Momma seemed glad that Dad stayed

away so much. One day I was sitting 

on the floor of her bedroom cutting 

out paper dolls while she sat at her

vanity and put on makeup. Who

needs him anyway? she said, 

leaning close to the mirror as

smoothed on brightred lipstick

I'll tell you something, Cecelia 

Rose...Northerners are exactly

like their weather--cold and boring.

And do you know that not one single

person in this godforsaken town even 

knows I'm a pageant queen? They're

all a bunch of sticks-in-the-mud just

as like your father. You don't like 

Daddy anymore? No she said turning

to look at me. I don't. He doesn't come

home very much. Where is he Momma.

That old down at the cemetery with one

foot stuck in the grave. And that's another

thing. Never marry an older man. I mean 

it, mean it Ceecee. If an older man ever

 sweeps you off your feet, just get up

and run away as fast as you can. I set

down my scissors. How old is Daddy?

Fifty seven she said rubbing a smudge

of rouge from her cheek. And look 

what he's done to me. She scowled

at her reflection in the mirror and 

shook her head. I'm only thirty three

and I already have lines on my face. 

Your father is nothing but a Yankee

liar. I can't tell you how many promises 

he made just so I'd marry him and move 

up here to this god-awful excuse for a

town. But all those promises amouned to

nothing. A strange icy expression moved

across her face. She gazed down at her 

wedding picture and slowly lifted it from

the vanity. With her tube of lipstick she 

drew a big red X over my dad's face.