“Very funny, Violet. I’m miserable and you know it. I’m going to call Red and take him over to the gym to shoot some baskets for a while.” Red was Johnny’s best friend and point guard, also known as Sam Davidson or “the Jewish boy.” They’d all been introduced to the wonders of bar mitzvah through Sam, and she and most of her friends had wanted to convert to his much-more-fun religion at twelve. His hair was a darker version of Alabama clay, and he was the most hilarious person she’d ever met.

“Good,” she replied. “That will cheer you up.”

A long pause. “Not like my original plan for tonight. I love you.”

“I love you, too, with all my heart. Bye.”

At six o’clock sharp Violet raised her hand to knock on the Wilsons’ weathered door, but Chet swung it open before she made knuckle contact.

“Hi, Violet!” he yelled. “Mom, Violet’s here!” Chet smoothed his long dark hair back with one hand and pulled her inside with the other. His huge brown eyes sparkled with excitement, and Violet noticed he was standing ramrod straight to maximize his ten-year-old height. “Mom will be ready in a minute, Violet. Would you like a Coke?”

So suave, he was. Violet knew Mrs. Wilson didn’t have money for a barber shop, but wondered why she couldn’t at least trim the poor kid’s hair. She’d do it herself, but was afraid she’d look out her bedroom window late one night to find Betty Wilson hovering on a broom, casting an evil spell on her.

She adored Chet, but CeeCee was another matter. She followed her mother into the hall, clutching a clay-stained muslin doll and staring at her with openly declared hatred.

“No, thank you, Chet. I’m not thirsty.”

Mrs. Wilson darted her heavily mascaraed eyes at Chet. “We don’t have any Co-colas, Chet.”

“I could go get her one.” He rubbed his bare foot on the dirty boards of their cheap floor.

“No, you cain’t. Now go on back and play. Violet, Mr. Wilson will be home about ten or so. They don’t get anything for supper other than the peas and mashed potatoes on the stove.” She waved her hand at the children. “Y’all go on to the back yard. Now.”

When they were out of earshot she confided, “My husband should have the money to pay you. If he don’t, I’ll bring it over tomorrow. I’m goin’ to visit my Cousin Dewey and his wife. Make ‘em behave.” She was gone before Violet could respond, trailing orange blossom cologne and a touch of whiskey.

Chet was instantly back by her side, tugging her hand. “Come and sit out back, Violet. I’ll show you how high I can jump from.”

“No, you won’t,” she replied. “I need you and your sister to stay in one piece.”