Had he been . . . Had he been . . . Had he been . . . But he wasn’t.

—Jethro. Jethro?

—Yeah.

—Come on in and eat your supper.

—I be in directly.

—But it’ll get c . . .

—I said, directly, Ruth.

—But, Jethro . . . what’s wrong with you . . . you . . . what you crying for?

—Leave me be, woman. Just leave me be.

—Jethro? Is you sick? Is there something the matter? The children . . .

—No. No. No, now leave me be.

—But Jethro, it ain’t natural for you to go off crying by yourself. Something’s got to be the matter.

— . . .

—You need money? You sick?

—Woman—

—No, you gone tell me, now . . .

— . . .

—Jethro.

—I . . . I didn’t want it to be this way.

—What way, Jethro?

—I didn’t want you to live in such a bad way. I don’t deserve you. You . . . you don’t deserve me. I ain’t worthy of you, Ruth. And I don’t know what to do about it. I just don’t. I try to do better. I sure do . . . but I fall. I’m weak. And look at you. Look at you.

—You . . . we’ll just have to keep trying hard. That’s all. Just keep on. Just keep on and don’t quit—

—You a good woman, but you don’t understand, do you? You don’t understand.

Oh, but I did. I did.

It’s hard to look at him. He’s so tired. So anxious to take wings and go. She too is tired, has been tired, day in and day out, tired for longer than she cares to remember. Soon, Asa. Soon and very soon. Neither one of us will be tired much longer.

“Well, I thank you all for coming.” Asa’s eyes are crying, even though no tears happen to fall. “Drive careful, now.”

The woman across the way is dozing; her son has gone. A short man, the color of fertile soil, mops the hall floor outside the room. There is something comforting in the slick, wet rhythmical sound of the mop head slipping across the floor. She can smell the ammonia, fresh and new.

It is time to leave.

“Well, Asa,” she says, “you rest, now. You hear? Just rest. Everything gone be all right.”

“I know it will, gal.” He winks at her and smiles. “I know it.”

Tisha Anne escorts them down the hall, Zeke in front, Ruth behind, Jimmy on the left, Tisha on the right.

“Papa looks better than he looked in a long time.”

“Does he?” Zeke asks.

“Yes, sir. He does.”

“Gal, what the doctors say?” Zeke peeks in each room as he walks by, waving and nodding howdy to everyone who catches his eye.

“Now, what you want to know what the doctors say for?” Ruth does not look up, merely turning her head sharply as if listening to the ground.

“Now, Ruth—”

“Now, Ruth, nothing.”