“You’re so full of yourself, Zeke. See, cause I know. I was there. I know how you turned your own brother away from your doorstep, him sick and in pain.”

“Lies.”

“You and your sister. Him sick and in the bed for months, and neither you nor that sanctified sister of yours set one foot in the house to see about him.”

“Don’t talk ill of the dead, gal.”

“Piss on the dead.”

“You a hateful, wicked old witch, Ruth Cross.”

“I ain’t no Cross, damn it. I’m a Davis. That’s what I was born, you old fool.”

“Don’t call me old, you broken-down old heifer. Look at you. You the one old.”

“Hypocrite!”

“Liar!”

The waitress came with the apple pie as Ruth struggled to get up. “I ain’t hungry.” The waitress grimaced, and Jimmy noticed a twitching in her forearm as if she were refraining from throwing the pie at Ruth.

Ruth finally stood after a great effort and peered down at Zeke. “The truth will come to the light.” She turned to Jimmy. “Boy, I’ll be in the car.” And she turned as swiftly as she was able and hobbled toward the door. Jimmy realized that everyone in the cafe was aware of Ruth’s departure, watching her painful progress. A white man sitting near the door opened it for her. Slowly, she disappeared, her back undulating in turtlelike rhythm.

Jimmy sat fingering his tea glass. “I’m ashamed of you, Uncle Zeke.”

“You? Ashamed of me? Boy, I—”

“Now, listen, Uncle Zeke. Aunt Ruth got her ways, I know it. But she’s been through a lot. You of all people should know how to show some compassion. Some understanding.”

With disbelief Zeke regarded Jimmy. He sat back and spoke slowly. “‘She’s been through a lot’? What about you? What about me? My Lord. I declare, I’m tired, just tired, of putting up with that old crow’s acid ways. ‘She’s been through a lot’? Shoot.” He reached for his glass.

Jimmy stood, dejected. “We all have.” He reached into his pocket, dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and walked out the door thinking, being the minister, he should perhaps have been more stern with his great uncle. Wondering how.

By the time Jimmy got to the car, Ruth was already sitting there in the backseat staring straight ahead. As he stood there, before the door, before her, he realized once again that he had no idea what he should say to her, how he should say it, or if, indeed, he should say anything at all. But he felt, somewhere in the place that spurred him on as a minister, that he should speak. So he opened the car door. She would not look at him.

“You okay, Aunt Ruth?”