“They’re not a pick and mix,” Mam continued to rant, not giving my father a chance to speak. “You don’t get to pick and choose your favorites and leave the rest in the box. There’s five of them, and broken, bent, or out of shape, I want them all!” “The Lynchs?” Awareness hit me smack in the chest and my jaw fell open. “You’re taking them?” “I’m taking them,” Mam confirmed with a determined gleam in her eye. “All of them.”
