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twisted into knots. When I asked where my suitcase was, he didn’t turn around.
“You’re staying with Grandma Ruth this week.”
“But I thought we were going to Florida.”
My mother leaned out the passenger window, smile fixed in place. “You get car sick, honey. Remember Ohio?”
I’d thrown up once. One time, on a six-hour drive when I was five. But that single continue reading …
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