meal was coming from.
She thought she could rely on Popena. She thought her big sister would have her back until she could get on her feet and make her own way. But Popena was still bitter, still nursing the wounds from her own hard life, and she had no ability to prop up a kid sister.
Carrie leaned her head back and tried hard not to think any more about her life, or Popena, or what in the world was she going to do next. It was easy, at first, because she couldn’t stop thinking about Robert. Robert Kincaid. The stranger who had held her in his big arms. If there was ever anybody nicer than that man, she’d like to see him. And talk about good looking. His cool good looks made her want to swoon. And although everything about him reeked of authority and snobbishness, there was still something very good and decent about him, she felt, as if he was somebody who’d stay in her corner. It was laughable, she knew, given that she didn’t even really know the man, but that was how she felt.
Carrie also felt, however, that she couldn’t count on Robert Kincaid or anybody or anything else she had no control over. She had to find a job. That was her immediate concern. She therefore began to concentrate on her strategy, on how she was going to search the want ads first thing tomorrow morning; how she was going to visit hotels and motels, office buildings and grocery stores, and every fast food place in town until somebody, somewhere offered her employment. Although Popena had let her down, and her mother and Dale and everybody else had disturbed her sense of triumph, she knew the Lord would stand with her. She therefore decided, as the bus headed out of downtown toward the eastside, to her side, to stop being so driven by faithlessness and put her hopes in Him.
“Excuse me,” a voice said and she turned to find an obese woman with a wide, smiling face and small, cat eyes, in the seat just behind her.
“Yes?”
“You Mona’s sister, ain’t you?”
Carrie hesitated. She was still trying to get used to Popena’s “stage” name. “Yes,” she said.
The woman smiled even greater. “I’m Millie Rawlings. I live downstairs from y’all.” Before Carrie could say a word, the woman grabbed her large pocketbook and moved up and sat next to Carrie. She was an older woman, maybe as old as forty, and her big bulk caused her to grunt when she sat down.
“You just getting off work?” she asked Carrie. “ I am too. I work at Jetson’s. You ever hear tell of Jetson’s? It’s one of the nicest restaurants in town, yes it is. Where you work?” She said this as she looked at Carrie’s sweatshirt. “ Myers Cleaning Service . I heard of y’all. A man name Willie Charles supervise the night crew, don’t he?”
“Yes,” Carrie said. Don’t remind her, she wanted to say.
“I don’t care for him at all.”
Carrie looked at her. “You don’t?”
“I sure don’t. He ain’t my cup of tea. Too fresh for me.”
Carrie smiled. “My name is Carrie,” she said. “Carrie Banks.”
“You ain’t from around here, are you, Carrie?”
“Nope. I’m from Georgia.”
“Georgia? Girl, me too. As if you couldn’t tell by my country behind. What part?”
“Attapulgus. It’s just outside of Bainbridge.”
“Now you ain’t got to tell me where no Attapulgus at. I’m from Clarkston, child, so you know I know where Attapulgus at.”
Carrie laughed. “Yeah, your town isn’t much bigger than mine.”
“Except we got a hospital.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t you worry about being the country girl around here. You gonna find real quick that many of these folks ‘round Jacksonville hail from Georgia or other down home places like that.”
“Is that right?”
“Goodness yes. They be trying to act
The Science of Leonardo: Inside the Mind of the Great Genius of the Renaissance