We never should have left her completely alone. Upstairs, with the only phone in the house way down in the kitchen. I should have done something besides sassing and sticking my tongue out at her for our last memory together . . .

“Peg! Peg, get help!” I screamed, trying to unstick my feet to get to the blue baby.

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“Bless your heart.”

“Sweetheart, we praying for y’all.”

“The First Methodist is bringing supper in a bit.”

“Let us know if y’all need anything, dear.”

Each awkward half hug accompanied some line of condolence as people filed past me, yet I sat on the back pew, stiffer than the wood bench, giving no reply or hug in return. I couldn’t. Finding Mama dead had stolen my voice, my heart, my hope, my —

“Honey, don’t you want to join your family?” Morty Lawson whispered in his soft voice. He was directing the funeral, trying to keep it on track, I supposed. Pa had led my siblings out behind the casket and pallbearers moments before without even realizing he was missing me. It had been four days since Mama’s passing and he had been sleepwalking ever since. We all were, to various degrees.

I shook my head and kept my eyes down, staring at his shiny penny loafers. The prissy man wrapped his arms around me, pressing my face against the coolness of his silk shirt. I wanted to experience the luxurious fabric with my palms, but I kept my hands fisted in my lap.

Morty patted my shoulder before letting go and disappearing out with the others. A few more folks tried engaging me into a mournful moment, but I wanted to share my grief with no one but Mama, so I kept my head down and let my long hair drape as a shield around my face.

The hushed chatter began to fade outside when a throat cleared in front of me. Through a small crack in my hair curtain, I could see he was facing me, one knee resting on the pew as he sort of leaned toward me. I lowered my head more, hoping he’d get the hint.

He cleared his throat again. “I’m Vance Cumberland.”

I swallowed before muttering, “Okay.” The one word felt prickly leaving my throat.

When I offered nothing else, he spoke again. “And you’re Austin?”

Even though he was asking me to confirm, I only repeated a scratchy “Okay.”

Behind me, a stern hand squeezed my shoulder. Nothing else followed, not even placating words, before the person stomped off. And then a familiar sound reached me from outside the door. One I’d begun to expect over the last several years.

Vance gasped. “That old lady just spit on the steps of the church.”

“Yes.” I confirmed what I already knew.

“Yes? But why?”

Sighing, I kept my head down but tucked the hair curtain behind my ears. “That’s Miss Wise. It’s okay.”