A Good Man is Hard to Find

The Grandmother didnt want to go to Florida. She wanted to visit some of her connections in east Tennessee and she was seizing at every chance to change Baileys mind. Bailey was the son she lived with, her only boy. He was sitting on the edge of his chair at the table, bent over the orange sports section of the Journal. Now look here, Bailey, she said, see here, read this, and she stood with one hand on her thin hip and the other rattling the newspaper at his bald head. Here this fellow that calls himself The Misfit is aloose from the Federal Pen and headed toward Florida and you read here what it says he did to these people. Just you read it. I wouldnt take my children in any direction with a criminal like that aloose in it. I couldnt answer to my conscience if I did.
Bailey didnt look up from his reading so she wheeled around then and faced the childrens mother, a young woman in slacks, whose face was as broad and innocent as a cabbage and was tied around with a green head-kerchief that had two points on the top like rabbits ears. She was sitting on the sofa, feeding the baby his apricots out of a jar. The children have been to Florida before, the old lady said. You all ought to take them somewhere else for a change so they would see different parts of the world and be broad. They never have been to east Tennessee.

Contos