Volunteers were preparing turkey, stuffing, gravy, and enormous pots of mashed potatoes.
Clare handed me a red apron.
“You’re on potato duty.”
I laughed.
“I’ve had plenty of practice.”
For the next several hours, I helped prepare and serve meals.
Families arrived from across the community.
Older residents, young parents, children, and people who simply needed somewhere welcoming to spend Christmas.
I greeted each person warmly.
“Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
Then, around half past noon, I looked up from the serving counter.
A woman in a navy winter coat stood in front of me holding a tray.
Her head was lowered.
But I recognized her immediately.
Patricia Gorski.
Renee’s mother.
“Pat?” I said softly.
She looked up.
Her expression changed instantly.
“Joanne?”
She glanced around nervously.
“What are you doing here?”
“Volunteering. Walter used to help here.”
I placed a serving of potatoes on her plate.
“Go enjoy your meal. Could we talk afterward?”
