I’m in a backwater with two old fuddy-duddies who take their job as guardians to heart. Their charm wears off after a week. Not that I’m not grateful, but I went from a life of complete abandonment to a jail cell. It’s bound to end badly. They don’t want me to go anywhere. “You’ll get lost,” Aunt Mae frets. “There’s acres and acres of trees out here and if you wander off you won’t find your way back.” “Can I go down to the water?” Aunt Pearl is peeling onions. “Don’t go in the water. You might drown.” “That might be sweet relief.” I slam the back screen door, but not before hearing, “Talk back and you’ll get a hiding!” “Now Pearl,” Aunt Mae tsks. The only place they’d like me to go is to church. I’m at breakfast when they bring this up. I dip a bread soldier in my egg yolk.
