She changed the subject. “Speaking of Violet, what do you hear from her, Myra May? When is she coming home from Memphis?”

Not looking up, Myra May spread butter on her corn bread. “She called this morning.” She spoke reluctantly, almost as if she didn’t want to talk about it. “Her sister isn’t doing so well, I’m sorry to say.”

“It’s her sister’s first baby, isn’t it?” Verna asked.

Myra May nodded. “A little girl named Dorothy. The baby’s okay, apparently, but Violet is worried about her sister. The doctor is keeping her in the hospital, and of course there isn’t much money. Violet is worried about how they’re going to pay the bill. I’m afraid—” She stopped, as if she didn’t want to say the words.

“Afraid of . . .” Lizzy prompted gently.

Myra May pressed her lips together. “Afraid she’ll decide to stay in Memphis, I guess,” she said slowly. “There’s a heckuva lot more exciting stuff going on up there than there is in Darling. Dunno why she would come back.”

Lizzy was surprised. This was more than Myra May had ever said about her relationship to Violet—which was probably a clue to just how troubled she was. “Violet left Memphis because she didn’t like living in the city,” Lizzy reminded her emphatically. “And she stays here because she likes living in Darling. And because of you,” she added. “You know that.”

“I guess.” Myra May sighed. “I’ll just be glad when she gets home, that’s all. I miss her. And we could use her help. We’ve been pretty busy here at the diner, and Olive has a bad cold and missed her shift at the switchboard last night. She’ll be out tonight, too. I’ve got to get back here right after the movie and fill in.” She glanced at the Snow’s Farm Supply clock on the back wall. “Speaking of which, looks like we’d better get going, don’t you think? We can come back later and have our pie and coffee.”

“Dessert after the show,” Verna said with a grin. “Sounds swell.”

As it turned out, the Snows and Mr. Dickens and his sister were going to the movie, too, so they all walked together down Franklin Street in a group, past the Dispatch building and Hancock’s Groceries. The Palace was at the end of the block, its brightly lit marquee jutting out over the sidewalk. The owner, Mr. Don Greer, stood outside, welcoming the patrons.

As usual, there was a line at the glass-fronted ticket window, where the Greers’ daughter Gladys sold tickets at twenty-five cents apiece, and at the candy counter, where Mrs. Greer did a land-office business selling candy, popcorn and hot roasted peanuts, as well as icy-cold bottles of Coca-Cola out of the cooler. Inside the theater, in the dimly lit haze of cigarette and cigar smoke that hung in the air, Mrs. LeVaughn was playing the piano. The movie was a talkie, so she wouldn’t be playing during the film. But while the younger folks loved the talkies, many oldsters still preferred silent films. They thought it wasn’t a night at the movies unless they could lean back in their seats and watch the flickering screen while they listened to Mrs. LeVaughn, who could play ragtime as well as Chopin. So Mr. Greer traded a movie ticket and a box of hot buttered popcorn for an hour of Mrs. LeVaughn’s piano, before he turned off the house lights and turned on the projector.