Even when they were kids and she’d gotten an invitation to Tom’s birthday party, an event that promised store-bought ice cream and a magician, she hadn’t gone. She hadn’t had a nice-enough dress. When she finally did see it, she was surprised at how simple it was. The front hall was hung with green-and-gold-striped wallpaper, but the worn wooden floors were bare, and the iron chandelier was too small for the space. Also, there were chunks of mud, leading in a trail up the stairs. It looked like a mole had emerged from his muddy underground tunnel to explore the premises. Jinn followed Tom into a shadowy room to the left of the hall. Its windows were shuttered and curtained, and the gaslight sconces flanking the marble fireplace, cold. She stood uncertainly behind a large carved and tufted sofa. She’d never seen a library in a house before. Tom had positioned himself a respectable distance away—by a heavy bookcase with glass doors—and was regarding her with mild eyes. He hadn’t acted surprised when she’d knocked on his big, white front door just after eight that morning, just greeted her and asked her if she’d like a cup of tea.
What do You think about Burying The Honeysuckle Girls?
