And why was God punishing her with a second plague?
June's middle sister, Pearlie Smoak, was oozing out of the passenger's side of the car like a grub from a hole in the dirt.
Pearlie had hitched her wagon to Dub, thus throwing the noose about her neck as a Roach Smoak.
Smoked roaches were as good a title as any, June thought.
Dub fancied himself 'major league material.' Exactly what kind of major league, June had never puzzled out. But she sure-as-shootin' knew what kind of material Pearlie's husband was fashioned from.
Dub was a grease monkey at Smitty's Full-Service Texaco.
And before Pearlie opened her mouth, June interjected, "No, sis. I haven't emptied any slop jars, lately."
Pearlie and Shirley were not twins.
"Papa prefers the outhouse to the pot inside, thank the good Lord," June continued.
Both women wore a look of shock but tried to smile despite June's crassness.
"Take this cake inside, June," Shirley said. "And be sure to wash your hands good before you slice it."
June stopped dead in her tracks.
"You bought a cake for my birthday?"
YOU ARE READING
My Timothy
General FictionA short story about an aging spinster and the incredible surprise she is keeping from her family.
