“Not today was last year,” Vanessa said. “And the year before. Mama knew. Mama is gone. I am not carrying it past the gravy.”
A cousin turned the game down without being asked. The kids were herded to the porch. Herding was mercy. Patrice did not sit. Sitting would have looked like grace, and grace had been refused.
“You were married,” she said.
“Before you,” Derrick said. “It ended. The ending did not end the child.”
