“Aunt Ruth!” Jimmy already appears nervous. There’s that tone in his voice as though he were talking to children in school and not a grown woman, but she also detects . . . impatience? “I want to know too.”

“They say Papa’s heart just ain’t got the strength to keep on much longer. That’s all. He done had two heart attacks, as you know. He’s just lucky he ain’t had no stroke . . . yet.”

“They say it’s a possibility?”

“Yes, sir. They do.”

“Uh-uh.” Zeke shakes his head as the elevator doors slide open, his eyes focusing through the back of the wall.

“Well, you happy now?” As Ruth steps in, the elevator door begins to close on her, and before Tisha Anne or Jimmy can grab it, it knocks into her, sends her careening into Jimmy’s arms. And instantly she begins thrashing like a fish out of water, striking him about the arms and chest.

“Aunt Ruth! Aunt Ruth! What is the matter with you?”

“Ain’t nothing the matter with me. Just tell them to fix these damn elevators. My stick. My stick. Give me my stick. I want my stick.”

Jimmy grabs her by the shoulders and stares into her eyes. “Aunt Ruth, why are you hitting me?”

She stops and is aware of everyone staring, the orderlies, a white man in an orange tweed coat and a woman with him, Zeke, Tisha Anne, and she wants to tell him, she wants to spit in his face, yell, scream, and tell him how much she despises him, how much she resents him, his grandmother, his Uncle Zeke, his whole damn family, but she is too stunned by his sudden display of . . . of what? . . . strength?

“Boy, who you think you talking to? One of them snot-nosed youngins from your school?” He looks away, embarrassed. “Give me my stick.”

Tisha Anne hands it to her, and when Jimmy attempts to lend Ruth a hand, she merely stares at it and steps into the elevator.

Zeke looks at her, his mouth agape. “Ruth, you didn’t have to talk to the boy like that. He was just—”

“Leave me be, Zeke. Just leave me be.”