“Oh, God.” The last ounce of energy or whatever was holding me up drains out, and I collapse into the armchair.
“Did you get there in time?” Jess gets up and perches on the arm next to me. “What did they do with your horse?”
My horse. That ring closes around my throat again when I think about Octavia lying under the tarp in the rain. I don’t want to talk about it now. I don’t think I can. “Where’s Mom? Does she know I took her car?”
“Nah.” Jess points to the ceiling. “Been asleep since dinner. You know how it is when she takes her headache medicine. Out of it.”
She slides down into the armchair beside me, her bony hip jutting into my leg. I’m about to tell her to move when she lifts the afghan and wraps it around both our shoulders. That’s when I start to cry and can’t stop.
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