With a sigh, I walk her way. Keeping my voice even, I stand toe to toe with her, and the protestors turn en masse my way.
“Mrs. Johnson… I write about people trying to love each other better. If that’s poison, it’s a strange one.”
She doesn’t answer because a man’s voice calls out from the rear. “It’s filth!”
Anger wells within me and I look straight at Delbert Goodson. “That’s funny coming from a man whose wife caught him in bed with another woman.”
Delbert’s face flushes and he quickly ducks his head.
Mrs. Johnson takes up the mantle again as Floyd and his group converge on us. “Read the Bible, Sam-Pete, and let it be your guide.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, I’ve attended my fair share of Sunday school classes and I’m pretty familiar with what it says. Just as I’m pretty sure there’s lots of talk in there about not judging folks.”
Floyd whoops and Morri snaps his fingers. “You know that’s right.” He then lowers his voice and tilts his head toward Floyd. “Not that I’ve ever read the Bible.”
“Heathen.” Floyd chuckles.
Voices raise in anger, chants and hymn verses. Counter-cheers and accusations fly. I step forward again, pulse in my throat, ready to help separate people if it gets ugly.
Then a new voice cuts clean through the noise. “That’s enough.”
The crowd parts, and there stands my mama wearing a pretty blue-flowered dress with a white cardigan. She’s got on her pearls and her chin is set to maximum stubbornness.
I tense, not really wanting to argue with her in front of all these people.
“Tell him, Nancy!” someone calls from the church side. “Tell your boy he’s lost his way!”
Mama doesn’t turn to them. Instead, she walks right up to me and places a small hand over my heart. “I read it,” she says.
It takes me a second. “You… read my book?”
“I did.” She swallows, but her voice doesn’t waver. “I skimmed the parts that made me blush, but I read the rest. And I was wrong.”
Silence rolls across the square, other than Floyd muttering a low, “Oh, you go, Mama Rochelle.”
“These aren’t dirty stories,” she says loudly, turning to face the church group. “They’re about mercy. About two people choosing kindness when it would be easier to turn away. That’s not sinful. That’s a mirror. And sometimes God uses mirrors to show us where love should be.”
Morri presses a glittered hand to his chest. “Someone stitch that on a throw pillow.”
A few church ladies look rattled. They glance at each other, unsure how to react.
Mama’s gaze comes back to me. “You make people believe in goodness, and that’s holy enough for me.”
My throat tightens, but before I can say anything, my dad ambles up behind her, hands in his pockets. “Told her if she was gonna fuss, she had to read it first,” he says with a half grin. “Turns out the boy can write.”
Mama shoots him a look that’s half exasperation, half affection, then turns back to the church ladies. “Go on home,” she says, not unkindly. “Bake a casserole for somebody who needs it. Pray with your hands, not your finger-pointin’.”
Grumbling ripples, but signs lower. Delbert is already high-tailing it back to his truck, shoulders hunched forward. And one by one, the group disperses in little knots.
Floyd windmills his arms like he’s flagging a plane. “That’s right, citizens! Make room for character development!”
Morri sashays toward my mama, all six glittering feet of him. “Ma’am,” he says, voice courteous now, “you did good.” He leans in to air-kiss her and she’s not sure what to make of it. Startled, she pats his back, careful as if he’s made of spun sugar.
“Well… aren’t you… festive,” she manages as she takes him in.
“Only on days ending in y,” Morri chirps and swishes away.
When it’s mostly quiet again, Mama turns to me. She hesitates, then steps into my arms for a long hug.
