‘Here she is. A little kindness would not bring the world tumbling about her ears. I was always told my mother died the day I was born. ” “Why did you keep her all of these years? What good can it do?” “She created me, Lucia. She spoke with many other high schoolers while reveling in her new popularity. ” The stranger came over to them smiling. I demand it as a right. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict.
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