“What are you doing with that trash bag?”

I pulled the top of the black bag tight in my right hand and watched him come toward me.

“Tidying up,” I said.

He stopped four feet away, his black dress shoes dusted with fine white powder from the gravel.

“Those flowers were put there in memory of your baby,” he said.

“Your mother gave five hundred dollars to the building fund to secure that garden plot.”

“My mother gave away a lot of things, Pastor,” I said.