Send the Word Son Over Her
Edna Rose wiped peanut butter off her fingers. She'd reached deep into the jar to get the last few streaks and had stroked them into plain white bread. Tempted to lick her fingers, she quickly discarded the notion as silly. A dishrag she'd used all morning served her purpose. Unmanicured nails drove a corner of the cloth under other nails. Soon, they were spotless, but her hands smelled of dish soap. She rinsed them. Her only daughter, Janie, (not Jane or Janice but Janie) skipped into the...