A Place at the Table Read Online Free Page B

melted on top of a tall stack of hot pancakes.
    If I ever meet Amit Patel I’m going to ask him if he’s ever heard of a tiger running so fast it turned into butter. I don’t think that could really happen, but then again, there are mysterious and wonderful things that occur every single day. Least that’s what Mr. Morgan says. And I sure don’t think a tiger turning into butter is any stranger than Jonah living inside the belly of a whale.
    •  •  •
    Everyone has a best friend but me. Even Mama. Daddy says that Mama and Betsy Meadows are “glued at the hip.” They are so close that we boys call her Aunt Betsy, even though she’s not kin. Aunt Betsy lives down the street, but she and Mama met long before they were neighbors. They knew each other even before they were married. They were both at the University of Georgia together, where they were members of Alpha Delta Pi sorority, which Daddy said had all of the prettiest girls. Aunt Betsy has two boys, identical twins, a year younger than Troy. She says they are double trouble, but they’ve never given me any. And I guess Aunt Betsy’s going to have another baby soon; at least that’s what she was talking about the other day.
    It was midafternoon and Mama had finished all her chores, so she telephoned Aunt Betsy and told her to come visit. Aunt Betsy was there in a flash and a minute later the two of them were relaxing on the screened-in back porch, each lounging on one of the twowhite wicker chairs made extra comfortable by thick pillows covered in a pretty fabric with big flowers all over it, their feet propped up on matching ottomans. Mama had put two Tabs in the freezer before calling Aunt Betsy, so they’d be good and cold. Aunt Betsy sipped from hers while Mama’s rested by her side. I could see Mama’s handprint in the bottle’s condensation.
    I stood behind Mama, scratching her head while she and Aunt Betsy talked. Mama is not a fan of the new “wash-and-wear” hairstyles. She says at five foot two she needs all the lift she can get. The puffed hair on top of Mama’s head is hard from all the hairspray she uses, but you just push through and you can get to her scalp.
    “All I’m saying is, after what those boys put me through, I’m praying for a girl. I’m serious, Edie; you pray for me, too.”
    “You think you had it bad? You don’t remember Hunter? Mercy! I was on my knees each night praying the next one would be a girl.”
    “You were?” I asked.
    Mama reached her soft hand around to pat me on the arm. “But I was wrong, sweetheart. The only reason I prayed for a girl was I thought a girl would be easier. But you were an angel, weren’t you, doll? Slept through the night almost as soon as you arrived, only fussed when you were hungry or had a dirty diaper, didn’t mind sitting on the kitchen floor and just playing with Play-Doh all morning, while I did my work.”
    “I remember,” said Betsy. “I was jealous. You were a dream baby for sure, sweetheart. While Hunter was wild.”
    “Was?”
    “Is,” said Betsy.
    “He just came out that way. Fast and fearless. Once when he was three or four I left him alone in the living room for half a second, and next thing you know there was Hunter on top of the Mission bookshelf. To this day I don’t know how he got up there. It’s got a glass-fronted case. He must have scaled the sides.”
    “Good Lord,” said Betsy.
    “Well, he’s on top of that thing and he’s got his little red cape on around his neck and he’s holding his arms out in front of him like he was at the pool and about to dive off the board. I heard myself saying the three words I said most often to him, ‘Hunter, no sir!’ but I was too late. He was already plummeting toward me. I managed to catch him, but I twisted my ankle doing so.”
    “Mercy.”
    “But honestly, Betsy, don’t worry too much about this next one. The surprise babies are a gift from God. That’s what everyone says. Certainly was the case