Grace Greene

The next morning Libbie was sore. Her face had blossomed with airbag bruises, but those didn’t hurt much and her lip wasn’t as swollen.
“Send me home”, she insisted. “I’ll hurt no matter where I am, but I’ll hurt more comfortably at home.”

Since Jim, Libbie had discovered she liked solitude better as a treat, not as regular fare. Maybe the difference was in who you were sharing the time with.

Frankly, ma'am, as a group, folks aren't that bright. No one should be surprised we don't understand everything. My mama would say leave it to God.

Hot chocolate was the way to go. Chocolate could be considered medicinal and if it didn't cure you, at least, it tasted good.

She didn’t think she had a lot of stuff, but boxing it up had thought her otherwise.

When you’re old, warm feels good. Good to the bones.