“Amen,” my grandmother says. Mom just winces. Her back is killing her, but she still managed to go with her mom to church. They’ve talked about nothing but church since dinner started.
“Minister Oster was right,” Grandmother says as we eat greasy Chinese takeout. “Remember Proverbs 3:9–10: ‘Honor the Lord with your wealth, with the firstfruits of all your crops; then your barns will be filled to overflowing, and your vats will brim over with new wine.’ ”
Mom doesn’t agree loud or long enough, so she gets a glare from Grandma. Normally that’s the way Grandma stares at me. She doesn’t like that I work instead of attending church.
“I heard from Rachel last night.” Grandma starts bragging on her youngest daughter’s children. “Both their sororities are doing food drives for the poor, as the Lord would want.”
Whenever Grandma mentions Mom’s sister Rachel, her husband, or her kids, Mom’s face reacts in pain like Grandma is pouring small white salt crystals into big open wounds.
“What will you do after graduation?” Grandma clicks her green-painted nails on the table.
“After our game last night,” I say, all excited, “I think I’ll be the first high school player from Alabama to succeed going straight from high school to the pros.”
Grandma points at Mom and shakes her head. “Your children and their foolish schemes.”
When I make it, I’ll be the only of Mom’s three sons to succeed. That’s a poor shooting percentage. “Mark is a criminal,” Grandma says, full of fury. “And Josh failed at even doing that.”
Mom winces in pain. Her hurt back isn’t up to the lashes from Grandma’s whip-like tongue.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” I say. “I’m gonna make it somehow. Just have some faith in me.”
Mom smiles, but Grandma clicks her nails harder on the table. “Fool-headed big dreams.”
I stand. That gets Grandma’s attention and the clicking stops. “How come you believe in Jesus, who you’ve never met, but you can’t have even a little faith in your own flesh and blood?”