Page 94 - Anonymous
P. 94
An hour later, I'm throwing
Willow's tomato and cheese sandwiches, a
bran muffin, and a banana into her lunch
bag. Gracie's little Frozen tote is packed
with the same contents and a juice box.
Willow bounds down the staircase,
grabbing her lunch off the counter, then
starts toward the door. She shouts
goodbye in passing.
"No breakfast?" I call after her.
