“It came out of the big oven twenty minutes back,” I said, pouring a full ladle over her mashed potatoes.

She smiled, took a carton of cold milk from the ice trough, and headed for the corner table.

Noah came right behind Arthur Vance, both of them holding their red plastic trays with both hands.

Noah reached into the wicker basket on the counter and took two shiny red apples.

He put one apple on Arthur’s tray, right beside his slice of hot turkey.

“You get the biggest apple today, Arthur,” Noah said, his soft voice rushing.