Neva sat up in bed. The furnace kicked on down the hall with the soft blue whump of the pilot catching, and she thought: he can't read it. He brought it to me because he can't read it.
At ten after seven the next morning the Galaxie pulled into the lot, and the three of them came in with the bell, and Hiram sat and set his hat crown-down beside his saucer and looked at Neva.
The boy read the board. PIE OF THE DAY COCONUT CREAM (STILL), she'd written. "Coconut cream, still," he read, and something in his voice made her think he had known all day yesterday what he'd done.
She poured Hiram's coffee. She poured it slowly, so she could stand there, and she said, as quietly as she could and still be heard, "I looked at it, Mr. Gilstrap."
He didn't look up from the cup. "All right."
"I'd like to talk to you about it. Not here."
"Velma's got the doctor at nine. In Clinton. We take him to school and go straight on." He turned the cup a quarter turn on its saucer. "Saturday. Saturday I take her to the beauty shop on Main, ten o'clock. She's in there an hour and a half. I sit in the car."
"I'm off at two Saturday."
"I'll come back at two, then," he said. "I'll sit in the car."