Abigail’s POV
"Momma?" I asked. "What are you doing here?"
Momma was barely taller than me, but she could not make it past Elle's height. Her fiery eyes and booming voice would still rock mountains, and this could frighten anyone. Elle squeezed my hand for security, but I pulled mine away like an animal freeing itself from a cage. Momma couldn't notice the tenderness we had around each other.
"Well, if you went to church with me on Sundays," she put her hands on her hips. "You would know we're having a picnic in a month, and Marsha asked me to find a nice location."
"That sounds so nice," I smiled. "I hope the weather is nice!"
"Don't try to change the subject, young lady." She saw right through my plan.
"Hey!" Elle stepped a foot in front of me, shielding me from Momma's scolding. "Abby isn't a child anymore, lay off of her."
“Elle, no," I whispered.
"Yes, but Abby is my child." She emphasized the "my" by placing a hand on her chest. "I'm looking out for her."