The Color of Hope - By Kim Tate Page 0,15

looked at him. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. Not just the aprons. Everything.”

“I said I would help you this weekend, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. Anyway, it’s partly selfish. My mouth is already watering for these hush puppies.”

Janelle was walking by as he said it. “As long as you don’t get near the fish, we’re good.”

Travis picked up the tongs and aimed them at her. “Don’t start, Janelle. You should be encouraging my budding skills.”

“Whether they’re budding is yet to be seen.” She came closer, surveying their operation. “And actually, I’m wondering who sanctioned this idea of you and Libby cooking anything in mass amounts for actual people. It’s kind of scary.”

“Everybody’s a naysayer.” Libby wagged her finger at her cousin. “You just wait. You’ll be fighting for seconds.”

“Mm-hm.” Janelle gave them a pointed look. “I’ll give you this. You look cute in the matching aprons.”

“You know it. Team Wood!” Travis bellowed.

Libby’s dad heard and looked over. “That’s right!” He pumped a fist. “Team Wood!”

Travis flexed his arms like he was entering a boxing ring, tongs still in hand.

Libby laughed, taking in the moment. It was all in fun, but they hadn’t had this much fun in more than a decade. Much as she tried not to, her mind drifted to thoughts of whether the two of them could ever one day really be a team . . .

“People are arriving in droves now,” he said.

“Yeah, we’d better get moving. The good thing is it won’t take long.”

Travis took the aluminum foil off of the first pan. “I think we’re good to go.”

Libby was suddenly apprehensive. “Did you pray?”

“Pray?”

“Over the hush puppies, that they’d turn out delicious—and wouldn’t give anyone food poisoning.”

Travis chuckled. “All right. Team Wood’ll huddle up.” He put an arm around her, and they bowed their heads. “Lord, you know the two of us can’t cook . . .”

Libby smiled at the way he talked to God.

“. . . but this task seemed easy enough even for us. I pray it turns out well, doesn’t make anybody sick . . . And thank You for the friendship Libby and I are building again after all these years. Amen.”

Her stomach got butterflies. “Amen.”

“Ready or not,” Travis said, lifting the tongs again.

He placed several hush puppies into the stainless steel basket, then lowered it into the oil to the tune of loud sizzles and crackling.

They saw Todd approaching from his yard to theirs, which were one for purposes of reunion activities.

“Hey, Libby,” he said, “just got off the phone with Keisha. She’s definitely not coming.”

Libby sighed. “I know. I talked to her too. Thought I could per-suade her when she vacillated a little, maybe at least come for Sunday. But she decided it would be too much.” She added, “Of course Aunt Gwynn was a no from the beginning.”

Aunt Gwynn, the youngest of Grandma Geri’s children, had only returned to Hope Springs once since leaving as a teen, pregnant with Keisha, three decades ago. The families had learned only this year that Keisha’s father was Jim Dillon, Todd’s dad. Because they were an interracial couple, their parents pressured them to break up. And Aunt Gwynn had never forgiven Grandma Geri.

Todd looked disappointed. “I didn’t get to spend much time with Keisha or her husband and son at Grandma Geri’s funeral. I was hoping for that this weekend.”

“Libby Lou!”

Todd moved on as Libby turned to see who was calling her. “Hey, Aunt Louise, you just get in?”

“Got here this afternoon,” her great-aunt said. “Took a nap at the hotel, now here I am.”

Travis hugged her. “Aunt Louise, you’re looking well.” He bent a little, looking at the boy beside her. “I know that’s not Jamar. You’ve gotten so big. How you doing, young man?”

Jamar, who couldn’t be more than four, scooted behind his grandmother.

Aunt Louise prodded him. “Boy, stop being so shy and speak up. These are your relatives.”

Libby was sure Travis had been to so many reunions that some thought he was somehow related.

Aunt Louise eyed Travis. “I hear you’re pastoring New Jerusalem now. You married yet?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You know you need a first lady, don’t you? Handsome man such as yourself . . . What’s the problem?”

“Um . . . no problem. Just hasn’t happened yet.” He smiled. “I’m praying about it, though.”

“Good, good!” She turned to Libby. “And what about you, Miss Libby Lou? You any closer to walking down the aisle?”

“I don’t plan to get married,” she said, her standard answer.

Aunt