Marianne made the slashing motion across her neck, and Ruth smiled wickedly. “Marianne and my dad—they never come to Healing Waters. They never went to church, never took me to church, after Mom died.” When Regina said nothing, Ruth continued: “She is atheist, Regina. She told me that, when I was a kid. Ask her a question about the Bible! Any question, a little bit hard, I guarantee you—”

“Do you really have some kind of planted memories of Mom going to church, Ruth?” Marianne asked. “I mean, because that’s what they would be. False memories, except with Granny at Christmas and Easter. Which was before you were born, by the way.”

“Because she was sick! Because of me, right? You think it was because of me, which is why you won’t ever let me talk about her.”

“Because you don’t know what you’re talking about, Ruth!” Marianne slammed a chair against the edge of the table nearest Ruth, watched her sister wince.

Suddenly Marianne was very tired. She had not meant to yell. She took a deep breath and did a count of tables as she exhaled. Seven more to set up. “You should have called me. You should have told me you were coming. Regina, you should have told me—”

Regina placed her tablet inside her leather tote and hooked the tote over her shoulder. She buttoned her pink blazer and squared her shoulders. “I don’t have a sister, but I always wanted one,” she said, her voice measured and strangely soft. “I’m an only child, actually. I understand that disagreements come up at emotional times like this. But emotions are good, right? For poets, and for feeders of the flock? As for Marianne’s Bible knowledge, I’m not stupid. I’m not unaware of where she comes from … spiritually. But that doesn’t mean you’re not each doing good work. Important work. Though perhaps you need some time apart. The Tour of Life continues, right, Ruth?”

Ruth nodded and stood, following Regina without looking back. Like looking back would freeze her, turn her into a pillar of salt. Marianne knew that much, mostly from college, or maybe reggae songs, but weren’t those also legitimate ways of garnering knowledge?

She didn’t watch Regina and Ruth leave, either, though she heard the heavy door shut behind them. She needed the ten more tables in place, napkins restocked, silverware in bins, iced tea cups stacked upside down, Muzak playing softly, the thermostat cranked down to seventy. Ketchup and salt and pepper and sugar and Sweet’n Low centered on every table.

Where she came from—spiritually! How did Ruth follow that woman? How did she not see that Regina didn’t even care what she believed?

Just as she was refilling the last ceramic dish with pink sweetener packets, Eric arrived.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, reaching for the bag she gripped under her arm. “Let me help.”