It was raining a lot that week in Macon, Georgia, and everyone’s spirit reflected the dampness in the air. Grace Avery and her daughter, LeeAnn, hadn’t said much to each other that Friday morning mainly because Grace had risen early and seen that LeeAnn had also gotten up, showered and dressed, taking extra care.
"I hope you’re not planning what I think you’re planning,” Grace said over breakfast.
LeeAnn didn’t answer.
“Say it, LeeAnn. Say you’re not going back to him. Please let me hear you say it. I am your mother. He beat you black and blue a week ago if you’ll recall correctly.”
“Let’s not talk about it right now Mama,” she said.
“We have to talk about it. I can’t rest inside. I raised you. ‘What kind of daughter did I raise?’ I ask myself. ‘One who’ll let an ungodly jerk beat her in her own home any old time he gets the urge?’ God help me.”
“He has apologized Mama and he’s not a jerk. We’ve been through this before. He’s sorry and I know he’s sincere about it. He practically crawled on his hands and knees.”
“Listen, LeeAnn. That was a show. He knows he won’t get another f…” Grace caught herself.
“Another what Mama? What am I?”
“I hate to say it LeeAnn. It hurts me. But if you want the truth, you’re a fool.”
LeeAnn sighed. “What’s the alternative Mama? Growing old and wrinkled—single like you? Raising a kid or two by myself? No thank you. I need something different and Russ has said he’ll change, that he’ll be responsible.”
“And you believe him, of course,” Grace said.
A car horn announced Russ’ arrival at the street curb out front.
“I’ve got to go now Mama. My bag’s ready on the porch. I do love you and thank you for everything. For taking care of me all this week.”
LeeAnn walked near her mother to kiss her goodbye, but Grace turned her head. LeeAnn then got her purse and went through the front screen door toward the Ford car with a smiling Russ in it. Grace considered telling her daughter not to bother coming back home next time Russ hit her, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She endured the silence.
