“Miss?” she said to Violet. “Give him time. He needs to adjust to all this. Dr. Deason has arranged for a psychiatrist to see him tomorrow morning.”

“But he will walk again, won’t he?” Violet asked. “He can get better with therapy, right?”

Nurse Meador shook her head. “No, there is no possibility. I’m sorry.”

Red stared at the scuffed linoleum floor and fought down his emotions. He turned to Violet. “Would he talk to me?”

“No. He doesn’t want to see any of us.”

Nurse Meador patted Violet on the shoulder. “He’s young and strong. He will find his way. Pray for him.” She went down the hall, silent as Red’s tears.

“I don’t want to go home,” Violet told him outside. She took a deep, raggedy breath. “Could we get a cup of coffee? I don’t think I could eat anything. The truth is, I could use a cigarette.”

Red produced a pack and shook one out for her, then cupped her hand to light it.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” she said. “You basketball guys are always too concerned about your breathing.”

“Johnny’s a true basketball guy.” Red cringed. “I’m only out there because it’s fun.” He lit a Marlboro and exhaled slowly, contributing to Birmingham’s early evening smog. The western sky was awash in brilliant vermillion and gold. His parents told him “The Magic City” got its name from these exotic sunsets produced by industrial haze. He took Violet by the arm. “Let’s walk. I know a place nearby.”

She attempted a smile for him. “Red, you are the sweetest thing.”

“Would you do something for me, Violet? Something no one but my family will do?”

“Yes.” She cocked her head, puzzled.

“Call me Sam. I hate being called Red.”

Violet gave a weak laugh. “Sam it is. What a pair we sound like, anyway: Violet and Red. That’s bad poetry.”

“Yes, I know.” He wished he could tell her how many times he’d considered that very thing.

Violet snapped him back to reality. “I have to figure out what to do for Johnny.”

“Like the nurse said, we pray for him. Johnny has to make up his mind to get better, Vi. The shrink will help him with that tomorrow.” They started down concrete steps toward the city street, Sam’s hand reflexively grasping Violet’s elbow.

“The little diner near here has excellent pie,” Sam offered. “My parents like to go there.”

“You eat pie. I’m too fat already.” Violet tugged at her narrow belt.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Yep, you’re a tub of lard. That must be why you were Homecoming Queen. Alabamians love girls who look like prize heifers.”

“Thanks, Re...Sam. You’re too good to me.”