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his jumbo baked potato with fresh foil. Joshua had called her two days ago with news of Emma Jelks’s passing and funeral arrangements. The few times she interacted with Ms. Emma in her mother’s room, she was grateful for the friendship that developed between the ladies. When she asked if she could attend the funeral, Beryl only stared. She wanted to confide in someone about her feelings, but she didn’t feel comfortable speaking the truth. No one knew the emotions growing inside her, not even her acquaintance, Synaria, from the library. She massaged her temples and played the feelings in her head like a short film. The longing for her parents, Gabrielle, and Joshua grew stronger each day. She missed the laughter they shared, even the bickering. She missed her parents’ Jesus and the Sunday morning pilings into their Chrysler minivan. Joshua kicked off the backseat singing with “Jesus Loves Me.” Both laughed at Gabrielle’s tone deafness, but she didn’t care. They sang at the top of their lungs as Mattie and Daniel beamed with pride. Daniel always nudged Mattie’s knee and said, “We’re training them up the right way.”
    Mattie smiled and retorted, “They’d better not depart from it.”
    Alice jumped when the timer beeped. She slid the food in the oven on a cookie sheet and closed the door. In the thirteen years she’d been married, their latest crisis made her contemplate something she never imagined: divorce. The Bensons were not divorcing people. Daniel made her promise him to keep their marriage Christ-centered and seek counseling if things got rocky. The agreement went well when they were Christians; now she wasn’t sure what she was. Or what they were. She looked down at one of the six frumpy dresses she’d purchased from Goodwill; she was grateful Beryl had given her fifty dollars from her paycheck; her normal weekly allowance was thirty dollars. She didn’t make as much money at the library as she did with the government job she held when they first married, but during their short stint with the International House of Praise, the elders of the church convinced Beryl a wife’s place was in the home; only part-time jobs were allowed. She didn’t seek full-time employment after getting a floater position at the library. Like clockwork, he picked her up from the Bull Street branch on Fridays, drove to Chatham County Federal Credit Union, and pulled into the first parking space closest to the door. Alice signed the back of her check and turned it over to Beryl because he spurned the notion of direct deposit. They strolled up to Shelby’s window, the teller most familiar with them. He asked for thirty dollars and handed it to Alice. The rest was deposited into an account with his name only. Same thing. Every Friday.
    â€œI don’t have all night to eat! I’m hungry.”
    Alice blinked back tears. “It should be warm enough,” she called into the living room.
    His movement was swift as he entered the kitchen. “You know better than to address me that way! Try it again.”
    Alice watched her husband walk away. Ten years her senior, he was one of the most eligible bachelors in Savannah when they married. Although he worked by day in management at Georgia Pacific Savannah River Site, he was known throughout the region for his business, Parker Trolleys. Beryl Parker supplied transportation to Savannah’s booming tourism industry. Gone was the tall, robust man who women gave triple-takes when they dated. His back bent a bit, his warm, dark eyes lost the sparkle they once held, and his love for jazz, restaurants, and sex diminished with each church they joined. The crisis they faced left his eyes rheumy and his gait slower. He was too young to be so sullen. She exhaled and walked in the living room.
    â€œHallowed Beryl, your food is ready.”
    She walked five paces ahead of him, taking care to reach the