![]() ![]() Mother Roberta acquiesced-she would try to relax. Everything we knew about living, we knew because Mother Roberta had showed us. Twice in one month, we’d had to rummage through bags of trash in search of her false teeth. ![]() She was 81, frail as filament, and had started having bad days. When Father Thaddeus came to Lackawanna, he suggested she might take a break. She embroidered pillows, made punch from powder, wrote the homilies for the priest. Twice a year she sewed our made-to-measure habits from yards of a black poly-wool blend. Every morning she brewed the coffee and every night she cooked the meal. Mother Roberta made the rules: no chewing gum, no bicycles, no tree nuts, no pets. Luchette has received grants and scholarships from MacDowell, Yaddo, the Millay Colony for the Arts, Lighthouse Works, the Elizabeth George Foundation, and the James Merrill House, and has published work in the Virginia Quarterly Review, the Kenyon Review, Ploughshares, and Granta. The following is excerpted from Claire Luchette's debut novel, Agatha of Little Neon, a novel of yearning and sisterhood. ![]()
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