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Luck of the Draw

Luck of the Draw OF ThE DRaw elAiNe FOWleR PAleNCiA luCk hen the doorbell rang that early January afternoon in 1967, Florene Mullins had just turned on the two table lamps in the living room. The winter day was shading into twilight and shadows pooled in the corners, making her feel blue. She was considering fixing pork chops and fried potatoes for supper. A good, substantial meal, she thought. That would cheer them both up. Bill had taken sardines and crackers with him for lunch. She opened the front door to find Roy McCoy Jr. standing on the porch. He had a folded newspaper tucked under his arm. "Hello. Come in," she said, confused. She had known Roy for years, but he had never been in their house, nor they in his. What did he want? Roy was a rich man. He was dressed for the bank, in suit and tie. "How do, neighbor. Wonder if I could take a minute of your time," said Roy, stepping inside and looking around with interest. The house smelled of bacon, wood ash, and laundry detergent. It was the smell of his early life in the neighborhood. As a boy, he had played in and http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

Luck of the Draw

Palencia, Elaine Fowler
Appalachian Review , Volume 43 (1) – Nov 16, 2015
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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
1940-5081
Publisher site
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Abstract

OF ThE DRaw elAiNe FOWleR PAleNCiA luCk hen the doorbell rang that early January afternoon in 1967, Florene Mullins had just turned on the two table lamps in the living room. The winter day was shading into twilight and shadows pooled in the corners, making her feel blue. She was considering fixing pork chops and fried potatoes for supper. A good, substantial meal, she thought. That would cheer them both up. Bill had taken sardines and crackers with him for lunch. She opened the front door to find Roy McCoy Jr. standing on the porch. He had a folded newspaper tucked under his arm. "Hello. Come in," she said, confused. She had known Roy for years, but he had never been in their house, nor they in his. What did he want? Roy was a rich man. He was dressed for the bank, in suit and tie. "How do, neighbor. Wonder if I could take a minute of your time," said Roy, stepping inside and looking around with interest. The house smelled of bacon, wood ash, and laundry detergent. It was the smell of his early life in the neighborhood. As a boy, he had played in and

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Nov 16, 2015

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