The waitress refilled Caddy’s coffee as Bentley asked for a burger, French fries, and a Coke. Caddy reached for a folder she’d brought in with her and spread it out on the table. She’d highlighted some of the money coming in and circled the deficits in red ink. “This was really sweet of you,” Caddy said. “I know you’re busy as hell. But you were right. I’m not even sure we can keep on the lights into next week. The folks at the co-op board have been a lot more patient than they should have been. We’re two months behind. If we could just keep the lights on, maybe hit the operation budget for November, I think we can do it.”

Bentley smiled, reaching out for Caddy’s hand on all the bills, receipts, and the running list of high-priority items: canned goods, diapers, baby formula, shampoo, soap, razors, shaving cream . . . She looked up from all the paper into Bentley’s eyes. He didn’t look like he’d shaved that morning, sporting a nice-looking dark shadow on his jaw. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just got right down to business.”

Bentley leaned back into the booth and held out the palms of his hands. “Please,” he said, reaching into his sport coat for a leather-bound checkbook. “It’s not a big deal. How much do you need for the rest of the year?”

“I don’t need for the rest of the year.”

“But if you did?”

“Bentley,” Caddy said, shaking her head. “Please.”

“I’m serious,” he said, scribbling on a check, lifting his eyes. “I’m going to write in a figure on a foundation check. If it’s too much, I’m sorry. Just put it in savings. It’s not a gift. OK? An investment. Besides, if we left y’all high and dry for the winter, my mother just might have my ass. She says hello, by the way. She was really taken with you. Said you’re very easy to talk with. That’s high praise. Did I tell you what she used to call my girlfriend at Ole Miss?”

Caddy shook her head, drinking a little coffee. It was bitter and needed more sugar. How the hell her brother drank this stuff all damn day and night was beyond her. Quinn’s blood type was dark roast.

“OK?” he said.

He slid the check across the table. She looked down at the number, squinting to make sure she saw it right. There looked to be a few extra zeros in the figure. She looked back up, shaking her head, a rock forming in her throat. “Too much.”

“Did you meet those assholes in Jackson?” he said. “They spent more than that on their damn party. I won’t even tell you how much my father paid for that group out of Nashville. You’d think we were all insane.”