved in, smiling too hard, like something sweet had stuck her teeth together. She bent to brush her cheek against Ernest’s and her arms slid around his neck like snakes.
“Ernest, darling,” she drawled, the words spooling from her mouth like cold syrup. “How are you feeling?”
She didn’t need to ask. You could see how he was. There was nothing but sickness in that room, with its drawn curtains and watering eyes and thinning skin. Ernest looked about twice his age, like if you held him up to the light, you’d see straight through.
Hannah tried to ditch her gloating expression but it stuck to her face like the wind had changed. “I hope you’re not in too much pain,” she purred, stroking the front of his vest like a cat fixing to climb the curtains. Jesus, she was so damn obvious.
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