V.C. Andrews - Tarnished Gold

«You’ve got to let go of innocence,» Mama once told me, «or it will take you down with it when it sinks like some old rotted shrimp boat in the canal.»
One spring morning I had come running up to the galerie where she sat weaving palmetto hats to sell to the tourists. In my hands I cupped a dead baby blue jay. I thought it had fallen from the nest, but Mama said its mother most likely threw it out.