I sighed. Now it was my turn to cry. “I’ve been thinking about it. We probably could, if Terri ever calls me back. But maybe that wouldn’t be the best move.” I blinked the tears away. “We’ve got lots to do around here in very little time. Having him underfoot could slow us down,” I admitted to myself as much as her. “I’m gonna…start asking around for help. With friends—no more eager senior-support organizations. They all need numbers, you know?”
Gabriella sat up again. “Maybe they really do think you’re in danger. You can’t get mad at an underpaid government worker for actually doing their job, you know. We should be grateful, probably.”
I squinted at her. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours! I’m just saying. Let’s get this house together, get those people out of your hair, get me a job, get Elijah back at least for alittle while, and move on.” She’d solved all our problems with one run-on sentence.
“Sounds like a plan.”
She added, “We’re gonna need help. You got friends?”
I fired back, “You got friends?”
“All my friends are Lorenzo’s friends. They’re not gonna betray him by helping me. What about your new friends? The library ladies?”
“We need people with strong backs and knees,” I told her. “All the money’s going into the stove. Professionals will handle that. But the other stuff will take some good old elbow grease. Young folk would be best.”
She knocked her elbow against mine. “If they’re like you, they got this! And what about Richard? He likes you. He’ll help.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not trying to use the man.”
“Just tell him what’s up. Be like, ‘Bro, I’m in a bind with the gub’ment. I need your help. You in?’”
The way she imitated my voice sent me into a fit of giggles. She followed with laughter of her own.
“So just ask him?”
“Yes,” she repeated. “And the ladies at the library, too. I will cook a big meal for everyone when we finish, whatever you all want.”
She should have known by now that I can’t turn down her cooking. I needed the promise of it, actually, to move past my heartbreak over Elijah’s untimely removal.
* * *
Somebody added me to the group text—probably Christine, since her husband had my number—to let me know that that we wereall meeting up at Eileen’s tomorrow instead of the library. She was at home recovering now, and her sister had given us permission to drop by to bring and share dinner with her for only an hour or so; she didn’t want to wear Eileen out with too much company.
It was the perfect opportunity to ask for the group’s help over one of Gabriella’s delicious side dishes. Good food never hurts.
Between morning and evening job interviews, Gabriella prepared something I had never even thought to put together: sweet potato and black bean taquitos. “I’ve heard of it, but never tried it or put my own flavors to it.”
She let me taste one as soon as they cooled off. “Oh my word!” I said with a mouth full of her delicious creation.
She giggled and said, “I put a hint of cinnamon in them for sweetness.”
Whether she’d put cinnamon, nutmeg, lemon pepper, I neither knew nor cared. I finished chewing. “I don’t know how on earth you come up with these recipes, but they are everything.”
“Actually, I got the idea from the Green Book. It said potatoes or beans. I figured, why not use them both? With my Blaxican twist, of course.” She snapped the lid onto my glass container full of taquitos. “Keep them covered until you get there.”
“Can’t guarantee I won’t eat a few on the way.”
“Patience, patience, Ms. Joyce.”
“It’s not only because these taquitos are irresistible. I’m really not a ‘potluck’ person,” I admitted. “Too much going on in people’s houses. No regulation.”
Gabriella put a hand on her hip. “Seriously? I’ve been working in kitchens for almost ten years. You have no idea what people do to your food behind the veil.”
“True,” I had to agree. “Somebody might be mishandling meatat a fast-food place, but the food’s so full of chemicals, the germs don’t stand a chance.” I’d meant it as a joke, but Gabriella’s face said it was not funny to her.
“Joyce, listen to me.” She put her hands on my shoulders and faced off like she was my boxing coach and I was losing the fight. “Preparing food, giving food, is a way that people show love. You reject their food, you reject them.”
