LEO
The front hall of the Russells' home led into a formal living room, which I couldn't remember us ever using. But today, everyone was sitting there: my dad was the first person I saw, slumped in a deep green wing chair. On the sofa, my mother and Sheri, Nate's mom, flanked Carrie, who seemed to have shrunk in the less-than-forty-eight hours since I'd seen her last.
Quinn's mom wore yoga pants and a huge sweatshirt. As I stepped into the hallway, I recognized the shirt as one of Bill's. Her hands were lost in the sleeves. Her sleek black hair, always so neat and styled, was tousled and held back from her face by a clip. She didn't look up or even react when my mother cried out my name and stood, her arms reaching for me.
"Oh, my God, Leo. Thank God you're here. You have no idea-" Sh
