Chapter 7: Get Off My Porch

"No," I said. "You may not."

Shelby smiled.

"I understand. I only wanted to return his things. And to say sorry in person to the rest of the family."

Behind her the truck door slammed.

Alan came up the porch steps two at a time with his cap in his hand.

He was a big man, my husband, and he had never in his life walked fast without a reason.

His eyes went to my face first.

The stitches, the swollen ear, the bruise that had gone yellow along my jaw.

"Glenda." His voice cracked. "Oh, Glenda."

"You said Monday."

"I turned around at Chattanooga. I couldn't..."

He stopped.

He had seen the woman standing next to me.

I will remember the next few seconds for the rest of my life.

Alan didn't look at her eyes or her scrubs.

He looked at the front of her hairline, at the one white streak in her black hair.

His keys slid out of his hand and hit the boards of the porch.

"Mr. Fennimore," Shelby said sweetly, and she put out her hand. "It's so nice to finally meet you. Luke talks about you all the time."

Alan did not take it.

"Get off my porch," he said.

I looked at him.

"Alan, she's..."

"Get off my porch, miss."

Shelby let her hand fall.

She tilted her head, and the smile on her face did not move at all.

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