Identity Read Online Free PDF Page B

stir a pot of simmering turnip greens.
    “These cooked up tender,” she commented, letting Liza off the hook.
    Liza sighed and smiled. “They were young and grown in the cool. I had some the other night with butter and salt.”
    “Mmm.” Gloria smiled. “Best bring me some to take home when you get a chance.”
    “That I will, sweet thing.”
    Liza hoisted a stainless steel bin of hot, foil-wrapped potatoes and stepped back into the serving area. The line was queuing up again so she quickly dumped the potatoes into the warming tray and moved on to peer at the other offerings. Everything was fine except the greens so she slipped back into the kitchen and brought out the heavy pan that Gloria had prepared.
    Making her way back, she was gratified to see that the small dining room was almost full. She knew Rosemary harbored the worry that many of the town’s homeless weren’t being cared for, especially the mentally ill. Liza believed that they were cared for, the direct result of Rosemary’s worry and hard work. The town wasn’t that big. It was an old argument, though, and no one, not even her partner Kim, could convince Rosemary she’d done enough.
    Liza studied the dining room with its hodgepodge of donated tables and chairs. When Liza first started helping out, right after returning to Maypearl from Montgomery, she’d assumed there would be an air of desolation among the homeless. She had expected that, because of their status in life, they would feel they were less than. She found the exact opposite to be true. The homeless were a hardy lot, used to innovation and creatively mastering difficulty in all its myriad forms. Unless mentally ill and delusional, they were usually proud of their rebellious lives, proud that they could beat “the man” at his own game. Work nine to five? Bah. Live the American dream with a Cape Cod and white picket fence? Bah.
    One homeless man, Bobman Davies, who had passed through about a year ago, told Liza that he really didn’t believe God meant for a man to limit himself to tending one little acre of land and doing that only. “Why else was there so much more out there?” he’d asked her.
    “I mean we’re hunters and gatherers from prehistory on,” he’d explained. “It’s only been in the last few centuries that man has settled in one place and started screwing up the world. I don’t want no part of that.”
    Liza remembered his thoughtful, gaunt face and still had a world of respect for him. Her opinion was different, however. She wasn’t stricken with the same wanderlust. She liked having her little plot of land to tend. She couldn’t imagine not having a home, a place that was significantly hers.
    She’d also seen the way the homeless at New Life would fight bitterly about which alley belonged to whom. They even fought over which mission bed they slept in, though all the cots were identical and cleaned daily. As best she could tell, it had something to do with vantage point, closeness to the door or to the bathroom, whatever. Bobman’s viewpoint, his excuse, bless his heart, seemed to be a bit flawed.
    Decisions, decided Liza, as she mopped up the serving table with paper towels. It’s all about the decisions we make in life.
    “So, about this woman…” Rosemary continued coming up behind Liza.
    “What woman?” Kim said. The small, energetic woman had silently followed her partner into the serving area. “Beds are all made up and the laundry started,” she told Rosemary, then waited expectantly, glancing back and forth between the other two. “There’s a woman?”
    Rosemary sighed and turned apologetic eyes toward her friend. “Liza met someone.”
    “No way! Who? Do I know her? I bet I do, I know everyone in this town.” Her ice blue eyes lit with curiosity.
    Liza had to laugh. Kim was a notorious busybody but a truly delightful person, so it took a while to realize she was masterfully pulling information from you. Kim had accompanied Rosemary