Marissa Green

The Reckoning

The Reckoning It was late April when Winnie’s turquoise thunderbird sped down our dirt road in a cloud of dust. The sky was blue, bluer than a robin’s egg, and the grass was still damp from the storm the night before that had all of us huddled in the cellar. I stood on the front porch and watched her with my arms crossed over my chest, loose dress tickling my ankles.