by Eugie Foster
Calling the northbound traffic on Georgia 400 a crawl was an insult to all crawling things. Tortoises could have overtaken them without breaking a sweat. Ronnie wondered briefly if tortoises sweated, but then she regretted it. Thinking about sweating tortoises made her acutely conscious of the perspiration soaking her pantyhose and the sticky feel of the vinyl seat against her skin.
“We’re going to be late.” Don gripped the steering wheel of their timeworn Honda Civic. His face matched his voice, grim and resigned.
“Will they wait for us?” Patsy asked from the back seat.
Ronnie flipped down her sun visor with its inset makeup mirror. As far as makeup went, she couldn’t think of a better way of turning herself into a Tammy Fay Baker casualty than to apply it in a moving vehicle. But the little mirror was perfect for keeping tabs on kids in the back.
Patsy’s golden pigtails drooped, wilting with perspiration, but her bright blue eyes glittered eagerly. “I don’t want to miss seeing Uncle Henry’s body.”