Linda folded the photograph into her pocket. She stood up.
Her mother was thinner than memory allowed. She sat in a recliner under a crocheted blanket, even though it was July. Her hands were bird-bones wrapped in skin. bitter in the mouth pdf
When the letter arrived—typewritten, no return address—Linda knew before she opened it. The envelope itself tasted of pennies and rust. Bitter , she thought, and the word tasted like the rind of an unripe persimmon, that mouth-drying, teeth-furring kind of bitter that makes you pucker and want to spit. Linda folded the photograph into her pocket
Her mother laughed, a dry rattle. “Your father. Yes. He wasn’t your father. Not biologically. I was already pregnant when we met. He knew. He stayed anyway. Raised you anyway. Loved you anyway.” She paused. “I never told you because I liked that you thought he left us . He left me. He never left you.” She sat in a recliner under a crocheted
“Where are you going?” her mother asked.