There are six or eight of her cousins and uncles out here and no women except, now, herself. Warren she finds sitting on the edge of the porch silking corn into a paper bag on the ground. He wears khaki shorts, and sneakers, and no shirt. Sweat beads on his broad tanned back. She sits down beside him and takes up an ear of corn to shuck and silk.
Cigarette smoke hangs in the humid air with talk of baseball, stock cars, jobs.
Katherine's son Josh sits slicing a cantaloupe, scraping the seeds into a bucket in the grass. This from his father, C.M., who leans, round and idle, against a post. Kythryn's still just a woman-child. Flitting around like a butterfly to bring some color to everbody's life. Why, she's not even a little mother yet.