“What’s that, Evy?” Mema steps forward, and now they’re all so close it looks like a huddle.

Oh boy.

“Mother, I just called the school to see—” Mom starts.

“Well, Marianne, I thought you knew? Spring semester, my niece tells me. She works over in the office at Lakeview Middle now. Got her secretarial degree just last summer. I told her it’d be better to go to a four-year up over in Norman, but who is she to listen to her old aunt? I said…”

Mema isn’t paying her one bit of attention. She’s turned her head toward Mom like a hawk eyeing a mouse. To Mema’s credit, Mom does look a little mousy right now. I think she’d hide behind me if she could.

Next to me, Grandpa wanders out into the aisle just as the pastor calls for everybody to be seated.

“Mom—”

“Not now, Ellie.” Mom takes a breath that shakes her silky dress. “Mother, I thought it would be best, given the situation, if Ellie and I came to help you out for a bit.”

“Given the situation? Help me out? Who asked you, young lady?” They’re still standing, and they’re getting louder. There are bright spots on Mema’s cheeks, and she’s gripping the back of the pew like she’ll pull it up in one go.

I can’t see Grandpa anywhere.

“Mom—”

“Not now, Ellie. Mother, let’s talk about this later, at home.”

“What home? You mean my home that I have managed to run just fine without you for the last twenty-five years?”

Something’s happening near the altar. I hear the front row gasp. But half the congregation’s still standing and I can’t see.

“Who did it? I want to know which one of you liars and thieves did it!” The angry voice comes from the front of the church.

I grab at Mom’s elbow. I know that voice.

The crowd goes silent and shifts and I can finally see what the commotion’s all about.

Grandpa’s by the altar, holding a poinsettia under his arm like a football. My stomach twists.

Mom and Mema turn slowly, like clocks ticking, to face him.

“Who’s the man that stole my wallet?” He’s sweating, and swaying like he’s still hearing the music. The pastor inches closer, but I’m not sure what he’s aiming to do. Tackle Grandpa, maybe. I try to roll forward but I’m stuck, and I’m frustrated for the zillionth time that I can’t just get up and shove my way through.

“Jonah, come on now.” Mema walks up the aisle. She holds out her hand like you do to a strange dog to let it sniff you and know you’re friendly. But Grandpa’s having none of it.