“Mary opened the door and craned her head around the door of her daughter’s bedroom. Iris had the radio on full blast, and rocked her head in time to the thunderous roar of the beat. At the same time, her hand moved furiously over a sheaf of paper. Occasionally she would pause, suck her pen, and then begin writing again.
Mary stared at her with moist, frightened eyes.
It’s all my fault, she thought. I read to her when she was little.”