She’d swept into the compound this morning and helped her get dressed for the funeral. From themoment we left the house, she’s clung tight to Charlotte’s hand.
And Charlotte has clung right back.
I’m annoyed at how much that burns me.
“And her name is pretty,” Evie continues.
“Is it?” I say distractedly. My focus is on Charlotte.
She’s wearing a simple black dress that she looks absolutely beautiful in.
“Mhmm,” Evie replies. She sounds out all three syllables carefully. “Va-ness-a.”
Her dress is modest. It’s got short sleeves, a square neckline, and a hemline that ends at her knees.She’s wearing her hair pinned up in a carefully-wound bun.
The kind of bun that makes me want to reach out and grab for it.
“You’re not listening to me.”
I tear my eyes away from Charlo
