Read Online The Cotton Queen by Pamela Morsi - Free Book Online Page A

for it to pass. I pulled my salt and pepper shakers out of my pockets. I felt a little bit guilty about having them. I’d never really disobeyed so completely. But still, I was so glad I’d saved them. They were smiling up at me. The one with the broken hat and the one that was fine, they both were smiling, happy to be with me. They were my friends, I decided. My always cheerful, always available friends. From now on, whenever they were with me, I was never alone.

B ABS
    I N THE WEEKS following the move from the duplex, I was acting almost totally on instinct. I tried to stop and reason. I tried to figure out a plan of what to do next. But every time I took the time to think the images and memories of what had happened filled my brain. It made me sick. It made me scared. So I was better just moving forward robotically and keeping my mind in neutral.
    I did manage to realize that I couldn’t just walk away from my job. I had no money and I knew we wouldn’t survive unless I could make some. When I showed up for work three hours late with my daughter in tow, Mr. Donohoe took one look at me and didn’t even comment. Maybe he was simply the kind of man who knew when not to ask questions. But what I felt was that what had happened to me must be written across my face.
    That was the reason I couldn’t just go home. Home to McKinney, to Aunt Maxine and Uncle Warren. That was what Laney wanted. But I was afraid that they would know. They had loved me and cared for me and tried their best and now my life was ruined and there was nothing anyone could do. I began to think about Tom. In the months since his death, I’d been busy, sometimes frantic, and directed toward getting on with my life and supporting my child. That had done much to hold back the grief. Now it washed over me like a deluge and I was drowning in it.
    I suppose I let that happen. Even with all the pain involved in thinking about Tom’s death, it was better than thinking about what had happened to me in the duplex. And, of course, if Tom hadn’t died, nothing would have ever happened.
    So, instead of crying about Burl, I cried about Tom. That was more acceptable. The emotions there were strong and could blot out all other feelings. I tried to take comfort in the Good Shepherd of the stained-glass window. But again and again the image of those ceramic salt and pepper shakers on the kitchen table overwhelmed my efforts. The remembrance of evil was just underneath the surface of everything. It showed itself in a new distrust and fear.
    Mr. Donohoe was nice to me. I worried about that. The guys in the trucks had always joked around. Now, it seemed as if every glance in my direction was threatening.
    I’d moved Laney and myself into a run-down motor court just off Highway 78. It had little cottages with kitchenettes. I made a deal with the old woman who ran the place, Mrs. Petit, to work the after dinner hours and the weekends in lieu of rent. She also kept half an eye on Laney who now came home from her new school on a big yellow bus and was responsible for herself until almost six. Not the finest plan for care of a five-year-old, but it was the best I could manage at the time.
    Every evening I sat in the little office of the Shady Bend Motor Lodges sick with fear every time a car pulled up to the entrance. I couldn’t trust my judgment anymore. I couldn’t count on my instinct to warn me about who might be a threat. So everybody became one.
    Or almost everybody.
    It was about a month after I moved out of the duplex when Acee Clifton showed up at Big D Cement.
    He looked totally different than I remembered, yet I recognized him immediately. He was slimmer, which perhaps made him seem taller than he was. Most of his hair was gone from the front. He was dressed in a very expensive and well-tailored suit. Still, he was obviously Acee. My reaction was unexpected. He should have been virtually a stranger, but he evoked memories in me of a sweeter, safer, less