As Good as True

by Cheryl Reid

“Okay.” I knew better than to argue with her, especially the past few days. She had been frustrated with me over Orlando Washington.

I hung up the receiver and hurried to make the house presentable. I ran to the basement and put his sullied sheets and clothes in the washer. I opened windows and turned on fans to move the hot air. Already I was sweating, and it would matter to Marina, to others, how I looked, how the house looked. My father’s Old World and Riverton, Alabama, were the same in that respect. Family duty and pride were tied to honor and shame, how a person was seen, how things appeared, whether a person was respectable

I touched her hair and she pulled away. Her long, delicate fingers rubbed her eyes. “I called Father McMurray and Eli. He’ll telephone the funeral home and Grandpapa.” My father. She sniffled. “Grandmother is on the way.”

Marina noticed Sophie, and the worry on my daughter’s face vanished. “My sweet girl. Aren’t you a pretty ballerina?” She touched Sophie’s curls. Sophie held Marina’s hand like it was a fragile china doll. She ran her small brown fingers over the pale-pink nails and the soft knuckles, no doubt a wonder to Sophie, in comparison to Lila’s rough hands.