“Really?” Talley asked. “What kind of books?”

“I never gave ’em much notice.” She always collected the abandoned crayons, pencils, and pens to use over the winter. “We can go to the storage shed between dinner and the show and see what we can find.”

“I’d like that.”

Ruth drained the last of her cola. It felt good to have someone to talk to.

The Saturday-night dinner was a big success. Everyone loved Daddy’s seafood chowder, and because it was the first night, many came up for seconds and thirds. By next Saturday, they would all be sluggish and bloated and ready to cut back on the eating, but for now their bellies were primed to consume as much as their eyes could see.

Once the plates had been cleared and the folks had retreated to their rooms for regrouping before the evening entertainment, Ruth nudged Talley as they stacked the last of the clean dishes on the long prep table in the kitchen. “Daddy, can we look in the storeroom for old books? Talley likes to read.”

“Be quick,” he said. “Your mama will be looking for you soon to serve drinks during the entertainment.”

She guessed they had twenty, maybe thirty minutes tops before Mama came looking. Fact, she’d known better than to ask Mama for a break on opening night. But Daddy was the softer touch, and he wasn’t good at saying no to reasonable requests.

Ruth dried her hands. “I’m going to need the key.”

“There’s a spare hidden under the rock by the front door. I know you’ve been in there scavenging before.”

Ruth kissed her father on his cheek. “We’ll be right back.”

“Hurry,” he said easily. “Or we’ll all have hell to pay.”

Ruth took Talley by the hand and pulled her from the kitchen. “The shed is behind our house,” she said.

The two dashed across the sand toward her parents’ house, cooling in the softening light. Behind the house was a ten-by-ten storage shed, the front door fastened with a padlock. Ruth found the key under the rock and undid the lock. Hinges squeaked as she opened the door and pulled a single string dangling next to it, and a light bulb clicked on.

The room’s wooden walls trapped the heat and humidity, creating a stale, musty smell. A dim light splashed over brown boxes stacked one on top of another and caught dust particles dancing in the air. Each brown box was dated with a year. “Mama lets me go through what’s left behind at the end of each summer. She used to take the extras to the Methodist church, but she’s not been to church since the war, so the boxes are still here.”

“Why’d Aunt Edna stop going to church?” Talley asked.

“Mad at the preacher. But she never would say why. Daddy says when Mama gets an idea in her head, she never lets it go.”

“Does Uncle Jake go to church?”