I rode home that evening with Malcolm in the car. He did not speak except to curse other drivers as he moved his shoulders into the seat.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Look, are we going to have anything for dinner? I’m starving. Have you got something to cook?”

“I don’t know. Stop by the store and get some French bread. We’ll make garlic bread and salad. Go to the Piggly-Wiggly in Maywood.” We turned off the highway and found the store and Malcolm went in with me and we bought bread and salad things and took them to the counter.

“We’re spending too much money,” he said. “We can’t spend this much money every day.”

“Yes, we can. Daddy doesn’t want me down here in Atlanta starving. Go get some ice cream. I haven’t had any ice cream in a week.”

“You go get it if you want it. I’m tired, Rhoda. I’ve been studying all day when I wasn’t in class. I don’t want to spend all night in this store.” I left him in the checkout lane and went back to the freezer and found some chocolate ice cream. On the way back, I stopped in the liquor department and got a bottle of sherry. I can’t stand it, I was thinking. It’s terrible. All he does is fuss at me. I can’t stand it here. I’ve been working all day and now I have to cook dinner for him and he still won’t love me. He won’t even go get ice cream for me. He’s the most selfish person I ever met in my life. He never thinks about me. All he thinks about is himself. He thinks I’m his slave.

I walked back to the checkout counter and added the ice cream and sherry to the things in the cart. “Oh, God,” he said. “Now you’re going to start drinking. It’s Tuesday night, Rhoda. We’re not going to start drinking on school nights.”