By Susan Gregg Gilmore
Occasionally you'll want to go back to where the place you begun, to reach on the position the place you belong.It’s the early Nineteen Seventies. town of Ringgold, Georgia, has a inhabitants of 1,923, one site visitors gentle, one Dairy Queen, and one Catherine Grace Cline. The daughter of Ringgold’s third-generation Baptist preacher, Catherine Grace is quick-witted, greater than a bit obdurate, and demise to flee her small-town life.Every Saturday afternoon, she sits on the Dairy Queen, consuming Dilly Bars and plotting her getaway to the large urban of Atlanta. And whilst, with assistance from a kinfolk pal, the dream turns into a truth, Catherine Grace instantly packs her baggage, leaving her relations and the boy she likes to declare the lifestyles she’s continually imagined. yet prior to issues have even started to get off the floor in Atlanta, tragedy brings her again domestic. As a chain of amazing occasions alters her perspective–and sweeping alterations come to Ringgold itself–Catherine Grace starts off to wonder whether her position on the earth may very well be, opposed to all odds, correct the place she started.
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Extra resources for Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen
As I dabbed the corner of my eye with my fingertip, the doorbell rang, sparing me from any further embarrassment. It was Hank, and even though I was used to seeing him almost every day, tonight he looked particularly handsome, like some kind of movie star. He was wearing a brown tuxedo and a soft pink shirt he had picked out to match my dress. And in his hand, he was holding a corsage made of tiny pink sweetheart roses. “Good evening, Mr. Cline, Martha Ann, Mrs. Graves,” he said. Then he looked at me and, like Daddy, he just stared.
I just kept staring out the window, looking straight ahead, not looking back. The driver yanked the door shut, revved the engine, and then steered the bus onto the main highway. He was barely out of the parking lot when a red pickup truck came barreling down the other side of the road, forcing the bus driver to swerve his Greyhound off onto the dirt shoulder. “Holy crap,” the driver shouted. But I knew that truck. I came out of my seat and pushed my way to the other side of the bus, leaning over some poor old man.
So many other things were never going to stay the same, and this morning was one of them. I'd been praying for this day for as long as I could remember, and now that it was here, all I wanted to do was crawl under my covers and pretend it was any other day. I couldn't help but think of Moses. He was certain the Lord had chosen the wrong man to lead His people out of slavery, and I wondered if I really had what it took to up and leave the only land I had ever known. But then I figured if Moses could question the Lord's intentions out-right, surely it was natural for me to feel a little shaky about my pending exodus, now that the day had finally come.