“Of course it was not money really; there was a man who’d almost married her, a lost job, a car stolen from their parking lot. The schools, the neighborhood, even the weather seemed to play into the decision. Milwaukee was a city with no jobs, Yvonne said, and cold in winter, ice reaching into the gray lake. Maybe it was time to try Chicago (Miss Fisk didn’t say it was the same lake, the same cold, the same city finally). Yvonne called her night after night, sometimes swearing bitterly, sometime...s crying, and Miss Fisk could not say no. He was ten when he came, a wick-thin boy with a high forehead and tiny ears. He had turn, a brisk way of saying “Ma’am” and “You’re welcome” that she recognized as her own—a gift her daughter had passed on to him. He was a bright child, talkative, and quick to pick up on what she needed. He didn’t cry when his mother got in the dented Chevy and drove away. At supper he ate everything on his plate and then asked if he could watch TV if he did the dishes.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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