I watched her kneel, ask names, and listen.
One man in a navy cardigan stood up and said, “Is that apple?”
Lila said, “Yes, sir.”
He put a hand over his mouth. “My wife used to bake apple.”
A tiny woman near the window said, “I smelled cinnamon before I saw you.”
Lila set the first pie down and started cutting slices.
I watched her kneel, ask names, and listen.
“I haven’t had pie like this since my Martha died.”
The man in the navy cardigan took one bite and closed his eyes.
Then he reached for Lila’s hand.
“I haven’t had pie like this since my Martha died,” he said.
Lila squeezed his fingers. “Then I’m glad you had it today.”
He swallowed hard. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Lila.”
That almost broke me right there.
“I’m Arthur.”
“Nice to meet you, Arthur.”
He looked at her for a long moment and said, “You’re somebody’s answered prayer.”
That almost broke me right there.
Finally she said, “What?”
I said, “Nothing. I’m proud of you.”
At 5:12 the next morning, someone started pounding on my door.
Her face changed then. Softer. Serious.