Ruthie waves a hand. "Oh, honey, don't let me stop you from reading."
"No, no, I was just about to finish this delicious salad anyway. I just got a bit caught up in — the book. The Good Book." I'm smiling the way people smile when they're having an internal crisis and hoping it passes for pleasant.
She taps the table. "You know what? We should have you at church."
"Sorry?"
"Our church. First Baptist, out on the Cawley road. It's not much — red brick, little steeple, room for about sixty if you squeeze — but we've got a service every Sunday at ten and a small choir. I think you'd enjoy it."
"Oh, I — thank you, that's so kind, but I —"
"The choir's not great. I'll be honest with you. We're about four altos short and Dennis Hurley's been the lead tenor for twenty years and he can't find the key most weeks, but it's cheerful and friendly and you'd be welcome. No one in there's going to take your picture."
No idea what else to do, I nod. "I'll think about it."
"You think about it. Sunday at ten. And you tell me if you come, and I'll pick you up from the motel. You don't want to be walking that road in your church clothes."
"That's very kind."
Ruthie slides out of the booth, picks up her coffee pot, and gives me a little nod. "You enjoy your Genesis, honey."
24
MAGGIE
The bell over the door rings as I come in and Larry the fry cook lifts a hand without looking up from the grill. I've got two flats of eggs balanced one on top of the other — three dozen in each, brown and white mixed. Ruthie buys what she can use.
Ruthie clears a space on the counter. "About time. I'm down to my last six."
"I had a chicken go broody and stop laying," I say. "You might have to top off with an order from the wholesaler."
"That's okay, this will do." Ruthie hands the eggs to Larry and takes the receipt I scribbled out in the truck. "Coffee?"
"Please."
She pours me a cup and slides it across the counter. Her eyes flick toward the booth by the window. "Look who's in tonight."
I follow her gaze. The window booth, back to the room. Dark hair pulled into a loose knot.
"She's reading Genesis. Don't ask me how she got there but I'm not going to argue with it."
"Genesis?" I ask. "Is that one of those post-apocalyptic novels?"
Ruthie laughs. "Oh, Maggie. No, honey. The Bible. She's reading the Bible."
Sloane, who has clearly overheard our conversation, glances over her shoulder. Her eyes meet mine and a flush rises up her neck.
"For relaxation," Ruthie adds, beaming. "Her words."
I pick up my coffee and walk over. "Hi."
Sloane smiles. "Hi."
"Mind if I sit?"
She gestures to the bench opposite. "Of course not."
I slide in across from her. Ruthie has followed me over and is hovering at the end of the booth with the coffee pot tucked into the crook of her elbow.
