Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit Read Online Free PDF

you be using our savior’s name for your personal playground. And besides, you look beautiful. Those big soulful eyes like your daddy’s. With your hair like that, I see a bit of your mama poking around the edges.”
    When an Italian man marries a Mississippi girl, that girl’s genes get kind of buried in her children. I’ve got mydad’s dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, too-thick eyebrows and eyelashes—which are a bonus, I guess—his unfortunate nose, and his propensity to talk a bit with his hands. But no one ever tells me I look like my mother.
    â€œReally?” I touch my hair without really meaning to.
    â€œYes, child.” She puts her hand under my chin. “Those pretty pouty lips and that jawline. Even those delicate little ears. Your mama was a joy, just like you.”
    I guess that’s the other reason I love Althea. She’s a repository of memories that I don’t have. Whereas Dad’s stories of my mom are always choked with emotion, hers are tender and kind and paint a picture for me.
    â€œSo what is this new look you’re cooking? A fresh start?”
    â€œSomething like that,” I say. I go ahead and tell her my deal, and I can see the storm clouds brewing under her brow.
    â€œI’m going to have to have me a talk with your father. That’s like asking you not to shine a light under your bushel. Your daddy knows better than that. You are the perfect embodiment of God’s plan.” Then her eyes crinkle. “But it is nice to see you in something other than black, and I am sure you are going to charm the listeners with your sweet voice.”
    I walk across the room and pour myself a cup of coffeefrom the Bunn machine. “That part makes it worth it.” I twirl. “And I do look different, don’t I?”
    Our conversation cuts short when the door opens.
    It’s Three and her mother.
    Mrs. Foley, my new grandmother, stiffens the moment she enters the reception area, but when she looks at me she does a double take. “Joanna.”
    I’m not sure how to read her tone, but I tamp down any sarcasm. The night my dad and I made our agreement, I promised to be on my best behavior with his new in-laws. “Hello, Mrs. Foley.”
    â€œHi, Althea,” Three says, acknowledging me with a wiggle of fingers. “Is Anthony recording?”
    â€œNo, dear. He’s writing. If he’s recording you’ll see a little red light lit above the recording room door. He’s given me express instructions to always send you on back, though.”
    She turns to me. “First day, okay?”
    I shrug. “Good enough. No waves.”
    With that, she nods and I’m left in the room between Althea and Mrs. Foley. A cage match made in heaven.
    â€œWell.” Mrs. Foley sniffs around the room like she’s trying to ferret out the divine. “Do you attend real church, Joanna?”
    â€œWhy yes, ma’am. Right here at Wings of Love.” Afteryears in Atlanta, and my dad hailing from Maryland, my accent is what you might call neutral, but this woman draws the syrup out of me. And she can’t really call my dad out on not being a real pastor, because, you know, he put a ring on it. That would be poor taste. There’s one thing Mrs. Foley would never do, and that’s display poor taste.
    â€œBut there’s no youth group. My Elizabeth so enjoyed her hours spent with the other teenagers at Foundation Baptist.”
    Three and my father emerge from the back. “Virginia.” My dad reaches his arms out for Mrs. Foley. She lets him pull her into an awkward hug. “So good to see you.”
    â€œAnd you, Anthony.” She pulls back and straightens her dress. “I was talking to your Joanna about our youth group. Though I’m sure you deliver her all the good word she needs, there’s something that can’t replace the physical closeness of a group of fellow teens in