Attachment Strings Read Online Free PDF

that?”
    I could. People were astonishing in their ability to hate.
    “To answer your other questions: no, I didn’t recognize the voice, only that it’s a male. I think it’s mostly the same person, although I’m not entirely sure. And about not calling the police earlier—let’s say my husband and I had different opinions on that topic.”
    “What convinced you to call the police now?”
    A shudder shook her small body, as she held the seam of her skirt in a white-knuckled grip. “The man called again yesterday morning, shortly after Amaris was picked up. He… he told me there would be an accident with the bus, I’d better prepare myself for the worst, and… and….”
    She hiccupped and forced us to wait for her to regain her composure. In a choked voice, she went on, “He laughed and told me he was doing me and the world a favor. Eliminating the worthless scum was his goal, he said. I… ended the phone call.”
    “What did you do then?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle and soothing.
    She took in a deep breath. “I was paralyzed. Fifteen minutes later the phone rang again. It was the bus company, telling me there had been an accident.”
    By then Mrs. Anderson was crying. Trenkins and I stared at each other, keeping our expressions impassive. Our heads swiveled around when someone cleared their throat. Another woman stood in the room, holding a child in her arms. Softly, she asked, “Where do you want to have Amaris, Greta?”
    Mrs. Anderson wiped her eyes and got up from the sofa. She pointed to a construction in the corner of the living room. The two women gently lowered Amaris into something I realized was a ball pool. Mrs. Anderson crooned to her daughter. “Hey sweetie, you like this? Go ahead, play with your balls. Mommy will sit close by, all right?”
    A grunt was her answer. We watched Mrs. Anderson bidding goodbye to the physiotherapist, Mrs. Summers, while we listened to odd slurping noises from the ball pool. Trenkins squirmed on the sofa. He whispered, “Those sounds she’s making… they are weird .”
    “Yeah,” I agreed. Definitely weird and unpleasant. I gave Trenkins credit for using the right pronoun when he spoke of Mrs. Anderson’s daughter. I had been sure he would refer to her as it .
    “I’m sorry about the interruption,” Mrs. Anderson said when she walked past us.
    She plucked a cushion from the sofa, placed it next to the ball pool, and sat down on it. She looked younger, less tense now. Trenkins and I shared a surprised look. Neither of us would have thought of the immaculate Mrs. Anderson sitting on the floor. It didn’t please me that I was so prejudiced in my beliefs about her.
    “You were telling us about the accident,” Trenkins prompted.
    He craned his head to get a better look at the ball pool. When he couldn’t get a good enough view, he got up and walked over to them. Leaning against the wall, he sneaked glances at the ball pool. His face was a mirror of emotions, never settling on one for long. Mrs. Anderson studied him, shook her head in defeat, and answered, “Another car hit the bus with Amaris in it. Thank God she wasn’t hurt. None of the other kids were severely injured. They were scared and all, but the bus driver was the only one injured from the impact. He got off lightly from what I understood, only a slight concussion.”
    She knelt on the cushion, produced a cloth out of nowhere, and cleaned her daughter’s face. Trenkins’s face contorted in disgust. I couldn’t bear sitting on the sofa any longer and walked over to them. I peeked into the ball pool to catch a glimpse of Amaris.
    She would have been a beautiful girl if it weren’t for her disability. She held a ball with both hands, brought it to her mouth, and sucked on it enthusiastically. The ball slid from her hands, eliciting a wail of protest from her. Her mother gave her another one and waited until Amaris held it securely.
    Mrs. Anderson smiled tenderly at her daughter and