Later, at the reception, Terrence and I stole away together for a few minutes. We had so much to say to each other, and so little. I learned that Terrence’s life had taken a path even more circuitous than my own. He had gone to Tennessee State on a football scholarship, but a knee injury had cut short his great promise as an athlete. Even before that, he’d had a divided soul, split between the gratification and rhapsodies of lay preaching and the money he could make on the corners of our old neighborhood. He’d done two short stretches in state prison for it.

Recently, however, Terrence had returned to the church and given up dealing, working as a trainer at the Y and a mentor and football coach in a program for “at-risk youth.” He was back living with Rev Joseph and had begun to preach again. His story of reform gave him enormous credibility with young people. And he hadn’t done anything that wasn’t being done by a dozen Jamie Haltoms in prep school dorm rooms and fraternity houses. Rich kids go to rehab; black kids go to prison.

“I’ll have to come to church sometime,” I said. “See you preach. You have the gift.”

“It’s just the spirit talking,” he said. “You saved, Charlie?”

“No,” I admitted. “Not yet.”

“When you’re ready, he’ll be waiting.”

I nodded. Terrence shook his head.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Where the hell you been, boy?” he said.

“I took a wrong turn,” I said. “But I found my way home.”

“You call this ‘home’?” he asked.

Later, back home—back at the Creighs’, I should say—I went out with Teddy to smoke in the breezeway beside the carriage house.

“I liked your friend Terrence,” she said.

“We go way back.” I unknotted the tie I’d borrowed from Arch.

“When are you planning to go to his church?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I probably won’t,” I said. “Thank you for coming, by the way. I know you hate it here.”

“How could I not?” she said. “But, yes, I do hate it here. I can’t stand the humidity. Or the good ole boys. I wish we could go home this afternoon.”

“I think I’m going to stick around for a while longer,” I said.

“How long?” she asked.

“I’ve got some work lined up,” I said. “Houses, portraits. Enough to keep me busy for a while.”

“You have work in San Miguel too.”

“Yes, but these are commissions. Guaranteed money. Good money. It might be pity, but all of a sudden, everyone in Belle Meade wants me to do a painting for them.”

Teddy gave me a long look. “You’re staying,” she said.

“That’s right.”

“I mean for good,” she said. “You won’t come back.”