15
Mrs. Garrison arrived first, hat in hand from church. We’d invited her over for lunch, but she’d reminded us that black church didn’t get out right at twelve, so she’d just come over when the service finished. She was early, but not by much.
“I’m so excited about this reunion, Mary,” she said as she took a seat on our couch. Her feet didn’t quite touch the floor, but I thought it might embarrass her if I brought the step stool from the kitchen, so I tried not to stare at them dangling there. “We’ve had reunions before, of course, but never with the Tuckers invited.”
“Aren’t you nervous that they might actually come? To make trouble if not to actually acknowledge that you’re kin?” I asked, my memory of the note still fresh.
“Not really.” She shrugged. “What are a few racist white peo
