“A seventeen-year-old girl with no husband and no income would have been ruined in this town in 1971.”

“You didn’t protect me,” I said.

“You protected Mama’s front pew.”

He reached a hand toward my shoulder, but I stepped back before his coat sleeve could brush mine.

“Stay away from the funeral home Tuesday,” I said.

“If you try to walk up to that casket, I’ll lay that perfect satin gown right across Mama’s chest in front of every elder in this county.”

“How is Arthur going to take the christening gown?” he asked, his voice cracking on the lawyer’s name.