The Goddess of Fried Okra by Jean Brashear

Author:Jean Brashear
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9780984125890
Publisher: BelleBooks - A
Published: 2010-03-29T22:00:00+00:00

Ohmigosh. The RV. How freaking cool it was.

Okay, so it was really more of a trailer that had to be towed behind a truck than some streamlined house on wheels, but it was our own little abode.

Except its tires were flat. And even if they weren’t, I didn’t have the truck to haul it, but still . . .what I couldn’t have done with something like that.

I had to give Alex credit. While I was running the store that afternoon, she had taken a little nap, but first, amazingly enough, she’d made a stab at some cleaning. There might be hope for us.

The place dadgum sure needed it. Lorena and the rat bastard hadn’t used it, she said, since they’d stopped speaking. They used to take it to the mountains in New Mexico, she told me. Boy, did my brain start clicking over that. Sister just kept those clues coming.

The store and station were closed on Sundays—something I could not imagine—and sometimes, she said, they would just lock up on Saturday, too, and go fishing or to see their grandbabies who lived out of state.

The dust in this trailer and the flat tires told the whole tale. Glory had a lot to answer for. More, it seemed to me, than the rat bastard. I could not imagine what he saw in her. Not after comparing fried okra to MREs.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Could Lorena still be cooking for him at home? Oh, surely not. Surely . . . I couldn’t ask. I didn’t want to know that a woman I had begun to admire deeply could be so foolish.

Men. They are the undoing of us. I certainly couldn’t hold myself out as a shining example of wisdom.

Isis liked this place, I could tell. She’d already sniffed out the kitchen area, though we would be having a chat about where cat paws belong. Which was not on top of the counters—such as these counters were, about all two feet of them. Okay, eighteen inches.

This was the playhouse I used to think I would give up my dreams of a pony for. Stove, refrigerator, booth table that made into a second bed. Bathroom—with a shower!—and, way up high, a double bed.

Perfect for one person, okay for two if they were close. Which, of course, Alex and I were not.

“Pea.”

“What?”

Alex emerged from the bathroom. She’d changed her clothes and looked . . . cute. Odd, yes, in a denim jumper Lorena borrowed for Alex from her daughter Millie, but sweet. Elfin, not some Goth wannabe.

“Jeremy wants me to go with him to meet some of his friends.” Her face was strained with misery. “You have to tell him I can’t. That you need me for—” She shrugged and scanned the trailer. “Something. I can’t go.”

She’d been so excited earlier. “Why not?”

“Look at me!” she nearly screamed. “I’m dressed like a dork.”

“We’ll get you something else soon, I promise, but you can’t expect to look like you used to before.” Bless her heart.

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