I WAS PACING A hole in our carpet by the time Zander arrived. I had worked up to a whole new level of nervousness as I went over all the reasons why I should not be having this study "date," much less talking to Zander. But it really came down to one thing. I needed to know what he knew about my mother.
Her death was senseless, and I had trouble remembering the night of the accident clearly. My subconscious had blocked out a lot of it. Probably a survival tactic. It was too awful to remember. No one should have to watch a parent die.
So, my need to "know" was becoming an obsession, spurring me to go way beyond my comfort level. How was I going to pretend I didn't remember and still ask questions? Should I tell him I remembered? Would he confide in me? Who was he really? And werewolves? W
