MISSED BUSH. She now spent most of her time with Arlie. One day I saw Arlie put his wide hand on her bony shoulder as he passed by, and my mouth fell open. I remember having three thoughts: that LaRue would be heartbroken; that Bush wouldn’t go home with us; and my last thought was one of childish jealousy, a fear that I would lose this woman who seemed most like a mother to me. “You slept with him,” I said one day, accusing her as if she had betrayed me.
