“We’ll come over tomorrow. Kevin wants to talk. Just delete the post.”
I looked back toward Gloria.
She was laughing with a little boy who had asked for a second helping of peach cobbler.
“You’re welcome to come tonight,” I replied.
“What?”
“Dinner’s still being served.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious about food.”
“This has gone too far.”
“No.”
I lowered my voice.
“It went too far when Gloria stayed awake all night cooking with a burned hand, and you dismissed everything without lifting a single lid.”
Another silence.
“Come eat,” I said quietly. “Or don’t.”
Then I ended the call.
She called back several more times.
I never answered.
Later that evening another familiar face appeared.
Mara.
One of Kayla’s closest friends.
She had been among the first guests to leave earlier that afternoon.
Now she stood nervously at the gate.
“May I come in?”
“Of course.”
She looked embarrassed.
“I should have stayed before.”
“You’re here now.”
Miss Doy immediately found her a seat.
After dinner, Mara quietly walked into the kitchen.
“Mrs. Coleman…”
Gloria looked up.
“Everything was wonderful.”
She hesitated.
“Every single dish.”
Without saying much, Gloria packed a generous serving of peach cobbler into a container and handed it to her.
“Take this home.”
“Thank you.”
“No,” Gloria replied gently.
“Thank you for coming back.”
The last guests finally left around ten o’clock.
Earl helped stack tables.
Miss Doy refused to leave until almost everything had been cleaned.
When the backyard became quiet again, Gloria and I sat together on the back steps.
“How many people came?” she asked.
“I stopped counting after forty.”
She looked toward the empty serving trays.
“The cobbler’s gone.”
“So is everything else.”
For the first time all day, she smiled without forcing it.
“Good.”
The next morning I drove to the bank.
