“You’re dreaming up conspiracies,” Martha said.

“Quit acting like a military interrogator and start acting like a sister.”

She reached into her purse and laid a five-dollar bill on the table for her coffee.

She didn’t look at me again before she slid out of the booth and headed for the door.

I sat by myself in the booth and watched her car leave the parking lot.

The waitress came back and asked whether I wanted to order the catfish.