Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
He has Vashti now.
“My people!” I say, dividing a greeting smile between the two employees behind the food truck counter. “How goes it?”
“It’s all good,” Cassie, Vashti’s sous-chef, answers, but continues checking supplies. “We’re ready for the stampede.”
A gray-whiskered man emerges from behind the truck wiping his hands on a sauce-stained apron. “Now I know you better come get this hug, Yasmen.”
I chuckle and step into Milwaukee Johnson’s long arms. My dad died long ago, and this cook Byrd hired has improbably become the closet thing I’ve had to a father since. He smells like a dozen home-cooked meals, like all my comfort foods have been sewn into the lining of his clothes. My breath whooshes then releases into his shoulder, and I tuck my head under his chin, slinking my arms around his waist. He feels frailer, smaller than when we last hugged, like time is stealing not only years, but inches and pounds from his imposing frame. I pull back to peer up into his sharp features, leathered by time, but somehow still younger than his years.
“How ya been, Milky?”
His broad, bony shoulders lift and drop carelessly, but his eyes fill with sadness. “I still miss Byrd. They lie when they say it gets better. I think maybe I’m just getting stronger, so I feel it a little less.”
By the time Byrd met Milky, she’d divorced three husbands and had just buried the fourth. She swore she’d never walk down another aisle, but Milky loved Byrd, and with what she had left, she loved him back. The food wasn’t the only thing hot in that kitchen. They flirted and fondled, chased and caught each other, not even trying to hide that they’d found something special in their twilight years. Josiah and I used to laugh and say we hoped we had that much fire when we got to be their age.
“I know, Milky,” I whisper, squeezing him a little tighter. “I miss her too.”
He nods and pats my back before stepping away. “That Vashti is a godsend, though. She got that kitchen humming. Byrd woulda loved her food.”
“Yup.” My smile dries on my face like plaster. “She’s great.”
Wise, rheumy eyes study me and a gold tooth gleams at the corner bend of his smile. I force myself to hold his omniscient stare and resist the urge to squirm.
“How ya really doing?” he asks, gentling some of the usual gruffness in his scratchy voice.
“I’m getting there.” I squeeze his hands, knuckles oversized from years of cracking them, smattered with fading grease burns. “Promise.”
“Things won’t the same without you. Glad you’re back where you’re s’posed to be.” Milky grins and straightens his cap. “This event is something else. All the restaurants be empty tonight because the streets gon’ be full. You did the damn thang, Yas.”
“Thanks, Milk.” I tap the aluminum counter jutting out from the truck. “You guys got it looking good over here too. Thanks for representing.”
“You know if Vashti’s running the ship,” Cassie says from behind the counter, “it’ll be tight.”
“I’ll choose to take that as a compliment,” a low melodic voice drawls from behind us.
I turn to find Vashti standing there with a pair of silver tongs and a bottle of hot sauce.
“Oooh, hot sauce.” Hendrix licks her lips. “If your fried chicken is as good as I remember, you can just run an IV from that bottle right here.”
She slaps her forearm, and we all laugh. I smile in all the right places, but there is a definite tension between Vashti and me. Given the surreptitious glances she keeps sending my way, I suspect she feels it too.
“We do have a limited menu,” Vashti says, entering the truck and disappearing beneath the counter. A second later she pops back up with a red-and-white-checkered food boat holding a crispy golden fried chicken breast. “But we got chicken.”
“Oh, yes, hunty,” Hendrix crows, reaching for the chicken with one hand and the hot sauce with the other. “I’m just gonna taste this right quick for you to make sure it’s okay before the general public gets to it.”
“Generous of you.” Vashti laughs.
“Here comes the boss,” Cassie says, shooting quick glances at both Vashti and me. “I mean, the other boss.”
Josiah approaches with long, confident strides. Proud set to his head. Shoulders wide, body fluent with just a touch of swagger in his gait. He is flanked by Deja and Kassim, and trailed by one of the biggest dogs I’ve ever seen in my life.
Ottis Redding.
I’ll never forget Aunt Byrd bringing this beautiful Great Dane with his shiny coat of unrelieved black to our house. A gift from her last husband, Herbert, the legendary R & B singer’s canine namesake was just a pup when we first met.
“Herbert would give me the dog with the shortest life span,” Byrd had half joked. “Since all he ever brought me was grief.”