“Where are you?” Ginny asked the empty air for the tiger-shaped pendant. When Jennifer Shapiro became Ginny St. Claire, the pendant, the memory, was the only thing she carried between the lives. Holding on to the pendant was the only time she felt like she was pretending to be Ginny.
“Ugggghhh.” Ginny picked up the closest appliance, a toaster, and threw it across the tiny cage of RV. The toaster smashed on the wall over the bed.
“I am Ginny St. Claire, not the useless Jennifer Shapiro,” she exploded. With tears-stained face, she turned over the cushion of the sofa and the one chair. Filthy words tumbling out of her mouth, she wretched open drawers she had already searched. The pendant shouldn’t mean anything to her. Ginny had never
“Ugggghhh.” Ginny picked up the closest appliance, a toaster, and threw it across the tiny cage of RV. The toaster smashed on the wall over the bed.
“I am Ginny St. Claire, not the useless Jennifer Shapiro,” she exploded. With tears-stained face, she turned over the cushion of the sofa and the one chair. Filthy words tumbling out of her mouth, she wretched open drawers she had already searched. The pendant shouldn’t mean anything to her. Ginny had never