CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - Never Forget The Dead* 1 *
Wendy Joe’s Momma didn’t look too pretty after all these years of neglect. Her arms had run down to lean out like long black licorice sticks. Her face was as wrinkled as a hundred year prune. Her eyes glinted like burnt apple seeds. Only her teeth seemed constant – both long and white and hungry looking.
“It’s about time you called,” Momma said. “The dead get thin and old, if you don’t take the time to remember them.”
“I been busy, Momma.”
“I have been watching,” the memory of Momma said. “You have been busy chasing a white policeman.”
“I haven’t been chasing him.”
“Honey you been panting after him like a dehydrated hound dog.”
That was Momma. The same as always, just as irritating as a flea on a mosquito bite but Wendy Joe needed her
