is a sauna,” she whispered, loud enough for the choir to hear. “Didn’t they have money for air conditioning?”
I gripped my hickory cane—the one I’d carved myself one summer while Esther drank sweet tea on our porch—and felt my knuckles go white. I wanted to tell them to leave. I wanted to tell them to show some respect for the woman who’d paid for Terrence’s continue reading …
