By Michael Morris
Erma Lee is at the run . . . operating from an abusive husband . . . operating from a mom who does not care -- by no means cared. operating from a soul-numbing manufacturing facility activity that has held her down her complete lifestyles ... Erma Lee and her granddaughter, Cher, flee to the city of Wiregrass, Alabama, to flee the prior and begin over -- or so Erma Lee thinks. Erma Lee kinds an not going friendship with pass over Claudia, an aged socialite who's hiding a number of information about her personal earlier. lifestyles in Wiregrass is diverse for Erma Lee and Cher, for the following they locate mercy and promise -- till, that's, the day Cher's convict father arrives on the town, forcing all 3 ladies to return to phrases with buried secrets and techniques.
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Extra info for A Place Called Wiregrass
Well, some people around here are just small-minded. ” Patricia paused. “You know her. ” I had forgotten the tiny woman’s name. She never lolled during a visit. She went straight back to Miss Claudia. ” A Place Called Wiregrass 39 Another pause. ” Her voice was shrill, and I sensed she didn’t want to answer any questions. Patricia probably was off to some party, I imagined. “No, no. She and Mama are both from Apalachicola. Old-time friends. But anyway, I had no idea Mama promised Missoura she would go to Easter services at her church.
If only I could’ve done . . ” She squeezed my hand until the knuckles ached, her gaze A Place Called Wiregrass 33 set far above the pink and yellow roses beyond the window. We both jumped at the slap of the screened kitchen door. ” Richard stared at the empty frying pan. Miss Claudia quickly released my hands and dabbed the sweat beads on her forehead with a nearby napkin. A ghostly white imprint remained on my ﬁngers. “Umm . . ” I returned to my proper place at the frying pan and began melting the butter.
Only once did he start to get out of hand. I was washing the dinner dishes and had half tuned out his lecture on the mysteries of the Bermuda Triangle when I felt the digging glare. My back was to him, but I could picture him leering at me from the kitchen table. Still in uniform, I knew he was looking through my cheap polyester slacks at my panties. “It’s a pure shame my mama don’t live closer by. She just loves interesting stuff like you talk about,” I said, turning to him with the crystal tea pitcher in my hands.