Page 73 of In a Word, Yes

“I tried hollerin’,” she says, “but then lost you in the crowd. S’pose I should’ve left your book with the airport people, but—”

“But this is so much better!”

Her eyes widen and she barks a quick laugh.

“Opal, I’m telling you. If you’d left it at the airport, I’d probably still be waiting on it. But how in the world did you find mehere?”

“Well, ma’am, ’course I recognized you on the plane straightaway. And then, lo and behold, you were coming to speak at my church. How about that.Mychurch.”

Opal’s sweet laugh cracks open something inside me. I’m sitting in Opal’s church?Lord, you are so funny!

“Well, you’re a sly one,” I say. “You never said anything on the plane.”

“Oh, no, dear. ’Course I didn’t. Was wantin’ to respect your privacy and all that.”

For a moment I stare at the journal, shaking my head.

“Well,” Opal says, and it sounds likeway-yull. She turns to inspect the row of folks behind her. “You’re a popular lady. Lotsa folks waiting to chitchat, so I’d best—”

My Yvonne is at the ready with a handful of parting merch—bookmark, Scripture sticker, discount coupon. She offers them to Opal.

Opal beams. “Why, thank you, dear.” She sets her clutch on the table and opens the clasp.

“Wait,” I say. “Am I the only one here who thinks the Lord went to a whole lot of trouble to introduce us? Opal, is there any chance you’d have a little time later today when we could talk some more?” I happen to know there’s a coffee shop on the nextcorner. “I’ll be done here in, oh, say...” I cast a glance at the remaining people in line, then up at Yvonne.

“Forty-five minutes,” Yvonne says, humor brightening her eyes. “An hour, tops.”

“An hour, tops,” I repeat.

Opal sways her head in a slow shake and chuckles. “Tell you ladies what, don’t you be rushing now. You come on over for supper.” She looks from me to Yvonne. “Both of y’all. I’ll cook up some good somethin’. Now, my house is just up the road a ways.” She gestures vaguely to my left. “You keep going till you see a cow pasture—but don’t turn there. You wanna go past that and turn at the yellow mailbox that’s got no grass but the prettiest roses, and that there’s my house.”

Lickity split, I’m on Opal’s side of the table, going in for a hug. Depositing a peck on both cheeks of this dear,dearwoman God saw fit to deposit in my path. It’s possible I appear a tad unhinged. But I am telling you right now, there isnothingin all the world that rivals a divine appointment.

Especially when it’s dripping with Southern hospitality.

Twenty-Six

nimble(adj.): marked by quick, alert, clever resourcefulness

Lucy

“Your mom is a hoot,” Dot says on Monday morning, giggling about the selfie Mom sent out over the family text thread. In the photo, Mom and her assistant, Yvonne, are smashed cheek to cheek with a rather large elderly Black woman in a tiny kitchen.

Mom’s caption: “Gettin’ our souls topped off with love and soul food!”

I don’t mention to Dot that I also received a private text from Mom yesterday gushing about the piece I wrote about Nana.

Oh sweetie. It made me happy and weepy and all the things. Nana would love it. Permission to share?

It’s possible her praise scrambled my good sense, prompting me to respond with “I don’t see why not.” Until this moment, ithasn’t occurred to me to question with whom she intended to share my writing.

And by the way, since when has texting with my mom become a thing?It feels natural, almost like we’re ... friends. I find it comforting. Maybe the time for proving I can stand on my own two feet and make a go of things has passed.

Our roots have always been mingled—by divine design, no less—and forever will be.

I rap my knuckles on our editor in chief’s door.

Sam stops typing and peers over his readers.