Wyatt knew his mother had said something. What, he didn’t know. But Deirdre had been white as a sheet when he’d turned back to the table. “Are you okay?” he asked, knowing he’d asked her a couple of times already.
“Your mother—something she said….”
Wyatt exhaled. “What was it? She just says stuff sometimes.”
Deirdre’s hands wound around and around each oth…
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