Abbie.
“I think we’ll just have some of your cucumber and watercress sandwiches and your pimento cheese strips. Does that sound okay, Abbie? And Penny makes a really good pecan torte.”
“I’ll bring you the works. Coffee or tea?”
“Actually, I’d kill”—Abbie’s voice caught on the word—“for a double-shot latte.”
“From your mouth to Penny’s ears. Bethanne? The usual?”
“Constant Comment, please.”
Penny bounced away . . . there was no other way to describe it.
“She’s very . . . upbeat,” Abbie said.
“She’s a good person and a good friend.”
Abbie heard the whoosh of the steamer, and her mouth automatically salivated. That was one of the things she’d missed most when they were out on location. Good specialty coffee. Guess she wouldn’t be missing that anymore.
“Is something wrong?”
“What?” Abbie looked up to see Bethanne frowning at her. “Oh no. Just thinking. It’s nothing.”
Bethanne nodded, and Penny reappeared with a three-tiered plate loaded with enough food for several people.
“So sue me,” she said when she saw Abbie’s look of surprise. “Gotta use these babies up while they’re fresh.”
She was gone and soon back again with a tray of tea and a huge cup of coffee.
“It smells heavenly,” Abbie said.
“That alone will get you the local rate.” She placed the cups and teapot down on the table. “Y’all just yell if you need anything else. I’ll be in back making cheese straws for the Gentry-Palmer wedding reception on Saturday. They want three hundred. Hell, my arm might fall off before then.”
Bethanne sighed. “They wanted to have the reception at the inn, but there just isn’t enough room. At least most of our rooms are let for the weekend.”
The front door opened.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Penny said.
“I smell caramel macchiato,” said the newcomer, a young petite African American woman wearing overalls and a batiked turban.
“Hi, Sarah. Come join us.” Bethanne scooted her chair over to make room. Then she stopped. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Me?” asked Abbie. “The more the merrier.”
Sarah pulled up a chair from another table and sat down. “Okay, I confess. I saw y’all comin’ over and I just wanted to say hello.”
“And find out the scoop on the new girl,” Penny said, placing another cup on the table.
“This is Sarah Davis,” Bethanne said. “She’s home taking care of her great-grandmother and running the after-school program at the community center.”
“Oh, girl, you better not let Ervina hear you say she needs takin’ care of.”
“Ervina?” Abbie said. “I think I met her last night at the Crispins’.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “There was a time that woulda pissed me off plain and simple. But, hell, it’s turned into a kind of bad dinner theater.”
“Playing a role?” Abbie asked and took a sip of coffee and sighed.
“Oh yeah.”
“I thought maybe they were playing a joke of some kind. They seemed more like old friends.”
Sarah barked out a laugh. “They weren’t friends unless it was on the sly. They grew up in the same town, around the same time. Ervina is a bit older, we think. She claims she doesn’t remember how old she is.
“But they didn’t grow up ‘together.’ Ervina lived over the way with, let’s just say, folks of her kind. It was a long time ago, remember. Her mother worked for the Crispin family and then Ervina after her.”
“A long history.”
“Yeah, for all the good it’s doing me.”
Bethanne leaned forward. “Sarah’s having the kids put together an oral history of their families.”
“Was. The whole project was a bust,” Sarah said, and slumped against the chair back.
“What happened?”
“I thought I could accomplish two things at once. Preserve a culture while keeping the kids engaged. But none of the parents cooperated. The kids got bored. The equipment is ancient. I guess we’ll just have to
“I think we’ll just have some of your cucumber and watercress sandwiches and your pimento cheese strips. Does that sound okay, Abbie? And Penny makes a really good pecan torte.”
“I’ll bring you the works. Coffee or tea?”
“Actually, I’d kill”—Abbie’s voice caught on the word—“for a double-shot latte.”
“From your mouth to Penny’s ears. Bethanne? The usual?”
“Constant Comment, please.”
Penny bounced away . . . there was no other way to describe it.
“She’s very . . . upbeat,” Abbie said.
“She’s a good person and a good friend.”
Abbie heard the whoosh of the steamer, and her mouth automatically salivated. That was one of the things she’d missed most when they were out on location. Good specialty coffee. Guess she wouldn’t be missing that anymore.
“Is something wrong?”
“What?” Abbie looked up to see Bethanne frowning at her. “Oh no. Just thinking. It’s nothing.”
Bethanne nodded, and Penny reappeared with a three-tiered plate loaded with enough food for several people.
“So sue me,” she said when she saw Abbie’s look of surprise. “Gotta use these babies up while they’re fresh.”
She was gone and soon back again with a tray of tea and a huge cup of coffee.
“It smells heavenly,” Abbie said.
“That alone will get you the local rate.” She placed the cups and teapot down on the table. “Y’all just yell if you need anything else. I’ll be in back making cheese straws for the Gentry-Palmer wedding reception on Saturday. They want three hundred. Hell, my arm might fall off before then.”
Bethanne sighed. “They wanted to have the reception at the inn, but there just isn’t enough room. At least most of our rooms are let for the weekend.”
The front door opened.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Penny said.
“I smell caramel macchiato,” said the newcomer, a young petite African American woman wearing overalls and a batiked turban.
“Hi, Sarah. Come join us.” Bethanne scooted her chair over to make room. Then she stopped. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Me?” asked Abbie. “The more the merrier.”
Sarah pulled up a chair from another table and sat down. “Okay, I confess. I saw y’all comin’ over and I just wanted to say hello.”
“And find out the scoop on the new girl,” Penny said, placing another cup on the table.
“This is Sarah Davis,” Bethanne said. “She’s home taking care of her great-grandmother and running the after-school program at the community center.”
“Oh, girl, you better not let Ervina hear you say she needs takin’ care of.”
“Ervina?” Abbie said. “I think I met her last night at the Crispins’.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “There was a time that woulda pissed me off plain and simple. But, hell, it’s turned into a kind of bad dinner theater.”
“Playing a role?” Abbie asked and took a sip of coffee and sighed.
“Oh yeah.”
“I thought maybe they were playing a joke of some kind. They seemed more like old friends.”
Sarah barked out a laugh. “They weren’t friends unless it was on the sly. They grew up in the same town, around the same time. Ervina is a bit older, we think. She claims she doesn’t remember how old she is.
“But they didn’t grow up ‘together.’ Ervina lived over the way with, let’s just say, folks of her kind. It was a long time ago, remember. Her mother worked for the Crispin family and then Ervina after her.”
“A long history.”
“Yeah, for all the good it’s doing me.”
Bethanne leaned forward. “Sarah’s having the kids put together an oral history of their families.”
“Was. The whole project was a bust,” Sarah said, and slumped against the chair back.
“What happened?”
“I thought I could accomplish two things at once. Preserve a culture while keeping the kids engaged. But none of the parents cooperated. The kids got bored. The equipment is ancient. I guess we’ll just have to
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