Climbing slippery metal stairs under fitful sleet with one of her shoe-soles gone was another real joy, as Mama would have said. But there was no way out, and besides, this was a private plane. An honest-to-gosh jet, and the thought of how green Pastor Beaton would turn with envy, or how Royal would salivate over a trip in one of these, or how any of Bea’s congregation would nudge each other and whisper behind cupped hands—well, it was almost hilarious.
real joyUnfortunately, the world had taken on a strange wavering underwater quality, after a full stocking shift, the fact that Zoe hadn’t eaten since before midnight, and sheer terror married to successive surprise-crashes like ocean waves.
Not that she’d ever seen the sea, despite Marquette being a single bus ride from the Gulf. But Zoe
