DEBORAH'S POV
I pulled into the school parking lot at seven-forty-five, my hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than they should have been. Charlotte sat in the passenger seat, quiet in her navy blue school dress, her hair braided the way she liked it.
"Are you sure I can't come with you today?" she asked for the third time since we'd left the house.
"School is important, baby," I said, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. I'd chosen my best black dress, the one with the pearl buttons that Father had complimented two Christmas' ago. My hair was swept back in a low chignon,not by choice but because of what I could work with and I'd applied my makeup carefully to hide the exhaustion around my eyes. "Grandpa would want you to keep up with your studies."
Charlotte nodded, but I could see the uncertainty in her expression. She'd been quieter than usual this morning, picking at her breakfast and asking careful questions about the funeral.
