Georgia Bottoms Read Online Free Page A

Georgia, you can’t argue with that.” That was Eugene, trying to convince himself.
    “If that’s the way you want it,” said Georgia. “But you better not go making any public statements. There might be a few things you might not want told.”
    Brenda made a face. “Like what?”
    “Like that cowboy hat you wear when you’re riding the horsey, Brenda.” Georgia winked. “What is it you always yell? Giddyup? Go horsey?”
    “Gene!” she shrieked. “You told her that?”
    “You can’t make this stuff up,” Georgia said. “And if you think I’m too shy to go tell it on the mountain, you might want to think again.”
    “Oh, now you’re threatening me?” Brenda cried.
    Georgia said, “I’ve been coming to this church all my life. Y’all have been here what, five years? I’ll be sitting in that pew when the two of you are just a vague memory.”
    “I don’t think so,” said Brenda.
    “Brenda. You want your husband?” said Georgia. “Take him home. Good luck keeping him there, by the way.” A nagging voice said,
Get out of here, Georgia. Fix this later. Just go.
    Brenda wasn’t quite finished. “You put on all these airs like some pillow of the community. Prancing around like you own this town. People ought to know exactly what kind of woman you are.”
    Eugene winced at his wife’s misapprehension of the word “pillar.” He looked embarrassed that Georgia had this close-up glimpse of the woman he’d been married to for fifteen years.
    Until this moment Georgia had felt mostly sorry for him, but that wince made her hate him thoroughly, all at once. How dare he look down his nose at his fat unattractive wife, who put up with his cheating and his endless wandering sermons, and gave him four lovely daughters! He must have known what a cow she was when he married her. How dare he wince at her now!
    Georgia whirled on him. “You spent three hours at my house last night and couldn’t find a moment to mention this to me? What the hell is the matter with you?”
    “Last night?” Brenda began squawking, flapping her wings. “But he—Gene, you were at Fellowship Circle last night!”
    “Oh no, it wasn’t a circle,” said Georgia. “Although we definitely did have some fellowship. How many times, Eugene? Was it three? Look at that hickey on his neck, Brenda, did you even notice? Of course not. You really should pay more attention.” Georgia pushed up from the couch. “He spent half the evening lying to me, then he went home to lie to you. That’s the one thing he’s really good at. Believe me, honey, you do have a problem. But I ain’t it.”
    Eugene looked horrified. His hand went to the spot on his neck. He must not have noticed in the mirror this morning, but his hand knew just where to go. “Now wait a minute,” he said.
    Georgia sailed out the door. “Y’all have a nice day.”

2
    F our little Hendrix girls sat on the curb beside their father’s rust-colored Dodge minivan. They looked perplexed by the absence of anyone telling them what to do. Georgia started to call out,
Don’t worry, your parents will be out soon, get up off the dirt in those nice dresses—
but why should she trouble herself with those brats? Let them sit there all day. Who cares?
    The nerve of some people! A good cloud of anger had built up in the back of Georgia’s head, a cumulonimbus with a broad purple base. She stormed over the heat-shimmering asphalt, thinking how little she needed a lecture on morals from the fat wife of Preacher Eugene, who stood by watching the confrontation with all the authority of the shriveling organ he had turned out to be.
    Georgia climbed into her four-wheeled Honda oven, cranked the engine, turned the A/C to MAX. Anger would get her nowhere. She must not let it overpower her.
    The hot air blasting from the dash began to pale into coolness. Georgia buried her face in the airflow, massaging her temples with the pads of her thumbs.
    What was the name? A name from long ago.