An unopened book is a tease that can lead to disappointment. But here is one that delivers. It’s well-written and as deep as a blue-water swimming hole that kids used to flock to, before everyone put up no trespassing signs, afraid of liability.
It’s a book that transports you to a time and place: 1979 on Pisgah Ridge in North Carolina, a community where “there were no blacks… Sure there were the ones who cleaned our houses and mowed our lawns, but they all left on the last bus” to return to the town in the valley. “And they knew enough to never miss that ride down.&rdq