Chapters (97)
- Cover
- Back Cover Text
- Praise
- Booklist
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- Eighty-Four
- Eighty-Five
- Eighty-Six
- Eighty-Seven
- Eighty-Eight
- Eighty-Nine
- Acknowledgments & A Personal Note
- Excerpt
Marisa Joyce Narmore, 32, of Santa Ana, passed away in a vehicle accident in Orange County, California. She will be missed, but never forgotten. She joins her mother Doreen, and father Wilfred, in death. Marisa was born in Long Beach, California and was raised there and later in Santa Ana. She loved music and her dog and was a valued long-time employee at AllanTynes Sporting Goods Outlet. Marisa recently followed her dream of becoming a law enforcement officer and was studying criminology at Orange Pacific Community College. A memorial service for Marisa is scheduled for 2 p.m. Saturday at Vane & Meechum Memorial Chapel in Santa Ana. Click for directions.
Emma read some of the tributes that followed.
This is a heartbreaking loss for our organization, Marisa’s family and friends, Ned Lober, owner of AllenTynes, wrote.
I was so proud of her working hard to become a police officer, Avery Dodd wrote.
The obituary was accompanied with a nice photograph.
The memorial service was Saturday in Santa Ana, Emma thought as she read it again.
Forty-One
Eternity, Manitoba
2002
A year after her daughter was sentenced to prison for murdering four people, Flo Mitchell, waiting at the drugstore counter for the pharmacist to refill her prescription, heard women whispering behind her.
“That’s the mother of one of them.”
“How do you live with something like that?”
In the time since the tragedy, Flo had faced ridicule and ostracism every time she went out shopping. Whether it was the grocery store, the bakery, the drugstore, it didn’t matter. The derision from other customers, people who used to be her friends, had grown unbearable.
“What kind of mother are you?”
“Too bad you didn’t abort that monster!”
The scorn pretty much stopped her from going out. When she needed to shop, she went to another town. The stress led to her dependence on medication.
Her husband drank heavily, was arrested for drunk driving, lost his license and his towing business. He’d managed to get a job emptying trash and cleaning toilets at the mall. Still, they couldn’t make ends meet. They sold their house and moved into an apartment at The Estates.
So that day at the drugstore, Flo did what she always did: pretended not to hear the whispers, collected her medicine and walked home, taking stock of her life in ruin.
No matter how much she begged, her daughter had refused to see her. The last time they looked at each other was in court the day of her sentencing. And the memory of the last time they spoke, ending with her daughter’s face contorted with hate, middle fingers jabbed at her, was seared into her soul. It was as if the jagged edges of a rusted tin can were cutting away piece after piece of her heart until there was nothing left.