Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Floyd whoops and Morri snaps his fingers. “You know that’s right.” He then lowers his voice and tilts his head toward Floyd. “Not that I’ve ever read the Bible.”
“Heathen.” Floyd chuckles.
Voices raise in anger, chants and hymn verses. Counter-cheers and accusations fly. I step forward again, pulse in my throat, ready to help separate people if it gets ugly.
Then a new voice cuts clean through the noise. “That’s enough.”
The crowd parts, and there stands my mama wearing a pretty blue-flowered dress with a white cardigan. She’s got on her pearls and her chin is set to maximum stubbornness.
I tense, not really wanting to argue with her in front of all these people.
“Tell him, Nancy!” someone calls from the church side. “Tell your boy he’s lost his way!”
Mama doesn’t turn to them. Instead, she walks right up to me and places a small hand over my heart. “I read it,” she says.
It takes me a second. “You… read my book?”
“I did.” She swallows, but her voice doesn’t waver. “I skimmed the parts that made me blush, but I read the rest. And I was wrong.”
Silence rolls across the square, other than Floyd muttering a low, “Oh, you go, Mama Rochelle.”
“These aren’t dirty stories,” she says loudly, turning to face the church group. “They’re about mercy. About two people choosing kindness when it would be easier to turn away. That’s not sinful. That’s a mirror. And sometimes God uses mirrors to show us where love should be.”
Morri presses a glittered hand to his chest. “Someone stitch that on a throw pillow.”
A few church ladies look rattled. They glance at each other, unsure how to react.
Mama’s gaze comes back to me. “You make people believe in goodness, and that’s holy enough for me.”
My throat tightens, but before I can say anything, my dad ambles up behind her, hands in his pockets. “Told her if she was gonna fuss, she had to read it first,” he says with a half grin. “Turns out the boy can write.”
Mama shoots him a look that’s half exasperation, half affection, then turns back to the church ladies. “Go on home,” she says, not unkindly. “Bake a casserole for somebody who needs it. Pray with your hands, not your finger-pointin’.”
Grumbling ripples, but signs lower. Delbert is already high-tailing it back to his truck, shoulders hunched forward. And one by one, the group disperses in little knots.
Floyd windmills his arms like he’s flagging a plane. “That’s right, citizens! Make room for character development!”
Morri sashays toward my mama, all six glittering feet of him. “Ma’am,” he says, voice courteous now, “you did good.” He leans in to air-kiss her and she’s not sure what to make of it. Startled, she pats his back, careful as if he’s made of spun sugar.
“Well… aren’t you… festive,” she manages as she takes him in.
“Only on days ending in y,” Morri chirps and swishes away.
When it’s mostly quiet again, Mama turns to me. She hesitates, then steps into my arms for a long hug.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she says against my shoulder.
“It’s all good,” I assure her. “And thank you for having my back.”
She looks up at me, eyes a little wet, then turns to Penny, who’s standing a few feet away, her face shining with tears she isn’t bothering to hide.
“You keep him honest,” Mama says gently.
“I’m trying,” Penny replies, voice thick and bright at once.
Dad claps my shoulder with the same big-handed affection he’s used my whole life. “Proud of you,” he mutters, like the words are heavy but worth lifting.
We stand there—the four of us, and the town that won’t ever learn to whisper—until Mama clears her throat and straightens her pearls. “All right, then,” she says. “Who wants pie? I’m buying.”
“No, I’m buying,” I say, hooking one arm through Penny’s and the other through my mother’s.
Floyd materializes like he was conjured by the word. “Now we’re speaking my spiritual language.”
Laughter catches and spreads. The square loosens its fists.
I glance down at Penny as we walk back to Central Café, and she smiles at me with that same steadfast support she’s shown since she found out my secret.
Maybe love is roots and wings, but maybe faith is letting both do their work without trying to hold either back. I resolve myself to have confidence in this relationship. She’s the girl I’m in love with, and I just witnessed a town undergo a transformation. If that isn’t a testament to embracing our differences, I don’t know what is.
CHAPTER 22
Penny
My suitcase waits by the front door—all zipped, upright and obnoxiously sure of itself—as if it’s already halfway to Washington and can’t believe I’m still dithering about goodbyes to this Podunk town.
Snobbish luggage!
Muriel’s in her recliner, feet propped on the ottoman and robe belted tight. She looks equal parts grandmother and general, one hand wrapped around a sweating glass of sweet tea and the other clutching the remote so she can get caught up on her soap operas as soon as I leave.