“Look, it’s the crazy lady,” Jonah whispered. “Dad says if you look at her wrong, she’ll kill herself.” I tore my gaze from her and studied the purple plastic sled, wondering if Dreyden was embarrassed to have a mom like that—a mom who wore her bathrobe and slippers at four in the afternoon. A mom who left their Christmas lights on day and night. The sound of Mrs. Bowen crunching through the snow of her unshoveled driveway echoed across the street to our
