A line of volunteers were waiting at the soup kitchen Sunday morning. They were given assignments by a cheerful woman with hair braided into tight cornrows. Seth and Martin were tasked with setting up tables and chairs. Liz was assigned to the bread-and-butter line. Lorna was to keep plates, utensils, and napkins flowing.
“And you,” the lady said to Bean. “Do you think you can clear plates?”
“My teacher says I’m the most helpful.”
“I bet you are. This boy here will show you what to do.” She pulled a lanky kid forward and sent Bean off in his company.
When the doors opened, people flocked in. Men and women. Families. Older citizens who made Lorna’s heart ache. Others so young that Lorna fretted about how they would survive. The kitchen was busy, but the people who needed the breakfast were patient and grateful. She could see why Mr. Cho had been drawn to this endeavor. It felt good to help.
Lorna was so busy that she didn’t see Candy Cho until she almost stepped on her when she went to the back for more supplies.
Candy was wearing a red apron and had her long black hairpulled back in a net. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Are you stalking me?”
“Stalkingyou?” Lorna repeated impatiently. “Do you honestly think I’d wait fifteen years to do that? I’m volunteering, like you. I mean, I assume you’re volunteering.”
“Yes, I am. I have been for years. But I’ve never seen you here, and now I’ve seen you twice this week.”
“That’s right, it’s my first time volunteering. I told you I wanted to make it up to Mr. Cho, but you wouldn’t accept my apology. So I had to think of a way to make amends on my own. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Candy’s brows knit into an even tighter frown. “What are you talking about, Lorna? You can’t make it up to him—he’s dead.”
Lorna suddenly glimpsed herself in Candy. Candy was angry. Maybe at Lorna, maybe at her dad for dying. At everything in general. Lorna’s anger was about Kristen’s addiction and her mother dying before Lorna could apologize. She realized, in that very moment, that some of the anger had left her. She really was getting better. Which made her feel quite sorry for Candy. “I understand,” she said. “I understand the anger.”
Candy opened her mouth as if she was going to retort, but she hesitated and eyed Lorna curiously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I have it too,” Lorna said. “I had no idea how much anger had seeped into me, going all the way through until it became part of me. Kind of alarming that you can get so mad and not even know it.” She leaned her back against the wall, thinking about that. After a moment, Candy did, too, her head reaching Lorna’s shoulder. The fight seemed to have gone out of her.
“My neck is stiff,” Candy said, rubbing hard at her nape.
“You should get your body meridians assessed for tension. It can help.”
“Ridiculous,” Candy said with a roll of her eyes.
“I’ve found acupuncture to be very helpful. But I also know a couple of yoga moves you might try.”
Candy looked terribly exasperated. “You don’t know anything.”
“Try this,” Lorna said, doing a couple of neck rolls side to side, backward and forward.
After a moment’s hesitation, Candy did try. More than once. Then she sighed, closed her eyes, and rested her head against the wall. “I’m not going to forgive you, you know. My dad was crushed by what you did.”
That was hard to hear, even after all this time. “I know. I was crushed by what my sister did.”
“Well... weirdly, I appreciate this,” Candy continued. “This was super important to him. And you even brought your friends.”
“They’re not...” Lorna stopped herself from denying they were friends. She glanced over Candy’s head at the crew from Nana’s house. Wasn’t this what friends did? Help each other out? Have each other’s backs? Even if they weren’t technically friends, they were the closest thing to it Lorna had had in a very long time. “They wanted to help too.”
“The kid is cute,” Candy observed.
“Yeah.” Lorna could feel her smile to the tips of her toes. Bean was talking to an older gentleman, his hands moving in the air as he sketched something. Bean was a special kid. Person. Friend. Bean was special, period.
“Okay,” Candy said, pushing away from the wall. She eyed Lorna once more. “If you’re going to make a habit of this, you should get here earlier. All the good assignments go first.”
“Noted,” Lorna said. “Thanks, Candy.”
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t forgive you or anything.” She gave Lorna the barest hint of a smile, then turned and walked away.
Lorna watched her disappear into the kitchen. She felt good. Better than she had in a long time. She pulled out her phone and booked volunteer time for the following weekend.
