Invisible Read Online Free PDF Page B

excels at and I don’t. But I like to show my support. The black napkins were her idea. They don’t leave white lint on black clothing—something she observed at a new restaurant in town. So now Rosa, or our servers, replace the white napkins with the black for those wearing darker colors.
    I look across the table at Rosa. “You know Dr. Becker?”
    She looks up from the napkin she’s folding. “Dr. Miles Becker? Of course, everybody knows him. They used to come in here all de time.”
    â€œI know, Rosa. I know you know him. I just meant . . . Never mind. Do you know what happened to his wife?”
    Rosa stops folding and looks at me.
    â€œDon’t tell me you din’t know?” She shakes her head. “How you not know dat? You need to spend more time wid customers instead of wid your head in an oven.”
    â€œSomeone has to cook, Rosa.”
    â€œYou outta de loop, Ellyn.”
    â€œOkay, so include me in the loop when important news comes through the dining room. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that she . . . died.”
    She shakes her head again.
    â€œWhat happened to . . . her?”
    â€œDe cancer kill her.”
    â€œOh . . .” I put my hand on my chest in an attempt to soothe the ache I feel for Dr. Becker. “I knew I hadn’t seen them in a long time, but . . . They always seemed so happy when they’d come in.”
    â€œSi.”
    We continue folding in silence, Rosa folding three napkins to my one.
    I recall my comment to Dr. Norman—and feel heat rise to my face again. “So where’s Dr. Becker’s wedding band?” I’d tossed her a grin. “I’m sure I’d have heard single women squealing all over the county if he was on the market.”
    She’d cocked her head and looked at me. “He’s not wearing his ring any more?”
    â€œNot today.”
    She looked back at my leg and tapped my knee with that thingy that tests reflexes. My leg gave a little kick in response.
    â€œHmm . . . he must have finally taken it off.”
    â€œFinally?”
    She looked back up. “His wife died. About two years ago, I think.”
    â€œOh . . .” I swallowed. “I didn’t know.”
    I’m such a dork.
    A day later and I still can’t think about that conversation without embarrassment.
    Rosa reaches for the last linen napkin and folds it in a triangle. “So, you interested?”
    â€œIn what?”
    â€œIn him. Doctor Becker.” She folds the edges of the triangle together.
    I sputter. “ What? No, of course not. I was just curious.”
    â€œWhat wrong wid you? You ever gonna be interested in a man?”
    â€œI don’t need a man, Rosa.” I push a loose curl behind one ear. “Anyway, look at me. No man is going to be interested in . . . this.”
    â€œDat what you think? You just scared.”
    â€œScared? I’m not scared. Rosa, there’s nothing wrong with being single.” I thrum my fingers on the table. “I love my life. I’m content. What do I need a man for?”
    â€œYou terrified.”
    I get up from the table. “Oh, hush. What do you know?” As I walk away, I hear Rosa chuckle. “Glad you find me so entertaining,” I say over my shoulder on my way back to the kitchen. I remind myself, as I often do, about the apostle Paul’s words: “An unmarried woman is concerned about the Lord’s affairs: Her aim is to be devoted to the Lord in both body and spirit. But a married woman is concerned about the affairs of this world—how she can please her husband.”
    Do I use the verse as justification? Or am I as concerned about God’s affairs as I profess? Sometimes . . . I’m not sure.
    Terrified?
    Oh, Lord, am I? I want Your will for me.
    Honest.
    I think.

I found myself heavily weighed down by a sense of being tired of living and scared of dying.
    Saint