Free Every Day After by Laura Golden

gave for that car, but in my opinion it was worth whatever it took to buy it. I loved it. Daddy, Mama, and I took many drives in it, but it’s the memory of that first drive that sticks out best .
It was a Sunday morning, our first trip to church in it. On the way, Mama sat up front with Daddy and I sat in the back alone. Daddy’s thin frame bounced in unison with each bump in the road while his left arm crooked out the window, waiting to cast a friendly wave to passing neighbors. He smiled over at Mama, and she smiled right back. Then she turned to gaze out her window. Her mouth wasn’t moving, but over the loud crunching of the tires on the dirt road I could hear her softly humming “Amazing Grace.” A warm breeze blew in through the open window, bringing in the smells of fresh air and sun-baked dirt .
After church service, Mama decided she’d sit with me in the back to see what it was like. We bounced and jolted down the road, but pretty soon Mama went pale .
“What’s the matter, Mama?” I asked her .
“I’m fine, honey,” she whispered. “I’m just feeling a little sick.”
“You want me to stop, Rose? I can pull over,” Daddy offered from the driver’s seat .
“No, I’ll be fine.”
But she wasn’t fine. We didn’t make it another half a mile before Mama started to gag. Daddy didn’t waste any daylight pulling over. Mama stumbled out of the car and headed straight for the nearest bush. That was the most unladylike I’ve ever seen her, moaning and groaning, hunched over the bushes with her hands on her knees. Once she finished gagging, I offered to walk the rest of the way home with her. She accepted .
We had many Sunday drives after that, Daddy always crooking his arm out the window and Mama always humming “Amazing Grace” or “How Great Thou Art.” When I die, I pray God lets Daddy drive me Home on a summer Sunday afternoon. But Mama will have to sit up front, no bones about it .
    I closed my journal for the night and wondered if we’d ever be like that again—the three of us together and happy. I believed we would. I had to believe it. If my birthday wish came true, it’d happen sooner rather than later—on May 30.
    I climbed into bed and kissed my locket. Though sleep didn’t come easy, it did come—deep and dreamless.

  Nine  
    Nice Doesn’t Always Mean Good
    My dreamless sleep lasted till around five-thirty. Better. I was taking it as a sign that maybe things in general were about to get better.
    I’d barely finished cleaning up breakfast when there was a knock on the door. I knew by the knock exactly who it was. “Come on in, Ben,” I called.
    Ben tromped into the kitchen and plopped down at the table. My palms went cold and clammy at the thought of him still being mad at me. He looked all right, but looks could be deceiving.
    He spoke first. “You wanna come down to Powell’s with me? I figured you’d like to watch the buses.”
    The tone of his voice settled me. He sounded all right, too. “Sure,” I said. “Just let me bring Mama in before we go.”
    I took his suggestion to watch the buses as a peace offering. Powell’s Café was the local bus stop off the Bankhead Highway. It was fun to watch people as theygot off the bus for a lunchtime rest on their way into Atlanta. You could see all kinds: men in business suits with matching hats; ladies with fancy purses and high heels; ill-behaved babies with tired mamas toting ’em around like potato sacks. It was strange to think of all these people, all from somewhere else, sitting there eating greens and butter beans right alongside the people I saw every day, right on a chair I’d most likely sat in myself. Course, Ben knew the real reason I liked to watch the buses these days, and it didn’t have anything to do with interesting strangers. It had everything to do with Daddy.
    I brought Mama inside, fixed her a glass of water, then took off with Ben. On the way, I told him all about Mrs. Hinkle wanting my locket and