The walls were plain, a sort of yellowish-brown, like wheat fields in the fall. The hardwood floors were shiny and clean and the lone dresser was tidy and neat. Save for a white-rimmed vanity mirror and the large photo collage — also framed in white — the small boxy room was void of decoration and character. Gracie Fogleman herself had painstakingly painted the walls years before and refused to let her daughter hang a single poster or picture without her consent. Grace rarely consented.
So glad to have the next installment! Waiting on the edge of my seat for the next chapter.
I can hear the confusion and passion in all their voices.
The suspense and mystery continue... Very enjoyable, Greg. One small suggestion:
and wrinkles at the corners of their eye.
I would suggest “eyes.”