Mary Morony, Author of Apron Strings, Done Growed Up and If It Ain't One Thing

A Taste Of Reality

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Spoiled. Ginny Mackey knew there were people more unfortunate than she, she just didn’t know she’d have to get close enough to SEE it.

Excerpt from Mary Morony’s Done Grown Up

Ginny almost lost her nerve when she pulled up in front of Rebecca’s ramshackle house. Lord, it really isn’t much more than a shack, Ginny thought as she picked her way across the rutted yard and onto the rickety porch. A loose board or shutter intermittently banged
causing Ginny to flinch, each time heightening her sense of dread. She chided herself. “For goodness sakes, Ginny, get a hold of yourself.” Knocking gingerly on the door for fear that she might knock it off its hinges, she hoped with two minds that Rebecca would and would not be home.

“Rebecca,” she called, “Are you there? It’s me, Ginny Mackey. Rebecca?” She held her ear close to the door listening. There couldn’t be more than two rooms in the house, she reasoned. Surely she can hear me if she is here. Trying the knob, the door unlocked, she slowly opened the door calling all the while as she peeped inside. “Rebecca?” The room, lit only by the meager light that managed to shine through two tiny windows shadowed by the porch, was drill sergeant neat and tidy, but cold. There was a small unlit wood stove in the far corner next to a table that looked to be fitted out as a kitchen counter. Two clean jelly glasses placed upside down on a dishtowel graced the top of the table, and a frying pan sat on the shelf beneath.


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