Chapter 82

• I spin around as she holds up one of the canvases that have two puppies on it.
• “Of course we can.” I smile and lead her over to the coffee table where I set up a piece of plastic and grab the paints. “What color do you want to start with?” I ask, holding up some options for her.
• “Glitter!” she shouts as she grabs for an iridescent pink. “Where’s your mom?” She focuses her attention on the picture, spreading the paint with small, slow strokes of the brush like I showed her. “Oh, I live alone. My parents don’t live with me.” “My mom died,” she says matter-of-factly.