Alma shook her head, still smiling. “I’ll tell you what started it. I got all fired up when I thought about my birthday coming up. I’m going to be seventy. Seemed like high time for me to deal with a lot of things I’ve been putting off for too long.”

“I understand.”

“So anyway, Sheila Palmer, an old friend of mine from Brickell, called last night. She wants to sell her house this year and she was going through the shelves in her garage. Lo and behold, she found boxes of photos and knickknacks I stashed there years ago. I’d forgotten all about them.”

That must have been when the Westons left, never to return. Mary Beth stuck to practical considerations. “How many boxes? My car isn’t that big.”

“Sheila said there were about five or six. As I remember, they were on the small side and none of them were heavy. It’s just that she doesn’t know what I want and what I don’t want. So I have to go look, at least.”

Alma lifted the pitcher of sweet tea nestled in a bowl of ice on the table, looking at Mary Beth first. “Wet your whistle?”

“No thanks.”

The older woman poured herself a small glass, drinking it with a thoughtful expression. “Do you know the town?”

“No. I don’t think I’ve ever driven out that way.”

“It’s real country. Brickell is about fifty miles west of Iminga. It’s much smaller, though, and it’s so pretty. There’s lots of trees—giant old tupelos and loblolly pines. And bald cypress down by the water. It’s a whole lot cooler than here, that’s for damn sure.”

Mary Beth’s automatic thought was for Bobby Joe. If he came back while she was gone, he could manage without her, now that he had been cleared to drive again, at least on local streets. She wanted to avoid him and this was an easy way out, just like the fishing trip. He hadn’t wasted any time hitting the road. Mary Beth figured she might as well.

“Sounds nice. I could really use a mini vacation.”

Her answer must not have sounded nonchalant enough. Alma’s forehead furrowed with concern. “You mean that, Mary Beth? How bad has it been?”

“Not that bad. I don’t want to complain.”

“Oh, go ahead. Better let off some steam.” The older woman clasped her hands on the table. “I know Bobby Joe has had his ups and downs since he got out of the hospital. Seems to me he’s not himself yet. But I believe he’ll recover fully.”

Mary Beth gave a slight nod. When and if that happened was anyone’s guess.

Alma’s gaze seemed troubled. “But that’s not all I’m worried about. You’re not the same either.”

“What do you mean?”