“I don’t see why your mother seeks to nurse the inconsolable,” murmurs Dougie.
He wears a good brand of earplugs to dilute the shrill notes, so Ernestine doesn’t bother to answer. Instead, she gazes more intently at the blue air buoying white billows of evaporated water they are inserting into the seams to make the red/black/yellow/blue plaid dress spacious enough for her ready, ripe body.
Certain things in the past need to be rectified. She knows when her mother sees the red velvet sash holding in pieces of the sky, she’ll stop yelling.