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for another cigarette she didn’t want. It explained the troubled eyes, Brie’s thinness. All she could think of to say was, “Why didn’t you call me? I would have packed up and gone to California. I don’t know what good I would have been, but I would have tried to comfort you. I know you, Brie, you went through it alone, didn’t you? Oh, damn you, Brie—why? You don’t have to prove anything to anybody. I’m not even going to ask for details. I know you did what you had to do. I also know you were cleared. Am I right?”
    Brie nodded. “At the time it seemed . . . I was outside of it for a while. Yes, I was cleared. I wanted to call. God, you have no idea how bad I wanted to call, but you all had your own problems. I did call Bode one night. His threat to come and get me was all I needed. Don’t take it personally, Sela. It was something I had to work through on my own. I’m okay, I really am. I’ll never forget it as long as I live, but I can live with it. I told Pearl when I got here. Telling Pearl something is like getting instant absolution. You know what I’m talking about.”
    “Do I ever. C’mere,” Sela said, opening her arms to her friend.
    “You aren’t half as good as Pearl, but you sure smell nice.” Brie giggled. “Sela, do you ever . . . what’s the word I’m looking for here? Do you ever marvel at the fact that our friendship has withstood the test of time? Twenty-five . . . or is it twenty-six years? That’s a quarter of a century. Is it because we shared so many yesterdays? Was it Pearl, or Callie and Bode? Was it because we were white trash and all the kids called us that so we couldn’t deny it? Callie certainly thought so. Said it in a lot of little ways without actually coming out with the words.”
    “All of the above,” Sela said softly. “Things like that stick forever. I bet you right now, this very minute, if you and I walked down Main Street there would be someone who would remember us, and say, ‘There go those two girls—what’s their names?—oh yes, Sela and Brie. White trash .’ Then they’d cluck their tongues and shake their heads.”
    “I’d never take that bet,” Brie vowed. “Bode rose above it. They don’t say those sorts of things about him.”
    “They might not say anything, but they sure as hell think it—and you damn well know it. Oh, who gives a good rat’s ass.” Sela grinned.
    “Now, that’s the Sela I know and love. Hey, look!”
    Sela turned to stare in the direction Brie was pointing, down the long mossy drive under the oaks. A quarter of the way up she could see a large figure trundling slowly along. “ Pearl! ” she screamed. Her spike-heeled shoes flew in two different directions; her cigarette and purse were also discarded in haste. Brie watched as Sela’s dress hiked up to mid-thigh as she ran to meet Pearl.
    “Welcome home, Sela,” the old housekeeper said, her eyes misty with tears.

2
    It was like a thousand other mornings, this special breakfast time in Pearl’s kitchen. The daisy and assorted greenery Brie had picked earlier stood in the old milk bottle in the center of the table. For just a moment Brie felt overwhelmed by the warm, fragrant kitchen. Her eyes, full of adoration, traveled across to where Pearl was standing. If Pearl walked out the door, the square yellow-and-white room ceased to be anything but a room containing old, outdated appliances and shabby cabinets. When Pearl was in the kitchen, the plants seemed greener, healthier, the pots and pans glistened more, and one no longer saw the cracked, peeling paint. Everything Pearl touched took on a life of its own.
    Pearl’s kitchen.
    “Is Bode coming back for breakfast, Pearl?” Brie asked, sitting down across from Sela. She continued her scrutiny of the kitchen. The room of uncountable memories—the room where tears had been shed and solutions found to hundreds of childhood problems. A happy room of good smells and wonderful food. Pearl’s kitchen,