The next morning Kevin and I arrived early at the small house she owned on Willow Street. The backyard patio was already full of activity, because Kevin and two neighbors were assembling a temporary canopy using metal poles while several long wooden tables were being covered with white cloth.
“About twenty people are coming,” Kevin told me while tightening a rope around one of the poles.
Twenty guests made my chest tighten slightly, because I knew that preparing food for that many people required careful planning.
“Twenty?” I repeated.
“Family members, neighbors, a few old friends,” Kevin replied casually. “You know how my mom likes these things.”
I nodded because I truly did know.
What I did not expect was what happened next. I stepped into the kitchen where Dorothy was checking serving dishes while talking to a neighbor about seating arrangements.
“Angela, come here,” she said.
I walked toward her and she reached into the pocket of her apron, pulled out a small bundle of folded bills, and placed them in my hand.
“Go to the grocery store and buy everything for lunch,” she instructed.