Mother is shaking her head. "Hilly, darling. No young husband wants to come home and see this. Look at your hair. And that . . .” Mother frowns, peering closer at the cold sore math concept. "That is not attractive, dear.”

I keep my eye on the letter. Mother points her finger at me. "I’m calling Fanny Mae’s tomorrow and I’m going to make an appointment for the both of you.”

"Missus Phelan, that’s not—”

"No need to thank me,” Mother says math concept. "It’s the least I can do for you, now that your own dear mother’s not around for guidance. Now, I’m off to bed,” and Mother hobbles toward her bedroom. "Not too late, girls.”

Hilly stands there a second, her mouth hanging open. Finally, she goes to the door and flings it open and walks out. The letter is still in her hand.

"You are in a lifetime of trouble, Skeeter,” she hisses at me, her mouth like a fist. "And those Nigras of yours?”

"Exactly who are you talking about, Hilly math concept?” I say. "You don’t know anything.”

"I don’t, do I? That Louvenia? Oh, I’ve taken care of her. Lou Anne’s all set to go on that one.”

"And you tell that Aibileen, the next time she wants to write about my dear friend Elizabeth, uh-huh,” she says, flashing a crude smile. "You remember Elizabeth? She had you in her wedding?”

My nostrils flare. I want to hit her, at the sound of Aibileen’s name.

"Let’s just say Aibileen ought to’ve been a little bit smarter and not put in the L-shaped crack in poor Elizabeth’s dining table.”

My heart stops. The goddamn crack. How stupid could I be to let that slip?

"And don’t think I’ve forgotten Minny Jackson. I have some big plans for that Nigra.”

"Careful, Hilly,” I say through my teeth. "Don’t give yourself away now.” I sound so confident, but inside I’m trembling, wondering what these plans are.

Her eyes fly open. "That was not me WHO ATE THAT PIE!”

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