Mama agreed. “Don’t get yourself worked up. We both know these teachers don’t care about educating our kids. They just babysit for the year and pass them on to the next grade. But what can we do about it?”

The next morning, Mama and Papa sat her down in the kitchen, both of them looking serious. “We need to talk,” Mama said. “That school suspended you for a week for walking out of class without permission.”

The punishment of not being able to learn for an entire week made Ruth physically ill. “I won’t do it again, I promise. I won’t talk about the soil, ever. Please let me go back to school.”

Neither of them answered her right away. Finally, Papa said, “We’re going to work it out, your grandmother and me. You’re not going back there for long anyhow. You’re going to Mother Mary next year.” He glanced across the table at Mama, who looked as stunned as Ruth.

“Hezekiah, what on earth? You know we can’t afford . . .”

Papa held up one hand that had begun to tremble slightly in recent months. “I said we’d find a way and we will.”

And they did. The next school year, they enrolled her in Mother Mary, where the students were just a little less poor than the ones at Driscoll. A mostly white school where she didn’t get in trouble for being smart. A school where every girl wore a pleated plaid skirt that skimmed her knees.

The back door to Lena’s store opened, and a gust of wind blew in. A short, round older woman walked up swaying from side to side with a large brown box in her arms.

“I got it.” Midnight ran toward her and wrapped one arm around the box.

“You’ll hurt yourself. You can’t carry this,” she said.

With his knees buckling, he awkwardly tried to grasp it, putting the weight of the box on one arm while the other hung at his side.

“I told you to let go.” Finally, the woman let the box drop to the floor. Her hair had grayed and thinned, and lines creased her face now, but Ruth recognized this was Lena. She looked the same, but worse, still wheezing and coughing, probably eating more casseroles than she should and smoking too many Newports. Never Camel or Virginia Slims or Lucky Strike. Always a Newport.

“Lena, it’s me.” Ruth waited as the older woman pulled her gloves off slowly and frowned, obviously scanning her memory for something familiar, but coming up short. “Ruth Tuttle, Ernestine’s Ruth.” She unwrapped her knit scarf and removed her hat. Ruth hadn’t seen Lena since she’d come home that one time on summer break from Yale. And no one but family had been invited to the small wedding ceremony, not even Lena, who had become a good friend to her grandmother.

Lena said, “Well, I’ll be . . . you sure are little Ruth Tuttle. Ernestine didn’t say a word about you being back in town.”

“She doesn’t know I’m here. I want to surprise her.”

Lena pulled her in for a hug and Ruth almost choked on the smoke smell that penetrated the woman’s skin. Then Lena began pulling packs of Cobalt 5 gum from the box, plopping them on a table. As she moved about the small space in the back room, she wheezed, her breathing sounding like the whistle of a novice blowing into a clarinet.

The floor shone wet—likely from water that had spilled from the bucket sitting in the middle of the floor. Ruth realized that was why she’d slipped when she first walked in. Midnight slid on the floor now, his arms outstretched like he was riding a big wave of California surf.

“Patrick! What on earth? Why is this floor wet?” Lena took in the boxes on the floor that now had the mark of water stains.

First, fear flashed across his face. Then guilt. His expression reminded her of one of those poor milk carton kids, with big begging eyes that kept neighbors searching long after they’d gone missing.

“Answer me,” Lena said. “Everything is wet. I can’t afford to have any of my merchandise ruined.”

The cashier with the blueberry eyes must have heard the yelling. She poked her head in the stockroom. “Is everything okay?”

“Go on and get back to work,” Lena scolded. “What if a customer walks in and you’re not at the register and we miss a sale? You know we can’t afford that.”

The young woman bowed her head, mumbled an apology, and hurried back to the front room.

Lena ripped open a pack of Newports and placed a cigarette in the corner of her mouth. “You still haven’t answered me.” She directed her attention back to Midnight. “I swear, if anything has water damage—”

“I’m—” Midnight began to speak but Ruth cut him off.

“It’s my fault,” she said. “It was dark in here when I walked in looking for you and I tripped over the pail of water. I’m so sorry. I can pay for any damages.”

Midnight’s eyes widened, but he didn’t dispute her cover story. Lena waved her hand. “No. Don’t be silly. I refuse to take your money. Accidents happen.”

Ruth stared at Midnight until he made eye contact with her. She gave him one of those looks that said, You owe me, and don’t be surprised if I collect, even if you are just a kid. He quickly averted his eyes.

Everything about Lena seemed more frantic and desperate than she’d remembered, and she felt sorry for this kid caught in the middle of all of it.

“You said you’re surprising Ernestine, huh? I know she’ll be glad to have you home for Christmas. Come on out here and sit down so we can talk. And, Patrick, go get some paper towels and clean up that water. Check those boxes and make sure nothing got ruined.”