“I didn"t raise no harlot, Amalia. When you"re done with softball practice today, you will go directly to the hardware store and help your father manage that cash register.” The stagnant air, sealed tightly like an old glass jar of long-forgotten jelly, refused to dissipate in the Graeme family home—even it was afraid of Janet"s wrath.
“But Momma, I"ll be home to cook dinner before sunset.” The strains in Amalia"s voice weakened with each of her mother"s refusals to let her live the normal life of a teenager.
“Didn"t you hear me the first time, child? Only little w****s go to the lake.” Janet"s stern voice emptied through thin lips stained from devouring a blueberry cobbler before they"d started cooking breakfast. “Are you a little w***e, Amalia?”
Retribution for daring to break any of
