When we rolled up into the drive of our home in Jeffery’s Lincoln, my eyes froze. I stammered over my words. “T-t-tis-this can’t be our house!”
“It sure is. We live in style. There’s no better place than the Garden District.” Jeffery bubbled with pride. “I told you, les bons temps rouler!” (let the good times roll!)
les bons temps rouler!“I hope so, Jeffery. I truly hope so.” I endeavored to put on a happy face, but in the core of my spirit, my glee had taken absence. I didn’t want to be a Debbie Downer. I wanted to believe better days were ahead.
Despite my good intentions, I had my doubts. I might be physically free but my heart still was shackled. I didn’t know if I’d ever recover. I reckoned time would tell.
I blew out a raspy sigh as the memories of that day rushed through my mind
