Mary Beth slowed the car even more, leaning over a little to admire the cascade of pink blooms trellised over the restaurant’s big front window. It was impossible to see inside.

“Bet that’s a nice place for dinner.”

“It was back then. Parr and Bobby Joe’s dad used to take me there once in a while.”

“Want to go in?”

“No.” There was something wistful in Alma’s expression. “I’m still full from breakfast.”

A nibbled mini-muffin and a cup of coffee didn’t support that statement.

“Okay. Maybe later. We could go to a diner. How about that one?”

Trucks and cars were pulled up in front of a bustling eatery. Mary Beth read the sign aloud. “Visit Red Vinyl Diner for red velvet cake. Our burgers are the best and our shakes are simply super!”

Alma nodded. “That was true. And everyone used to go there too. But I expect it’s under new ownership.”

“Could be even better,” Mary Beth said, realizing that Alma’s energy had faded noticeably. “Want to go in?”

“I don’t think so, honey. Tell you what. Let’s pick up cold cuts and rolls at the convenience store and we can have ourselves a picnic somewhere pretty.”

“All right. Whatever works for you.”

Alma reclined her seat a little. “My back is hurting. I don’t want to limp in with a cane and have people make a fuss. What if I see someone I used to know? Then I have to explain the accident and . . . well, I’m just not up for any of that.”

Mary Beth didn’t argue with the rambling explanation. And she was fine with whatever Alma preferred. The convenience store was just down the street and she went in to get the food.

She’d left the key in the ignition and the windows rolled up so the air-conditioning would stay on for Alma’s comfort. When Mary Beth exited the store, she saw that the passenger side visor was down, even though the car was parked on the shady side of the street. It was almost like Alma was hiding.

Mary Beth wasn’t going to ask why. Maybe coming back here made Alma feel suddenly older than her years. But, Mary Beth guessed, more likely it had to do with whatever had happened that had caused the Westons to leave Brickell.

Mary Beth opened her door and slid in, handing a bulging plastic bag of sandwich makings and soda to Alma. “Sliced ham. Fresh rolls. Mayonnaise. Plus two bananas and a couple of moon pies,” she said.

Alma chuckled. “Good Lord. I shouldn’t eat all that. But I’m going to try.” She settled the bag in her lap. “The road out of town is that way.”