her old cell number, 775…
“Thank you so much.
I’ll call Trent later. Please
tell him I was in touch.”
I will. And how’s that
baby? Growing like
corn, I’ll wager.
Growing like corn?
Whatever. “He’s beautiful,
thanks. Looks just like me.”
She chuckles. I bet he
does. Take care, Kristina.
“You too, Mrs. Rosselli.”
I click the phone dead,
dial another number.
“Hey, Robyn. It’s Kristina.
What’s up?”
She Sounds
Strung,
like her brain is
disconnected
from her mouth.
Don’t get me
wrong.
I remember that
feeling well—
knowing
exactly what you
want to say, but
your