“How much money did she give you?” one woman asked.
I reached into my apron and held up the folded bills. “One hundred dollars.”
The words settled over the courtyard like a heavy cloud. A man near the fence shook his head slowly.
“You cannot feed twenty people with that amount,” he said.
Dorothy looked at me angrily. “You are lying.”
I gently shook my head and placed the grocery receipt on the table. “Rice, tortillas, and herbs for the soup. That is all the money covered.”
The silence returned, but this time people were looking at Dorothy instead of me. A neighbor named Linda spoke quietly.
“Dorothy, did you really give her only one hundred dollars?”
Dorothy opened her mouth but did not finish her sentence. Kevin finally stepped forward and examined the table before turning toward his mother and then toward me.
“Is this true?” he asked.
I nodded. “I decided not to add my own money.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because it is not my party.”
The answer seemed to surprise several guests, yet an elderly woman nearby chuckled softly.
“She has a point,” the woman said.