The Fog Machine by Susan Follett

Author:Susan Follett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lucky Sky Press
Published: 2014-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

C.J. measured out two cups of grits and closed the bag she’d lugged from Poplar Springs. Like Indian summer, the grits were almost gone.

“I reckon you’ll be going home just in time to get another bag.” Flo glanced at her, went back to peeling white butcher’s paper from a half pound of shrimp.

She closed her eyes, imagining this was the smell of the ocean at high tide on a summer day. It probably would be totally different than what she expected, though. Just like her trips home. And she didn’t relish another disappointment. Suddenly, her mind was made up. “Actually, this year I’m spending Christmas with my friends.”

“I see.” Flo was bent over the shrimp, expertly pulling back the pink translucent skins and digging out the black grainy veins. “So, how are those piano lessons going with Miz Gray?”

“I’m looking forward to a book that’s not for little kids. ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’ and ‘Yankee Doodle’ are my big songs.”

“At least we won’t have to listen to ‘Chopsticks’ forever. I, for one, can appreciate hearing some new music.”

“It’s crazy, though, Miz Gray teaching me piano.”

“I guess I never told you how I learned to read. One of my momma’s white ladies used to help me. If she could see me now, sitting up here reading The Defender.” Flo laughed so hard she snorted.

C.J. laughed just as hard, as much at Flo as at her joke. “Anyways, I reckon Charlie has to go to college now. I was thinking to use some of his money on myself. But with Miz Gray teaching me, well, the Lord’s saying help your brother—Flo, you’re crying.”

Flo shook her head and pointed to the cutting board. “Onions’ll get you every time.”

“Here.” She handed her a couple of kitchen matches. “Put these in your mouth.”

“Speaking of the papers, you been reading about the riots at Ole Miss?” Flo sniffed and tapped the matchsticks on the counter. “They can send a man round the earth. But try to have a Negro enroll in a white school …”

C.J. concentrated on dicing the boiled ham. “Two people died, Flo. And hundreds were hurt. I got to ask why.”

“Maybe so your brother has a choice when the time comes for him to use your money.”

“The kind of choice my brother wants is what kind of car for me to buy him,” C.J. snapped. “But I’ll be satisfied seeing him in any of the Negro colleges in Mississippi.”

Squeezed between Charlie’s lack of ambition and Flo’s overreaching, she searched for a way to change the subject. “And what about your brother? You talk more about Charlie than your own Freddie.”

In the silence while Flo did not speak, olive oil sizzled loudly in the pot. Bits of pepper and celery thwacked against the metal as C.J. dumped them in. Flo added the chopped onion, her knife scraping the cutting board with a harsh, grating sound. She used her apron to wipe away more tears.

Finally, she said, “That ain’t in the cards for my Freddie.”

C.J. studied her. “You know, the matchsticks really do work.

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