ride could quickly turn to misery, one
where individual misconduct rippled
across a family’s and a community’s life.
When I asked Mamaw if God loved us, I
asked her to reassure me that this
religion of ours could still make sense of
the world we lived in. I needed
reassurance of some deeper justice,
some cadence or rhythm that lurked
beneath the heartache and chaos.
Not long after Lindsay’s childhood
modeling dream went up in flames, I
was in Jackson with Mamaw and my
cousin Gail on August 2, my eleventh
birthday. Late in the afternoon, Mamaw
advised me to call Bob—still my legal
father—because I hadn’t heard from him