Petunia Greer was the impoverished single mother of four children under the age of eight, surviving off monthly welfare checks and her job at the local supermarket. She woke at five every morning to the blare of her alarm and rolled out of bed, tugging on the bright red polo shirt, black slacks, and black apron that made up her uniform for work.
It was like clockwork. Every morning, at six sharp, Evelyn would rise from her bed and stumble into my arms.
“Grace, darling,” she’d laugh in that husky, sweet voice of hers, “you have to hear about the dream I just had.” I would always listen to her elaborate dreams, smiling softly up at her while she played with my soft brown curls, and all I…[Read more]