She’d done something bad. Her voice was broken, her sentences incomplete. “I know what I did, but I still can’t believe it. Stephen, I know these people. The Brumfields have practically nothing and the people from Davis County? You can’t imagine what it’s like out there. I’ve got to fix this.”

            Mother was breaking down from overworked emotion and drink. Reverend Fisher didn’t care; his words were a righteous thread tying up all her loose ends, changing the pattern and altering whatever plan she had. He was so smooth. He told her they’d done fine job, and she had nothing to be ashamed of. The best way for people to draw close to God was to depend on him for their daily needs. If that meant less food, well, in the long run they’d be more spiritual. 

            “Starvation is growth?” Mother’s voice sounded clogged.

            “Carmen, that’s not what I meant. Nobody’s going to starve. Everybody’s got gardens.”

            But Fisher had hit a nerve, and Mother was really crying now. He didn’t move, not at first, then only to take a finger and lift up her chin. I watched my mother wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. It was a forceful motion, as if she’d already made some inner decision, and the movement caused her hair to fall down. Reverend Fisher was cupping her chin in his hand and drawing her close. “Carmen,” he said, “I’m proud of you.”

            Their noses were almost touching.

            That was it. I was sure they were going to kiss. I shot up like a missile, and ran to the vestibule, pushing open the double doors. Though locked from the outside, they allowed a person to open them. They were like our school doors. I shoved both open, stepped outside, took a deep breath, and let them slam. 

            I started running.

            Considering her condition, Mother was pretty quick. She caught up with me five houses down on Beech and grabbed the neck of my pajamas. The neck was rounded, and I slipped out of the top and kept running, clad only in my bottoms. She couldn’t catch me like that, but she was close. I could hear the slap of her feet on the pavement, smell the sour breath pouring out of her lungs, and when I looked back, see her wavy hair streaming out behind her. I wouldn’t look at her eyes. 

            We ended up in the kitchen, glaring at each other under the too bright bulb, she with her breath full of whiskey and I, mostly naked, shivering from the night air. Finally, she shut the wooden door to the kitchen because bugs were crawling through the screen. 

            “You’re supposed to be in bed,” she said.

            “So are you.”

            “I was talking to Reverend Fisher about important matters.”

            “You were going to kiss him. I know you were. You were flirting with him, Mom, just like those majorettes do with the football boys when they practice on the field. I’ve heard you tell those girls to keep their mind off boys. Well, you were doing it, Mom. You were flirting with Reverend Phew, and my dad is dead.”

            “What did you call him?”

            “My dad.”

            “No, the—”

            “Reverend Phew. Because he stinks and so do you.”

            She slapped me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d known she’d wanted to slap me since the day I told her the music was bad. Now, she let her hand fly, and to this day, I’ve never been slapped so hard. Actually, I’ve never been slapped in the face since. It caused me to take two steps sideways.

            I regained my balance and stared. She looked horrified but angry. We were both silent, bursting with words we’d never say. The only sound was a spatter. Mother had busted my lower lip. A drop of blood, then several, splashed on the floor.

            Finally, she motioned for me to come to her, but I shook my head.

            “I’ve been crucified,” I said, stretching out my arms in a dramatic pose.

            “You stupid little girl,” she screamed. “You don’t even know what I was trying to do.”      Anger deflated, her shoulders dropped, and her shoes fell from her hand. The nylons, stuffed in one toe, fell out and one stocking absorbed my blood on the floor. “Have it your way. I’m tired of trying to explain myself to everyone in this town.”