Ruth grasped the lever and began to play as she had seen the girl. In less than a minute her game was over, but the glee—that’s what Jimmy decided it was—in her face was like a revelation. He looked over at Zeke, who was eying it all with suspicion.

After the girl’s game, Ruth played again, faring a little better, and cheering loudly. When the quarter was up she asked Jimmy to reach into her pocketbook and get another. They wound up playing five games, Ruth yelling at the end, declaring that the video game was a treat indeed.

“See, Miss. You’ll be a great player someday.”

Ruth laughed and touched her head. “Thank you, Amy. If I get as good as you I’ll be a mighty good player, yessiree.”

“And what’s your name?”

“I’m Ruth.” They shook hands.

The girl went over to her mother, who gave her a banana and sent her on an errand. Ruth, who Jimmy fathomed had to be monumentally exhausted, walked toward Zeke, who glared at her sternly. His perturbation was unchanged, if anything more intense. She threw her head back again and laughed the hearty laugh of a woman who has gained the right to laugh and cares not who hears or how they might judge it. Wordless, she turned, slower now, but bold as ever, and walked out toward the garage and the falling rain.

When she had gotten outside the door, Zeke made a tisking sound with his mouth. “That’s one curious old woman.”

“Any more curious than you?”

“Don’t vex me, boy.”

“Let me ask you a question, Uncle Zeke. Did you and Grandma raise me to behave the way you’ve behaved today?”

“The way I’ve ‘behaved’ today? And how have I ‘behaved’ today, sir?”

“Spiteful. Selfish. Small. Compassionless.”

“You talk about compassion a lot, young fellow. Know what it means, do you?”

“Yes, I believe I do.”

“And do you know what all forgiveness entails?”

“Well, the Bible says—”

“No. We ain’t talking about the Bible, James Malachai Greene. I’m talking about you. What you know. What you understand. Do you understand what forgiveness is?”

“You got to lay something down.”

“You got to lay something down, and you got to leave it there, don’t you?” Zeke sighed and peered into the rain. “It takes right smart of a man to forgive, and I’ll tell you, boy. I don’t know if this old man is man enough. Strong enough, to walk to way I ought. That surprise you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You suppose to be my preacher.” He chuckled to himself. “And you been telling me how shamed you been of me?” Zeke raised his eyebrow toward him, staring. He ran his hand over his face. “One day. One day you’ll understand. One day you’ll know.”