“Panty hose? Yeah.” Reaching down, I untie them from the dog’s neck and wrap them around my fist, then lift my hand to my face and inhale, desperate for her scent. They smell of dog and laundry detergent, but I hold onto them anyway. “Um, Lily doesn’t wear panty hose. Those are probably Jen’s.” “Ugh!” I fling them away, and West laughs. I have no idea how he can laugh when I’m as miserable as Scrooge before the ghosts’ visits.
