She hadn’t decided how it felt to have her life mined for fiction, and had been swinging between feeling deeply flattered and slightly exploited. She could hear her mother in her head: That’s what writers do. Maybe it explained why her mom hadn’t liked who she’d been while she was a published author. It certainly explained why Veronica hadn’t wanted these books read until she was gone. Sarah could be angry, but now there was no one to be angry at.
