“The good Lord’s tryin’ to tell you somethin’,” the preacher baritoned to the cowed parishioners. Claude rolled his eyes. More fire and brimstone, he supposed.
“You live your life like Sister Monica, you’re goin’ to suffer for it. The lesson of Sodom and Gomorroh …”
He droned on but Claude couldn’t listen any longer. He just wanted to report back to Molly what Mona’s funeral had been like. Besides the hell-breathing preacher, it was rather pretty here in Mobile, this spring day back in ’40. And Molly’s family … well, they treated him real nice when he told them he came as one of Mona’s friends from the city. They didn’t care if he was the only white folk at the funeral.
But Claude didn’t know what to tell Molly when he got back to Aunt Emily’s. From the looks of it, Mona led a pretty colorful existence. How would he tell Molly about the row upon row of weeping male lovers at the funeral?
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