My mother, Sarah Jane, was a quiet woman; a recluse even. She kept to herself and barely uttered a single word to anyone other than those she had to. In a small town like Wakestones, where everyone knew everything about everyone, this was uncommon, unnatural even. People were afraid of my mother. I’d see the stares as she’d drop me off at school, feel the grip on my hand tightening as we walked th...