Lark’s head was pounding. She found herself wondering if her father’s head hurt as bad as hers did. She rolled off her childhood bed and landed with a thud to the floor on her knees. She contemplated simply crawling to the bathroom instead of trying to get up and walk.
“Oh good, you’re up.” The door pushing open and Ollie coming into the space had her whimpering.
“The last thing I remember is doing shots with Dad at the bar of the club where we held the wake.”
“Your Dad insisted Riggs take him back to the grave last night and he apparently poured a shot for him and Nana Prue. He then passed out right there. You on the other hand, went down like a lead balloon after the third shot of sambuca of all disgusting things. We got you home and put you to bed.”
“We?”
“Me, Heriberto and Santiag
