Unveiling the Fragile Truths Hidden Within Amanda Ashworth’s Paper Shell
“Lynn feels like springtime,” Mama told me once.
As fall turned, Mama fixed her sights on Christmas. She wanted the tree up early. My sister and I wouldn’t be home until December, but Mama needed it done before then. So Lynn put it up. Someone said she shouldn’t let a stranger do that.
But Lynn was no stranger. She was spring.
One afternoon, I stood in the kitchen drinking coffee while Mama rested in the other room. “She’s declined a lot since last week,” I said.
Lynn took a sip. “It’s starting.”
“How long do you think we have?”
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