Tender Graces Read Online Free Page A

breakfast and left to take his walk down the road to get away from Momma before she could whop him with her mean words.
    After the dishes were done, Momma went to her bedroom to primp. I sneaked my feet quiet into her room until I was next to her at her vanity table. Her slip was extra white against her skin and I wanted to touch her, but I didn’t. The window was open and Momma’s flowered curtains danced, twisting around themselves, then coming apart. I heard my name whispered and cater-cocked my head to listen; no one was there so maybe it was only the wind knocking over Momma’s glass swans on the bedside table.
    Momma went to shut the window and her slip blew against her body. “My lord it’s looking like a bad storm coming. I hope the creek don’t flood again.”
    Outside, my favorite sugar maple looked like a picture on the wall. The leaves waved at me, but I didn’t wave back with Momma there. She set up her tipped-over birds, patted her bedspread, and hit the throw pillows until they were big and fluffy. “Last time the creek flooded bad, I found Mrs. Mendel’s cat floating in the backyard, drowned dead.”
    Sometimes Momma said creek like crick , and said other things in ways that Daddy made her say another way until she had it right. He did that with us kids, too.
    “Your Daddy picked the kitty up and dried it with a towel before he carried it on over to her. Pitiful. Mrs. Mendel cried and cried.” She sat back down, picked up her silver brush, and pulled it through her hair. Pieces flew away, as if her hair wanted to run off from her head. She asked me, “What’re you staring at?” But she already knew. Everyone stared at Momma. She put down her brush and held my chin in her hand. Her cool fingers made me feel sleepy. “You look like my momma and your daddy. I was hoping you’d look like me.”
    She patted the bench. I climbed up beside her. “Did I tell you how you come to be named?”
    I nodded.
    She dipped her finger in the Pond’s jar, and then rubbed a dab of cream into her face. “Well, I expect I can tell you again, can’t I?”
    I leaned against her, hoping she wouldn’t scoot away from me. She picked up her tube of lipstick and twisted the bottom until a bit of the color poked up. She liked to keep the tip nice and round. She dabbed the color on one side of her top lip, then the other side, and then pressed her lips to let the red bleed onto the bottom. She patted with her pinkie finger to make it all evened up. I put my lips together—was her lipstick cool and smooth, or sticky and warm? I wished she’d kiss me on the cheek so I could find out.
    “You came in the heat of summer. Lord, I thought I’d die.” She held up her hair while she opened a dresser drawer and dug around. Momma showed me the picture where she held baby me in one arm. Her lips were open and she looked straight at the camera. “If it’d been up to your daddy, your name would be Laudine Kate. Lord help you.” Momma shook her head back and forth. “I decided on Virginia Kate Carey after your grandma Virginia Faith, and me. It’s a part of my family bush.”
    I liked being named after both of them. I grinned and prissed at myself in the mirror.
    “Your great grandma named your grandma Virginia Faith after West Virginia and Jesus. Isn’t that the silliest thing you ever heard?” She sipped her drink with the lemon slice bobbing around, rolled her eyes and said, “We won’t talk about your grandma.” She put the photo back in the drawer.
    I wanted to say how Grandma smelled like fresh-baked bread and apples. She had puppies under her smokehouse I petted, and she let me pound up the bread dough for supper. I loved her best of all and wished she wasn’t so dead, even if she did come visit me when nobody else was around.
    “Your daddy called you Baby Bug.” Momma patted herself with her powder puff and little clouds of Shalimar tickled my nose. “You’re not supposed to be named after a creepy