Thiago touched the watch face.
“You’re right. Whoever did this didn’t rush.” He glanced at me. “What’s in your pocket?”
I’d been turning a pouch between my fingers. I drew it out. Small, worn linen, tied with a cord that had been retied more than once.
“Gris-gris,” I said. “My grandmother’s.”
“For protection?”
“For remembrance.”
He looked at it for a moment. “You’ve had it in your pocket since yesterday.”
He’d noticed. “I usually keep it in my desk.”
He didn’t ask why I’d moved it.
***
By mid-afternoon Dominic had shut himself in the study with the anniversary program notes. The closed door meant he was unavailable. I stood at the stove, stirring shrimp and grits with one hand while sipping white wine with the other.
It wasn’t a conscious decision. I reached for the shrimp in the refrigerator and measured out the stone-ground grits. By the time I was chopping andouille, I’d committed to the meal.
Thiago appeared with his tablet in hand and stopped in the doorway.
“That smells like garlic,” he said.
“Shrimp and grits. You’ll eat it.”
“I wasn’t objecting.”
He set the tablet on the far end of the counter and leaned against the wall. “What’s in it?”
“Stone-ground grits. Shrimp from the market yesterday. Andouille, peppers, garlic, and butter. Green onions at the end.”
“No cream?”
“Some people use cream. I don’t.”
“Why not?”
Our usual visitors never asked about the ingredients. They simply enjoyed what I made. “Because everything worth eating in this city already has enough going on. Cream buries it.”
Thiago was quiet for a moment. “My mother would agree with that.”
“What does she cook?”
“Arroz con gandules. Pernil when it’s worth the time. She trusts nothing that comes out of a can.”
“Smart woman.”
I deglazed the pan, and the savory aromas swirled through the kitchen. Thiago sat at the table, leaning back in his chair, nose slightly lifted to the air.
We ate with the courtyard doors open. Dominic emerged from the study, drawn by the scent of garlic, and ate half abowl standing at the counter. He joined us at the table and pronounced my cooking acceptable.
When he finished his bowl, Dominic looked at both of us. “Cards?”
“In the courtyard?” I asked.
