No Daughter of the South by Cynthia Webb

Author:Cynthia Webb [Webb, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Lesbian, Mystery, Suspense, Thriller
Amazon: B01D7WBX2Q
Publisher: New Victoria Publishers
Published: 2016-03-18T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Sometimes, now and then, I get it. I understand why some people want to live here. Sitting with my legs in the warm water, the sun on my face, the smell of Momma’s flowers, and the singing of the birds, I thought I might not want to leave.

In just a split-second I came to my senses. How does anyone write, take photographs or even think in the midst of all this? Maybe it’s just that I’m a masochist. Maybe I like to torture myself with the city’s gray and grime and filth. I don’t know. But I’d be somebody else if I had stayed here, I’m sure of that.

I jumped up and went inside the cool, dark house. Momma was in the kitchen.

“Sorry I flew off the handle about the Tashimee Fiesta.”

She looked at me suspiciously. Then she asked if I wanted some coffee. She poured us both a cup, and we sat down at the kitchen table. I felt that I’d spent more time at her kitchen table in the last few days than I had spent at my own in the last year.

“Momma,” I started. “What about the black people in town?”

She looked puzzled. “What about them?”

“Well, where are they? I don’t see them anywhere.”

“Where are they,” she repeated to herself. “Well, around. There weren’t many here to start with. This part of the state wasn’t big slave-holding country, not like where I grew up. There are black communities in the cities, of course, but I guess there isn’t much to cause a black person to move here.

“I’ll tell you what, though. That black girl who was in your class—Terri, her last name is Hawkins, now—she’s a teller at the bank. I make it a point to get in her line, no matter what folks have to say about it.”

She said the last bit with such pride in her voice. I had trouble not laughing at what my mother thought was a daring stand for civil rights. She was trying to be honest with me, and that felt good, and I didn’t want to ruin it.

We were quiet for awhile. I was noticing how tired she looked, when she started talking again. “Laurie, I don’t know what it is. I try. I believe you’re trying. Why doesn’t it work?” She sounded tired, too. Defeated. I didn’t like to see Momma, who had always given extra meaning to the word “perky,” like that. But I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just shook my head.

“You’re my only daughter. My baby girl. I’m surrounded by these men who don’t really care about me. Your father, your brothers, their friends.”

I couldn’t bear it. I interrupted her. “Don’t say that, Momma. It isn’t true. Everybody loves you. Everybody.”

“They love my hot meals. They love the way I do their laundry. I buy every piece of your daddy’s clothing. He hasn’t bought himself so much as a pair of shoelaces since the day we got married.

“Any of them can walk through my kitchen door anytime, and there’s something good for them to eat there.

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