I had never considered until then that colored people could blush, or maybe it was anger that turned June’s face and ears such a dark plum color.
On Sunday I thought they would go to church, but no, they held a special service in the pink house, and people came to them. It was a group called the Daughters of Mary, which August had organized.
The only part of the day I dreaded was dinner, when I had to be around June. You’d think anybody who played music for dying people would be a nicer person. I couldn’t understand why she resented me so much. Somehow even me being white and imposing on their hospitality didn’t seem enough reason.