“Folks down on Murphy Street say the swamps are lit up already,” Mona said.
It was late and she was washing up after dinner while her Mama sat at the kitchen table. The heat and the humidity, like the foxfire, had come early this year, and they punished Mrs. Gardner awfully. Mona repeated some of the town gossip as a distraction. She heard her Mama sigh.
“Just like the year your father went away.”