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

Anger Feels Better

Stunned, Ginny sat in the car paralyzed by indecision: to weep or rage, to do nothing or follow, if so on foot or in the car. Soon tears of overwhelming sorrow began to track down her cheek. Disgusted with herself she fanned her indignation to a fever. “How dare she, the little guttersnipe.”

Before moving out into the flow of traffic, she watched her middle daughter disappear around a corner. “I bet a million dollars This is Stuart’s doing. ” She steered the car toward home. “I won’t give her the satisfaction of a ride home. She can walk. It’ll be the last time she sets foot out of the house for a long time that’s for sure.” Twice on the way home she had to fight back the urge to pull the car to the side of the road and give vent to the grief that refused quashing. “What is the matter with me?”

Thoughts of Joe, guaranteed to bring on anger created more sadness. None of her old tricks worked to keep the misery at bay. Already she began to second-guess her decision to let Sallee find her own way home. “What if she doesn’t know the way? Another thing I will get blamed for.” For an instant, her mind turned to baby Dennis. She w
ould not allow thoughts of him to derail her. Remembering how she loathed Joe for leaving her in that situation. Gravel sprayed as the car fishtailed into the drive. She slammed the car into park. The cooling motor rattled and hissed while she stormed into the house relieved to be back in her familiar full-blown rage.

After slamming the front door, she marched into the kitchen. “Ethel,” she snapped, “Where is Sallee? Have you seen her?”

 


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