the thinker. When I woke up yesterday Momma was in my room asleep in the big recliner from our living room. How long had that been there? She was dressed in her grey suit, the one she wore when she and Ms. Harriet went to New York City to go shopping and see shows, the formal looking one where she could pass for a model from the forties. She had lines in her face that I swear weren't there two weeks ago. She looked bad. Momma always looks more elegant than anything and I think I figured out right there that it's how she acted more than how she looked. She is elegant, even looking tired.
While she slept and the rest of the hospital started to wake up I thought about what's happened and what it must be doing to her. She likes Mr. Gill. Liked, I mean. She and Dad and Ms. Harriet were a team. They did everything together. Poor Ms. Harriet.
I searched my brain to come up with where Terry might be or why he might've snapped so to do such a thing. He didn't really kill Gill, did he? He's a runt. He couldn't overpower Gill's lower lip in a fair fight let alone kill him. There's more to it than that, there's gotta be.
"You okay, hon?" Momma was groggy. Her eyes looked like little slits. "You look like you need to go poop."
"Just thinkin', Momma." Come to think of it, I do need to poop.