BONUS: This edition contains an excerpt from Pearl Cleage's Just Wanna Testify and a Till You Hear from Me discussion guide.
From the acclaimed Pearl Cleage, author of What Looks Like Crazy on an Ordinary Day . . . and Seen It All and Done the Rest, comes an Obama-era romance featuring a cast of unforgettable characters.
Just when it appears that all her hard work on Barack Obama’s presidential campaign is about to pay off with a White House job, thirty-five-year-old Ida B. Wells Dunbar finds herself on Washington, D.C.’s post-election sidelines even as her twentysomething counterparts overrun the West Wing. Adding to her woes, her father, the Reverend Horace A. Dunbar, Atlanta civil rights icon and self-described “foot soldier for freedom,” is notoriously featured on an endlessly replayed YouTube clip in which his pronouncements don’t exactly jibe with the new era in American politics.
The Rev’s stinging words and myopic views don’t sound anything like the man who raised Ida to make her mark in the world. When friends call to express their concern, Ida realizes it’s time to head home and see for herself what’s going on. Besides, with her job prospects growing dimmer, getting out of D.C. for a while might be the smartest move she could make.
Back in her old West End neighborhood, Ida runs into childhood friend and smooth political operator Wes Harper, also in town to pay a visit to the Reverend Dunbar, his mentor. Ida doesn’t trust Wes or his mysterious connections for one second, but she can’t deny her growing attraction to him.
While Ida and the Rev try to find the balance between personal loyalties and political realities, they must do some serious soul searching in order to get things back on track before Wes permanently derails their best laid plans.
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|Title of Science Fiction eBook: Till You Hear from Me|
|Release Date: 04-20-2010|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: One World|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||Till You Hear from Me|
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Till You Hear from Me
Tacos and Sangria
When the phone rang at 5:25 a.m., I was already up, pretending to meditate. Miss Iona didn’t even wait for me to say hello.
“You have to come home.”
“I am home,” I said.
“That is where you live. This is home and you know it. I called you last night. Where were you?”
“Probably somewhere minding my own business,” I said. “And good morning to you, too.”
Miss Iona Williams had been my parents’ friend for as long as I could remember. On a lot of the nights when my father would be out late at meetings and my mother was defiantly finishing up her graduate studies, it was Miss Iona who came to sit with me and fix me dinner and hear my prayers and tuck me in. When my mom left the Rev and moved to the West Coast, he got custody of Miss Iona. She’s one of the few people he cannot intimidate, although he never stops trying.
Five years ago, at sixty plus, she got married for the first time to Charles Larson, but refused to take his name.
“I’m not trying to make a statement,” she had explained to my mother who tried to offer feminist congratulations at the wedding. “I just don’t see the point.”
Miss Iona wasn’t maternal in the traditional sense of being motherly. She was more like a really great friend who never took any shit from you, but never gave you any either. When my mom was being too ideological and my father was being too omnipotent, I always knew I could trust Miss Iona to give it to me straight.
“Good morning, good morning, good morning! Did I wake you?” she said without waiting for ...