Francie by Karen English

Your mama is serving on a budget and she said to make sure that nobody at this tea gets more
than two shrimp wheels. She just can’t afford it since your daddy messed up a lot of his money on a bad investment.” I stopped short. I was saying too much and it might make her suspicious. She started to rise out of her chair. I backed up a little.
    Holly caught her breath and a blush began from her neck to the top of her head until everything rising out of her bodice was bright crimson. Her lips moved but nothing came out. She checked her guests. They stared back. Betty Jo slowly set her own shrimp wheel down, looking slightly mortified.
    â€œFor Pete’s sake, Betty Jo, you’re not believing such foolishness, are you?” She shot a look to Selma, then to Eva May, who were also putting their shrimp wheels on their napkins and pushing them away. “I can’t believe you all would pay any kind of attention to this simpleton.”
    Selma stared at her hands. Eva May looked off toward the house. An embarrassed silence filled the air. Finally Betty Jo, who wasn’t as bright as the others and therefore too straightforward, said in a whining voice, “Well, Holly, let’s face it—everybody knows your daddy did have that spell of financial— bad luck, so—”
    â€œShut your mouth, Betty Jo. That just ain’t so.”
    â€œActually, Holly,” Eva May piped up, “I really think I’m allergic to seafood anyway. The last time I had lobster, I broke out in hives.” Holly whipped around in her direction and just stared. Her eyes narrowed with disdain.
    â€œYou stupid idiot,” she said, her attention back on me.
“Take them things back up to the house. We don’t want any.” Holly Grace sat down. When I hadn’t moved, she blew up. “Take ’em!” she said. I returned each to the tray, noting all the while how each girl seemed embarrassed and uneasy. Holly picked up her cards and took a sip of tea, in an attempt to put the whole thing right out of her mind.
    But as I made my way back up the hill to the kitchen, I knew she wouldn’t be able to. Like I was gonna remember that slap, she’d remember this—always.

Waiting on Daddy
    â€œWhat you doin’?” Prez asked, coming up behind where I sat on the porch steps in the twilight, staring at the woods. Juniper was darting in and out of the edge, chasing some poor creature for fun. Mama had washed my hair in castile soap. We all had our baths in the big tin tub in the kitchen. Now I sat on the steps, letting my hair dry in the last of the sun’s heat. As it dried, it slowly grew into a woolly bush around my face. Mama was going to straighten it after she finished baking Daddy a welcome-home cake. Prez soon brought out a bowl and was licking a wooden spoon full of chocolate icing.
    â€œHere,” he said. “You get half.”
    I picked up the other spoon and licked some of the chocolate off. Prez drew a line with his finger down the
center of the bowl. “This my side and this yours,” he said, pointing to the two halves. I ran my finger along my side and came up with a nice helping of chocolate frosting.
    â€œWhatcha doin’ out here?” Prez asked.
    â€œWatching the woods.”
    Prez had on his overalls and no shirt, his arms all coppery from the sun. He was what people called rhiny, with sandy hair bleached lighter at the temples. He had the same hazel eyes as Daddy’s mama, who died when I was ten and Prez was seven.
    â€œWhat for?” he said.
    â€œBecause Jesse Pruitt’s in our woods.”
    â€œHow you know that?”
    â€œI feel it.”
    â€œThen they’ll come down here and get him,” he said, running his finger around the top of his side of the bowl, stopping exactly at the line he’d drawn.
    â€œRight. And we gonna get some food to him and some money so he can get on. We gonna help him get