Read Good Enough to Eat for Free Online Page A

on his gloves, and shouts back toward the kitchen. “Bye, Delicious!”
    Delia pokes her head out and smiles at him. “Stay warm, baby boy.”
    He bows. “Have a good night, Mini Mel.”
    “See you tomorrow, Kai. Thanks for everything.”
    “You got it. And Melanie?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Next Sunday, come to dinner. I’ll cook light and healthy, I promise. Just you and me and Phil, okay?”
    I look at his earnest face, the effort he is making. “Okay. I’ll come. Let me know what I can bring.”
    His grin lights the room. “Will do. We can talk menu tomorrow, you get final approval on everything!”
    I laugh at him. “You are a kook. Go buy dinner for your man.”
    “Later!” he says, and bounces out the door.
    “That boy gone yet?” Delia calls out.
    “Yep,” I call back.
    Delia comes out of the kitchen, carrying a steaming cup, and sits beside me at the table. “I cannot handle that child without some caffeine, you hear me? Can-not-han-dle-him.” She takes a deep swig, and I can’t believe it doesn’t scorch the inside of her mouth. Then again, I always assume with her history that she must have a very high tolerance for pain. She sighs delightedly. “Ahhh. So much better. How was the morning?”
    “Good,” I say around a mouthful of chicken. “Slow at first, but a pretty good lunch rush. But this quiet right now doesn’t bode well.” I look out the large front windows into the street, where there is already the sense of impending darkness. Minimal foot traffic. We are likely to be dead all afternoon. Which means I have to pray for a really big after-work rush from the people who get off the El a block away.
    “Doesn’t look like we need to do much back there, the case seems pretty stocked.”
    “Yeah, we should be fine. We can do some prep for tomorrow morning, but it should be quiet.”
    Delia takes another deep draught of her coffee. “Good. I can use a quiet afternoon. Those kids at the shelter are making me crazy. Christ, I never saw such a passel of devils in my life.”
    “Are there a lot of kids over there?” I never really thought much about it, but obviously if women run away from their husbands, they are going to take their kids with them.
    “Oh, child, about twenty or so. And most of them hateful little monsters.”
    “Well, I have to assume, with what they have been through, what they have seen . . .” I’m at a loss to fully understand what the experience would do to anyone, let alone a child.
    “Yes, well. That may be true. But that doesn’t mean they don’t get on my last nerve.”
    “You never wanted kids of your own, D?”
    It is a casual question, but personal nonetheless, and we are only slowly finding our way to that kind of trust. She gets very still, and looks down at her hands. I almost take back the question, not wanting to offend her or make her uncomfortable, but then she starts to answer me.
    “I had a beautiful baby boy. Walter. He died. We were at the park, and he got stung by a bee. He was really allergic, that ana-whatever-shock reaction. Just rolled his little eyes back and stopped breathing. By the time the ambulance came he was gone. Just two years old. I got pregnant again, but Deon got into one of his fits, and I lost the baby. Nothing ever took again. Probably better, wouldn’t have wanted to put kids through what I been through.”
    There is tightness in my chest. I reach a hand out and take hers. It is callused and rough, the hand of someone who has known many hours of hard labor. I squeeze. She squeezes back.
    “What about you, missy? Why didn’t you and that no-good asshole you were married to have a munchkin or two your own selves?”
    “There was no time, there was no urgency, no pressing need. And now I’m too old and there is no husband. I was never sure I really wanted them, and just let the time go by. Andrew and I were so driven to get to a certain place in our careers, and whenever we would talk about it, we would talk about how