Southern Discomfort Read Online Free

hell freezes over?"
    "Give or take a few degrees," I muttered back.
    All around the rotunda, my brothers and their wives and children were clumped in animated conversation with friends and relatives. Among the teenage girls helping the older women of First Methodist serve were Seth and Minnie's Jessica and Herman and Nadine's Annie Sue. I was glad to see that Annie Sue and Herman seemed to be speaking to each other today. A lot of days, they didn't.
    From infancy, Annie Sue had tested the limits of paternal authority; but she'd turned sixteen this spring and now that she had her driver's license, she wanted more freedom and less accountability than ever. According to Minnie, they'd had a monumental clash last weekend. I didn't get all the details; but I gather it involved a broken curfew and confiscation of car keys. Nothing new there except that both my brother and my niece had lost their tempers and Herman had warned Annie Sue—and in front of her friends, which made it twice as humiliating—that she wasn't too big to get a switching if she didn't apologize at once.
    "In the same breath as she apologized, she swore she'd never speak to Herman again as long as she lived," Minnie had reported with a shake of her head. "Herman's way too strict, but that child's sure got a talent for pouring kerosene on a hot fire."
    I watched her pour Herman a cup of punch with every appearance of daughterly affection and hoped their reconciliation would last a while this time.
    A moment later, my spirits were buoyed by the sight of Lu Bingham beaming at me from across the rotunda. The Marthas had set out silver trays of miniature ham biscuits, cucumber sandwiches, and pecan puffs to go with their lime punch and butter mints, and Lu was loading her paper napkin to the spilling point. She has a way with young people and seemed to be bantering with my nieces. Even across the rotunda, I could hear her booming laughter.
    We'd gone all through grade school and high school together, but I was still fighting to stay a size twelve while Lu had long since surrendered to an eighteen. On her, though, it was okay. She looked solid and comforting and infinitely capable of shouldering the responsibilities of the world. Not a bad thing since she was the guiding spirit and most of the muscle behind WomenAid.
    WomenAid. Women helping women to cope with life's sour lemons
—from Cambodian refugees to a battered wife in one of Dobbs's oldest families. My internal preacher nodded approval, but the pragmatist was slowly shaking his head.
    Now why was the thought of that nonprofit organization suddenly making me uneasy?
    Even as I continued to smile and accept congratulations and good wishes, I kept a wary eye on Lu. She was working her way through the crowd, probably hitting on everyone she spoke to for a donation. She was an ace at writing grant proposals and getting corporate funding, but much of her support came from the grassroots level and working every crowd seemed to have become an automatic reflex.
    A member of the Black Caucus momentarily halted the line in front of Frances, and Lu, who would seize an opportunity with the best of them, slid into the gap. Crumbs of pecan puffs showered down the front of my robe as she gave me an enthusiastic hug. "We're so proud of you! And it's going to be such great publicity having a judge out there swinging a pick."
    For a moment, I thought she'd said "picket" even though she, of all people, would surely know that judges can't walk a picket line.
    She grinned at my bewilderment. "When you spoke to the volunteers of WomenAid in May. Remember? You said you sure wished you could take time off from campaigning and pitch in. Here's your chance. Saturday morning, seven o'clock. While it's still cool. Don't forget to bring your own tools."
    (Stevie chose that moment to turn his camera back on my face just as it was beginning to sink in that I was going to have to put my muscles where my mouth was. My brothers think it's a