No, I didn’t hear voices, Miss.

They’ll have me put away, if you write that. If I were you, I wouldn’t put that in the Enquirer. A reporter is only as believable as her source, isn’t that right, Miss?

Yes, Pat did teach me that, Miss.

Should I go on? Or do you have more questions about how I hear voices?

As I was saying, Bill and I, we went to Indianapolis. Charlotte’s gal, Lucy, had kin there. Her aunt and uncle had a room to let, and the room wasn’t in Kentucky was all that I needed to hear. I would never take Bill into that state. Charlotte lent me the money for the train fare, and Mr. Cleneay gave me spending money, more bills than I’d ever seen at one time, wrapped in a bit of butcher paper, when he saw Bill and me off at the station. Charlotte hadn’t accompanied us because she was with child again, her third, and for the first time she was suffering from the morning sickness. She rued that it must be a girl this time.

“Girls are trouble waiting to be born,” Charlotte had said, laughing low. “Come back to Cincinnati and meet her, Alethea,” she added with a smile that said she couldn’t wait to meet her daughter.

At the train station, Mr. Cleneay also asked me to come back.

“I intend to,” I replied. “I never had plans to be anywhere else but right here, Mr. Cleneay.”

What I didn’t say was why I had to go away.

Pat wasn’t himself these days, and I wasn’t myself either.

Well, that’s not all true.

Before Bill and I left, Pat was so rarely at home that I went back to cooking how I’d always cooked. Bill and I, we ate biscuits and hot water cornbread with whatever meal we wanted. We ate pork again too, as often as possible, making up for lost meals. I saw Mr. Cleneay nearly every day then. He would set aside two chops for Bill and me or, my favorite, a heap of neck bones.

“Mr. Hearn changed his mind about the pig?” the butcher had asked, his face aglow, when I started coming in again.

“No, Mr. Cleneay. Mr. Hearn doesn’t change his mind,” I replied.

“There must be a reason that brings you back in, Alethea. I’m guessing it’s Bill. He’s a growing boy, and growing boys need pork on their plate,” the butcher said.

“I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Cleneay.”

“It’s sure good to see you smile again, Alethea.”

It was true that Bill at eight was growing tall and smart as a dandy—

Yes, I know the common saying is “smart as a whip,” Miss.

Bill was learning his letters at school, and he took to Pat’s books like a bee to honey.

See, Miss? That’s a common saying too. I’m from here, Miss.