“What could Eric really do? Tell people about your little problem? Like they even care?” the woman, Holly, said. Casey couldn’t quite make out her face, but could easily imagine the pout that must have been on it. “You’ve got to tell her to go away.”
“I tried. You can try if you want, but you’ll get the same response. Everybody else wants to keep her.”
The two were close together, the woman’s arms crossed tightly over her chest. Thomas stood over her, his posture just as stiff.
“I don’t understand why you let Eric push you around so much, Thomas. He’s younger than you. And smaller. Why wouldn’t people believe you instead of him, no matter what he said? You should just show him who’s the boss. I mean, you are the director.”
“I know that, dammit! And he knows it, too. But I can’t change who his parents are, can I, or what he knows? Or why he’s come back to town?”
Holly snorted. “How about why you came back? Doesn’t that matter at all?”
They stood glaring at each other.
“I think,” she finally said. “That you’re just chicken. Like everyone says.”
Thomas reared back, his face a picture of shock and anger.
“Quite a pair, aren’t they?”
Casey jumped, whacking her foot against the bike’s pedal. Death stood on the back, feet on the axle and hands on Casey’s shoulders, like a ten-year-old catching a ride on a friend’s bicycle.
“Who’s there?” Thomas stalked toward the bushes, his face dark.
With a growl Casey pushed off, racing down the alley, trying to balance with Death’s weight on her back. After the short distance to Main Street she skidded around the corner and dashed the remaining half block to Home Sweet Home, hoping the church’s fence didn’t have a convenient gate for Thomas to find.
“Thanks a whole lot,” Casey said. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”
Death’s eyebrows rose. “Who? Me?”
Casey shuddered. “You are so—”
“Casey?” Eric held open the front door and winked. “Glad you could join us.”
Casey stepped off of the bike and dropped it against the brick store front, hoping to squash Death against the wall. Death stood suddenly at the curb, shaking a finger at her.
“Yeah,” Casey said. “I got detoured.”
“Maybe next time. But then, I was driving a car.”
Turning her back on Death, Casey walked past Eric into the soup kitchen, taking a whiff of the same cologne Eric had worn the night before. This time it was replaced by the smell of pasta, rather than beef and vegetable soup.
“Macaroni tonight,” Eric said. “We had lots of government cheese to use up.”
Casey followed him to the kitchen.
“Thank you, Jesus! ” Loretta said. “Hallelujah! ”
“Pretty lady’s back!” Johnny skipped toward her, arms outstretched, a bundle of silverware in each hand.
Ducking to avoid losing an eye, Casey allowed Johnny to hug her, squeezing her so tightly she lost her breath, along with her sense of place.
It was at the funeral. The last time someone had hugged her like that. Not as hard, nor as joyfully. Her aching breasts had sent arcs of pain through her body. Full breasts, and tender, no longer the sustainer of life, but the reminder of life lost. Omar’s casket, so small in the receiving room next to the larger box.
Casey’s whole life, enclosed in two cases of pine.
“Let her go, Johnny.” Eric was laughing. “Ease up, my man.”
She almost fell from his arms, grabbing onto the counter for support.
Eric’s hand slid onto her back. “Casey? You okay?”
She took a deep breath, eyes focused on the bread knife lying on the counter. “I’m all right. It’s nothing.” She darted a quick look around the kitchen, expecting Death’s face. It was not there.
“Well, you look pale. Johnny, you’ve got to be more careful.”
“No.” Casey stood up, her hands flat on the counter. “It wasn’t his fault.” She attempted a smile. “He’s fine.”
Johnny stood chewing on his lip, his eyes twitching.
She tried harder at the smile. “I’m glad to see you, too, Johnny. Thank you.”
His tight face relaxed, and the smile returned. “See, Eric. You find nice ladies.”
“Yes, Johnny, I do.” He steered Casey toward a chair and pushed her down into it. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” She brushed him away and rubbed her face. “He just surprised me, is all. Now, what can I do?”
Obviously not convinced, he reluctantly set her to work doing what she had the previous night—arranging bread in baskets and cutting up just-past-ripe fruit. She could feel his eyes on her throughout their food preparation, and even when the guests began arriving.
“Eric.” She waved him over to the kitchen door from his spot in the dining room.
“What is it? Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine. Really. Now pay attention to them, not me. Okay?”
Color rose in his cheeks, and he looked away.
“I appreciate it, Eric, but really, they need your attention more than I do.”
He let out a breath. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. You don’t really need help from me, do you?” Without looking at her again, he set to work welcoming the diners.
Casey did what she could to serve, scooping out macaroni, taking away garbage, and refilling water glasses. As she worked and watched, it became even more apparent, this second night, that food was only partly why the people came. The time here in Home Sweet Home served another, perhaps even more important, function. More than filling their bellies.
These people’s lives were hard. They’d lost jobs. They’d lost dignity. They’d lost Ellen Schneider. This fellowship, this time together, underscored the reality that they weren’t alone. They weren’t the only people suffering. Here, in this room, was proof that others were as badly off as they. Some even worse. It wasn’t their life, alone, that had been affected.
But this realization wouldn’t come through conversation. The people were as quiet as the night before, speaking only when they needed something passed, or to offer a quick thank you after being served. But they were together. They understood each other.
And they had Eric.
Casey watched Eric as he mingled with the people. He, out of everyone, was the central figure. Not in a showy way. But everyone in the room seemed aware of him, turning toward him, searching him out, as one searches out any item of comfort. His concern for the people was evident on his face as he moved from one to another, listening, talking, putting an arm around a shoulder.
What exactly was his connection here? While Eric had questioned Casey about her presence at HomeMaker, she hadn’t asked why he was there. Was he an employee? Had he been visiting someone? And what had those other two—Holly and Thomas—meant in the church garden? Who were Eric’s parents? And why did they think he had the upper hand?
“Praise God, here are the cookies!” Loretta handed Casey a tray with cookie plates, filled with a variety of day-old goodies from the bakery.
Casey took the tray and walked around the tables, leaning in to deposit dessert every so often. The people whispered thank yous, but didn’t look up and meet her eyes. She wondered how long she would have to work there before they would be brave enough to acknowledge her presence.
She met up with Eric at the kitchen door. “You okay?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Right.
The diners ate the cookies quickly, and were soon headed home. Eric stood as host at the front of the room, shaking hands and patting the kids’ heads. Casey smiled. He should be running for office.
As soon as the door shut, Eric locked it and strode to the kitchen. “Any of that macaroni left, Loretta!”
“Thank you, Jesus, there’s just enough!”
She pulled a partially filled casserole dish from the oven, and Casey found a couple of bruised peaches in the refrigerator, which she sliced and distributed on their plates.
“Silverware, nice lady!” Johnny thrust a bundle at her.