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

Silence

ginny mackey

When dealing with an angry Ginny Mackey, sometimes, silence is best.

Excerpt from Mary Morony’s second novel Done Grown Up

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Going home was worse than Sallee could have dreamt. She expected the household to be in a tizzy, everybody so distressed by her absence that her homecoming would blot out any of the earlier unpleasantness. Not so. She was surprised at how disappointed she was that her running away had so little impact. Her mother was sitting on the front porch reading the afternoon paper as she always did. Ginny hadn’t yet seen Sallee. Sallee’s mind was racing. Was she sorry? Should she say so? Should she pretend like nothing happened and see what did? Sneaking around to the kitchen door would be useless. Neither Helen nor Gordy were anywhere to be seen. Ginny hardly looked up as Sallee started up the steps. Her grunt was her terse greeting then she indicated a chair.

ginnycafe

“Sit,” was all she said.

Sallee sat and waited while her mother finished the paper. The idea of a loving mother and daughter on a dilapidated porch, free, easy and open with one another, stood in stark contrast to this scene of imposed tension, designed to close down and intimidate. Sallee steeled herself for the coming onslaught: while she sat contemplating the fun she had had that afternoon. She realized she was smiling. She decided that this waiting was going to have to stop so she leapt in with her apology. “Mom, I’m really sorry I said what I said to you this afternoon. I didn’t mean it. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Nothing from her mother, so Sallee made a move to leave. Ginny shook the paper to get her daughter’s attention then glared over it with a scowl toward the chair indicating that staying put was Sallee’s only option. She couldn’t tell how long she sat before her mother finally
finished the paper. She folded it with excruciating exactness before placing it on the table beside her, up under one of the enormous begonia leaves that took up most of the rattan table along with an ashtray. Ginny then with equal preciseness folded her hands in her lap and stared at her daughter.”


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