I pictured Mom and Via talking about me in the kitchen. Ifigured Via wasfeeling really, really, really bad. I pictured Momtotally laying on the guilt. And Dad would be mad at her whenhe came home, too.
I made a little hole through the pile of pillows and stuffedanimals and peeked at the clock on my wall. Half an hour hadpassed and Mom still hadn‘t come into my room. I tried to listenfor the sounds in the other rooms. Were they still having dinner?
What was going on?
Finally, the door opened. It was Via. She didn‘t even bothercoming over to my bed, and she didn‘t come in softly like Ithought she would. She came in quickly. - P219