Uncle Ahmad’s Toys

By E. William Fruge

Neighbors welcome a family of Syrian refugees to the small town of Grand Forks. Elderly Uncle Ahmad, still recovering from the trauma of civil war, rewards the kindness of his new friends with his prodigious wood sculpting talent. When a Black church displays his soul-stirring art in a fundraising event to support refugees, Ahmad's skill becomes widely admired in the community. It also incites suspicion and islamophobia among local white nationalists. A proposal in the town council to remove a confederate statue, and the potential that a new industry will import dozens of ethnic families persuade fearful militants to take drastic measures. A struggle for dominance ensues. Will white supremacy prevail in civic life? Or will Ahmad's artistic tributes to kindness inspire greater equality? The answers depend upon how the community sees itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613096666

Book preview

One

It was an oppressive December, the worst in recent memory. Promising forecasts for a break from the punishing cold were met with frustration. Temperatures plummeted again in the community of Grand Forks. An unforeseen overnight shift in the jet stream drove a powerful cell of low pressure much further south than predicted. What was supposed to be a light dusting erupted into arctic chaos. Daybreak revealed knee-high, fresh, dry snow. Frozen, wind-swept drifts crisscrossed neighborhoods, buried streets and piled high against buildings. Businesses announced closures.

William Page awakened to coarse sounds of a snow shovel scraping concrete. He groggily rolled out of bed and raised the blinds of his bedroom window. The sterile white landscape wasn’t his only surprise. A friend from church and his teenage son had braved hazardous roads to clear snow from the long walkway to his country home. He bent over to check the alarm clock. It was barely after eight o’clock.

Jessi, get out of bed, ordered Will in a loud voice. There’s been a blizzard. Martin Beasley and his son are clearing snow off our sidewalk and porch. We need to offer them some hot chocolate. I’m going down to invite them in.

His yawning wife rolled onto her back and stretched her arms. Her eyes peeped open, golden brown hair matted to her face.

Snow? Go ahead, she mumbled. The hot chocolate packets are in the cabinet above the refrigerator. You guys have fun.

Will pulled a clean, pressed white shirt off a closet hanger and huffed around to Jessi’s side of the bed. We have visitors and need to welcome them. Now get up.

You can handle it. Jessi rolled on her side and snuggled up to her pillow. Her irate husband jerked the warm covers off her.

Stop it, Will!

Hurrying to get dressed, he retrieved his pants from the floor and struggled to fasten them around his waist. His wife slowly sat up in bed. It was too early. The baby was still asleep. She reached for her robe hanging on the bed post.

No, oh no, you don’t, snapped Will, buttoning his shirt. A church elder is coming into this house. He and his son don’t need to see you in a robe, behaving like a temptress. Put on a dress. He checked his face in the mirror and brushed his hair. I’ll see you down there. Without another glance in her direction, he slipped into his loafers and hurried off. The staircase creaked as he thundered down the steps.

Jessi rolled her eyes and fell backwards onto the bed. The daily brew of exasperation with her husband had been served early. If it wasn’t one thing it was another. Was it worth walking on egg shells around the guy? He’d changed a lot over the six years of their marriage.

You could at least start the water boiling, she shouted before pushing herself upright again. How did she end up being married to such an irksome control freak?

Will pushed open the glass storm door of his home. Martin Beasley, in his early 40s, was standing in the yard supervising his teenage son. He noticed Will and waved at him.

Morning, brother William. We’ll have you cleared off in no time at all.

You don’t have to. I’ll get to it later. Why don’t you fellas take a break and come in for a cup of hot chocolate.

Martin’s red-faced son stopped shoveling and stood up straight, his breathing heavy, but his father motioned for him to continue working.

I’ll call you when it’s ready, son. Finish up. The man plodded through the deep snow to the front porch. After stomping his feet and wiping his boots on the welcome mat, he entered. Don’t wanna track snow through the house. I’ll take my boots off.

Don’t worry about it. Will shook Beasley’s hand and patted him on the shoulder with a broad smile. Jessi will clean it up. Besides, you’ll be going right back out after you down that hot chocolate. Makes no sense taking your boots off.

I appreciate it, replied Martin. He enjoyed coming to this church member’s home. Will’s wealthy father, who was the owner of a local grocery store, had given it to him as a wedding gift. Spacious, with modern amenities and large windows, it had an inviting atmosphere. Jessi’s numerous houseplants made it feel like a year-round oasis.

Thanks for clearing off my sidewalk and porch. Will extended his arm and directed his visitor to a nearby rocking chair.

No problem, said Martin as he sat. Better for my son to help others than sit around and stew over that Santa Claus and Christmas nonsense. That’s finished, thanks to the sound Biblical admonition you brought to the church. We didn’t know the holiday’s pagan history.

I thank you for that affirmation. Will grinned from ear to ear as he sat across from Martin. I found the information on a website. Just passed it along.

It hasn’t been easy at the church, said Martin. It’s been what, almost two years now? Fighting liberalism is hard work. God knows our congregation was saturated with it. We lost some folks when we finally drove off that idiot Obama-loving pastor last summer. He chuckled and shook his head. But In His Steps Community Church is a lot healthier and Biblically sound now. We’re growing in numbers. Finances are stable. You helped in big ways.

Well... If there was one thing Will loved, it was personal praise. I chalk it all up to you and elder Pulley’s leadership.

No, I mean it, continued Martin. He removed his green sock hat and laid it on his knee. Folks in the church didn’t know the pagan origin of Christmas. Those pamphlets you distributed showed us our error. People’s politics is right now, also. We finally have a New Testament Church. Maybe the only one in town. Looks like Jessi’s a bed slug this morning.

She’ll be down in a minute, said Will, relaxing his large frame on a brown leather couch. He yelled for his wife to hurry and start on the hot chocolate. You’re right. A lot of us suffered during the conflict, especially you and elder Pulley. But you led us through it. By the power of the blood of Christ, you did it. You saved our church. Praise the Lord!

Yes, and your influence upon our younger folk was important to our victory, concurred Martin. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared intently at Will. But the war’s not over. The liberals might’ve fled our church, but they’re working overtime in Grand Forks.

What do you mean? Will sat up. Beasley appeared genuinely concerned. Jessi descended the steps wearing jeans and a green V-neck pullover sweater. Will gritted his teeth. Didn’t he tell her to wear a dress? They paused their conversation.

Elder Beasley. Her greeting was cold and without eye contact. Martin’s eyes followed her until she disappeared into the kitchen.

Morning, Jessi. He refocused on Will. Before I get to that, elder Pulley’s purple-haired niece is a receptionist down at the truck rental on Lafayette Street. She told him they’re expecting a truck to be turned in tomorrow from a family moving here from Detroit.

Detroit? Wow! That’s a long move.

She thinks it’s a Muslim family. Rag heads.

Muslims are moving here? Will was stunned, not wanting to believe his ears. You’re talking terrorists and Sharia law, right here in Grand Forks?

Exactly.

Dear God! It’s hard to believe. How did they find us?

My only question is how many guns they got packed in that truck. And that’s not all. Pulley learned yesterday that Black Lives Matter radicals are preparing a proposal to the town council for approval sometime next year.

Are they really? What kind? Will moved to the edge of his seat.

They want more equality in police, firefighting, and city employee hiring, explained Martin, and a review of police policies. The tall sandy-haired man sat up straighter in his seat, his expression grim. And there’s more. They’re calling for education programs in our schools that focus more on Black history.

They want to change our history? exclaimed Will. Schools already teach kids all they need to know. It’s part of a larger conspiracy to rewrite the American story, to make white people look bad.

A moment of stone-cold silence filled the room. It felt like an eternity. A Windsor cherry mantel clock above the fireplace chimed the half hour. Martin drew in a deep breath and paused to recapture Will’s gaze.

We’re not going to let them take over the town, proclaimed Beasley, and we’re definitely not going to have that Sharia shit in our community, pardon my French. If this nation’s going to preserve its white Christian heritage, we’ll have to think beyond the ballot box and the courts. There was an ominous tone in his voice. It’ll take Christian patriots like us, fighting persecution and taking the fight literally to the very doorsteps of our enemies. This battle, Will, the defense of Grand Forks, this fight is ours. It could get ugly.

Someone has to have the courage to step up and do it, added Will. He shook his head in disgust. Who would’ve ever thought? Right here in Grand Forks. Let me know what I can do.

What’s your work schedule this week? Martin leaned back into the chair, pleased. He suspected that Will, thirty years old, would be eager to help.

I’m working all day every day until New Year’s. The store’s even open tomorrow, Christmas Day. I’ll be there early and work late. Not even a lunch break.

I’m sorry the old man’s working you so much. Beasley rested his forearms on the chair and tapped his fingers on its flat wooden armrests. We can start organizing after the holidays when you have more availability. By the way, you have a circular saw I can borrow, or a jigsaw?

You bet. I got one in the shed. I’ll go get it. Be right back. Will pulled his boots out of the hall closet and paused beside Jessi on his way through the kitchen to the back door.

Hurry up with that hot chocolate, he said in a low voice. And don’t be so rude.

A draft of icy cold air filtered into the kitchen as Will exited. Moments later, Beasley strolled into view. She heard his footsteps and faced him. The heels of her hands rested on the granite counter top. Jessi had been an academic standout in high school. She had also been a striker on the girls’ soccer team. Her athletic frame was still impressive. She lowered her chin and gazed at the brawny figure. Beasley kept his distance.

What are you doing here, Martin? It’s Tuesday. It’s my private day.

Reproach wasn’t what he was expecting.

We have to talk. I wouldn’t be here if it could wait. His chin was trembling.

What’s so urgent?

Marla suspects something. Make time for me later today.

Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow. It’s Tuesday.

But tomorrow’s Christmas, protested Martin.

So what? He’ll be stocking shelves at the store. Will comes from a family of grinches. They don’t celebrate Christmas. Never have. See any decorations around here? She pointed at him. Besides, he turned you and the church into grinches, too. Right?

That’s beside the point. I’m worried, Jessi.

Worried your sins will find you out? Jessi stood, cast a glance out the window to check on Will, then slipped her arms around Beasley’s waist. I want to hear all about it. I really do, but today doesn’t work.

Okay, but we need to be more discreet. His hands remained anchored in his pockets.

‘We’? I don’t kiss and tell. She backed away and leaned again on the counter.

He bit his lip. This could blow up in our faces. And if she says something to Will...

Why not just go ahead and tell her? She shook her head with a smirk. Take me and Barney away from this prison like you promised, then tell her.

He gawked at her in dismay.

It can wait until tomorrow morning. She crossed her arms. Ten o’clock?

Martin threw up his hands. Good Lord! You’re so hardheaded. Ten it is.

The hot water kettle began crackling. The anxious man returned to his chair in the living room. Will re-entered the house carrying a box in his arms. His shoes sloshed snow onto the floor as he walked the power saw to his friend. Beasley stood to receive the tool.

My son should be finished with your porch and sidewalk. Thanks for the hospitality. Tell Jessi I’m going to pass on the hot chocolate.

No problem, replied Will. They shook hands. Stop by anytime, brother.

He watched as Beasley and his son drove off. Jessi, there’s melted snow everywhere. Don’t wait too long to clean it up.

Clean it up yourself. She was standing right behind him.

What? He couldn’t believe his ears. What’s gotten into you?

"What’s gotten into me? There was a cold determination in her eyes. I’m not a maid to be bossed around. Clean up your own messes, especially ones that your old pal Martin Beasley makes."

Will glared at her as she mounted the staircase. I’m the head of this house, woman. Your attitude is a problem.

So is yours. Female submission to male leadership was a recurring theme at their church. She was fed up with it all, especially from Will.

You’re defying the clear teaching of Scripture. You know that, right?

Jessi peered down upon him from the top of the staircase. I’m not a child. Stop lecturing me like one.

Stop acting like one, declared Will. Jessi disappeared around a corner. And you should show more respect to Martin Beasley. You were rude to him. He’s an elder of the church, after all. He listened for a reply. My patience with you has a limit, woman.

Jessi’s growing defiance to his authority over their home angered him. Elder Pulley advised him those women who didn’t joyfully and intelligently embrace their domestic role should be disciplined. No, her attitude was unacceptable. A wet spot on the floor from Beasley’s snow-caked boot almost made him slip and fall. He noticed there were wet tracks leading all the way to the kitchen. He assumed they were from his own shoes.

A call came into his mobile phone from his father. Employees at the grocery weren’t reporting for work. He needed to get there as soon as possible.

MOTHER NATURE’S ICY tantrum didn’t prevent Guilty Pleasures Bakery and Café from opening. Sol and Adrienne Bernstein figured there would be a few brave souls venturing out on Christmas Eve, longing for a warm fireplace and a sweet holiday treat. They were right. Their employees were given the day off. The couple could handle the small crowd themselves. By the end of business hours, scattered crumbs, dropped napkins, and shreds of torn wrapping paper and ribbon littered the café’s floor. Street grime from snow-soaked footwear and hot drink spills were splattered everywhere.

Sol cleaned it all up. He didn’t mind. His café-style bakery was one of Grand Forks’ happy places. People of every age and description sought comfort there, especially during the bitter cold of winter. If someone was worried, depressed, lonely or stir-crazy from cabin fever, Guilty Pleasures was a source of cheer. Sol greeted the clientele with a genuine smile, an impeccable knack for remembering names, and a funny story or two peppered with his contagious laughter. Every tale ended the same way: You never know. It might be true.

I’m finished in here, Mr. Bernstein. Are you? His wife’s voice echoed from the kitchen. He and Adrienne were alone.

Indeed, I am, Mrs. Bernstein, answered Sol. It’s time to call it a day. He leaned on his mop with both hands and surveyed the shop. It was spotless. It even smelled clean.

I have two dozen cookies for Miriam. She and Jake are taking them to a party tonight. Adrienne emerged from the kitchen bundled in her coat and scarf for the stroll home. Her white hair was pulled back in a ponytail and a box of cookies was cradled in her arms. Sol took his heavy barn coat from the rack, stuffed his lanky arms through its sleeves and tucked his ears under a stocking hat.

You were wonderful today, honey. Adrienne looked up at him with an appreciative gaze. You created such a festive atmosphere for our customers. I could tell they loved it.

You were in the kitchen all day. You didn’t see half of it. I was spectacular!

Adrienne rolled her eyes and smiled. Of course he was. Sol set the alarm and turned off the lights before they stepped outside. The sound of snow crunching under tires made them look over their shoulders to see who was arriving. It was Jake in his sheriff’s SUV with their daughter. Miriam hopped out of the vehicle and hugged them both.

Mom, Dad! I’m so glad we caught you before you left. Miriam turned her attention to the flat white box in her mother’s arms. Are those the cookies for our party tonight?

Yes dear, replied Adrienne with a broad smile. They’re all yours. I hope your friends enjoy them.

Are you kidding? They’ll love them. Miriam raised the box to her nose to catch a delightful sniff. Did you include my favorites?

Adrienne nodded. Miriam held the box close. Snowflakes collected on her black wavy hair as she brushed it behind an ear.

You guys want a ride home? asked Miriam.

Oh no, declared her mother with a wave of her forefinger. Most of the sidewalks are cleared by now. It’ll be fun walking home. The snowfall is so lovely. The wind isn’t blowing and it’s early. We’ll be just fine.

Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll see you tomorrow. She gingerly made her way back to the SUV. Jake leaned over the passenger-side seat and opened the door for her.

Thanks a million! cried the deputy, waving from behind the salt-smeared windshield. Miriam buckled her seatbelt, the box of treats resting on her lap. The vehicle carefully backed out of the parking lot and faded out of sight in the thickening snow.

They’re such a beautiful couple, said Adrienne with a sigh. She nudged Sol to take their first steps home. Snow crunched beneath them. We should be so fortunate.

She’s been through a lot. Sol buried his gloved hands in his coat pockets. Our daughter is a brave woman. She deserves a man who’ll truly love her. But she should be more sensitive to her heritage. It’s like that doesn’t matter at all to her. I worry for the boys.

They’ll be fine, replied Adrienne. Besides, they have Rabbi Kirkman. He’s a wonderful role model, as are you, dear.

I love those kids so much, Sol said.

And they love you, assured his wife, squeezing his arm. Young men adore their grandpas. Love will guide the way.

The neighborhood, blanketed in white, seemed unusually peaceful. Turning the corner a block away from their home, they noticed a large orange box truck in the driveway of the house next door. The couple stopped in their tracks. It was a van from a self-moving company. Parked behind it was a white, late-model Mercedes. Their old neighbors had moved away six months earlier. The residence had sat for sale for much longer than anyone anticipated. Then at Thanksgiving a Sold sign had replaced the For Sale sign. No one on Thunderbolt Court's cul-de-sac had a clue about the mystery buyer.

Well, it looks like our new neighbors have arrived at last, observed Adrienne, squinting to better discern what was happening.

Who moves at Christmas and Hanukkah? wondered Sol out loud. Nobody moves then.

Adrienne peered again at the distant movers unloading the truck. The couple remained motionless, silently observing the bustle of activity.

I suppose the holidays aren’t special to them. The suspicion tumbled from Sol’s lips in a near whisper. Maybe they’re atheists.

They neared the walkway to their home. Neither of the two movers paid them the slightest attention. Sol noticed they weren’t speaking English. He and Adrienne continued up the walkway, knocked the snow off their boots and entered. Their little black-faced pug, Mr. Bibbs, was there to greet them, prancing on his toes and pawing at Adrienne’s legs.

You need to give the dog a snack, said Adrienne as she pushed the excited pooch aside with her foot. I’ll make some tea to warm us up.

Good idea, said Sol. Miriam needs to take him back. Why is he still here? She has a place now. That pesky beast gets on my nerves.

Sol slipped a wooden hanger inside his barn coat, threw his stocking cap on the shelf and closed the hall closet door. Mr. Bibbs followed him.

Calm down, small one, said Sol. The dog’s tail wagged wildly. The persistent little creature, still at his heels, gazed up at the man with anticipation.

Sol retrieved a bag of dry dog chow from the pantry. He scooped out a portion into a bowl then pulled a can of salmon-flavored dog food from the fridge and spooned out enough to mix together. Mr. Bibbs twisted in delirious circles in anticipation of his meal. When the small round silvery bowl was set on the floor, the dog practically jumped into it.

Adrienne joined Sol at the front window with two mugs of steaming jasmine tea.

Notice anything?

They weren’t speaking English. I noticed that when we got home, replied Sol in the middle of a sip. Only two guys and a kid emptying the truck. I think I see other people through the windows.

We should introduce ourselves, said Adrienne staring intently out the window. They might welcome a cookie break.

Go ahead. I’ll watch. Sol wasn’t going back out. Wait a minute. You have cookies here?

Oh honey, of course I do. She started back to the kitchen.

Where are they?

They’re in the secret place, as usual. Squeaky noises from cupboard doors seeped from the kitchen. Go upstairs and change out of those work clothes. You’ve worn them all morning. Put on something more comfortable while I’m getting things ready.

The secret place again, mumbled Sol. Where the hell is that woman’s secret place? Still murmuring, he started up the staircase to the bedroom. Five minutes later, he reappeared in his sweats. Adrienne stood by the door, bundled in her topcoat, carrying a white porcelain platter. It was loaded with an assortment of decorated cookies and covered in plastic wrap. Where on God’s green earth did she hide those things, he wondered.

Wish me luck. And just like that, her curiosity unfettered, Adrienne was off.

Sol observed her from the window. Snow was falling harder. The guys moving boxes scurried past her. Adrienne mounted the steps to the neighbors’ front landing and announced her arrival through the wide-open door. A boy came running to investigate. As soon as he saw Adrienne, he cried out—was that Arabic? An instant later, an adolescent girl appeared, followed by an attractive woman of average height with flowing dark hair and gracious brown eyes.

Hello. My name is Adrienne Bernstein. My husband Sol and I live next-door. I just want to say welcome with a snack to munch on while you’re moving in. She held out the platter of cookies. The girl turned her attention to her mother. How would she receive this nosey stranger with the funny thin face, graying hair and low-pitched voice?

Thank you, Mrs. Bernstein. It is a pleasure to meet you. She nodded to her daughter, who accepted the platter from Adrienne’s hands. We are the Qureshi family. My name is Rajah. This is my son, Tarik, and my daughter, Amira. My husband’s name is Sayyid.

A tall muscular man with a dark, closely-trimmed beard, deep-set brown eyes and short dark hair walked up behind them. He carried a cardboard moving box. Behind him was a thin, shorter and older man. With thick graying hair falling over his ears, a trimmed salt and pepper mustache and beard, brown eyes and weathered skin, he fit her image of a Greek fisherman. His black leather jacket appeared largely insufficient for winter weather. He too carried a box. Adrienne stepped aside to let them pass. They both waited and stared curiously at her.

Sayyid, this is our neighbor, Mrs. Bernstein, explained Rajah. Sayyid nodded then spoke to the older man in Arabic. The latter nodded without relaxing his fixed gaze on Adrienne.

I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bernstein, said Sayyid. Please excuse our uncle Ahmad for staring. He doesn’t speak English and is very shy, and sometimes a little rude.

Oh, that’s quite all right, replied Adrienne with an accepting smile. I brought you some cookies to snack on. I used butter from a local dairy farmer. And my husband’s name is Sol. That’s short for Solomon.

We are very pleased. Thank you very much. Will you excuse me and my uncle? The boxes are heavy. The men hurried around her and disappeared down the basement steps.

Well, I won’t linger. If you need anything at all, Sol and I are available. We’re looking forward to having you as our new neighbors.

Once more, thank you so much, answered Rajah. She escorted Adrienne outside with her arms folded in front of her. After the visitor departed, she hurried back inside. Her husband was waiting.

They’re Jews, offered the woman in Arabic.

I can tell, replied Sayyid, his hands in his coat pockets. And their house is next to ours. Allah is not pleased with us. He picked up the platter of cookies where Amira had set it and walked to a large open box. With no further thought, he tilted it to dump the cookies in with discarded packing material.

Stop! cried Rajah. Don’t you dare throw those away!

Sayyid threw her a piercing glance.

The children will enjoy them. I’m hungry as well. The cookies are perfect. She strode swiftly toward her husband, retrieved the platter from his hands and looked sternly into his eyes. And Allah has nothing to do with it. We will not make the same mistakes here, do you understand, husband? We will be good friends and good neighbors. We must at least give this community a chance.

Sayyid nodded in reluctant agreement. As usual, you are the wise one.

ADRIENNE RETURNED HOME distraught. Without removing her coat, she found Sol and took his hands in hers, shaking her head.

Well, what did you find out? he asked. Her sad eyes peered deeply into his.

I think they’re Muslims. She paused for a moment to let the news sink in. They’re Arabs for sure, Sol. We’re being punished.

For what? Were they nice to you? asked the curious man. Or were they rude?

They were quite nice, and appreciative, I think. They’re an attractive couple with two kids and an older uncle. He looks to be close to your age. Maybe older. He seems to speak only Arabic.

So where’s the problem? Sol could tell his wife was stressed as she peered out the window again. He rubbed her hands with his thumbs. It’s okay, Adrienne. Don’t worry.

I’ll try not to, Mr. Bernstein. Adrienne released his hands and collapsed into a nearby easy chair. It’s just that I worry we won’t get along. We might have Muslims for neighbors now, Sol. They’re so different. She paused for a moment. What’s that? She leaned forward for closer scrutiny of her husband’s beard. Were those cookie crumbs?

A HALF HOUR LATER, Adrienne was in her kitchen. Baking kept her from stewing over Sol’s discovery of her secret place. The oven had worked well for a long time. He never thought to look inside it. What gave it away? The doorbell rang. Where is that husband of mine? Upstairs taking a nap with the dog, probably. It rang again. Adrienne set down her spoon and hurried to answer it. The weather had gotten colder.

Hi, Adrienne. Happy Hanukkah. Gail Warner stomped her feet on the doorway rug to knock off the snow clinging to her boots. Are you celebrating this evening?

Ah! It’s you, Gail, said Adrienne, holding out her arms to take her friend’s long winter coat. Yes. Just me and Sol.

Oh, no thank you, Gail said, stuffing her hands back into her coat pockets. I’m just making a quick stop. She stepped inside. Gail was a dark-skinned African American with an incurably effervescent disposition. So, nothing special?

No. Just lighting a candle and saying a prayer...and reflecting upon our many blessings. Miriam is partying with Jake this evening. Sol found my secret place, Gail. He gorged himself on cookies.

Gail’s mouth dropped open as she shook her head in disgust. I am so sorry. What are you going to do?

Let him get fat, I suppose.

Gail’s eyes flew open. But he’s already—

I know, interrupted Adrienne, throwing up her hands. He’s eleven years older than me with a slowing metabolism. But Gail, keeping him on a diet is like herding cats. He’s a stubborn old hardhead.

And you’re so skinny. I put on ten pounds just smelling anything from an oven. You work all day in a kitchen baking sweets. How do you do it?

Nervous energy, I suppose. Adrienne sighed. I’m in the middle of cooking right now. Can’t get away from it.

Well, I’ll be brief. Jeff and Latisha and all the kids came down with the flu this morning. And it’s one of those real nasty types, know what I mean?

Adrienne rolled her eyes and nodded. I heard it’s going around. Bad timing for the flu. And what about Rafael and his crew? Are they coming for Christmas?

No, replied Gail. Her disappointment was apparent. It’s their year to spend Christmas with her family. So anyway, we’ve got this big meal we bought for tomorrow afternoon and only us to eat it. Would you and Sol like to share it with us? Please?

We’ve no plans. Sure, why not? Adrienne was thrilled. What can we bring?

Nothing at all. Really. And guess who else accepted an invitation. Our new neighbors.

The Qureshi family? Adrienne couldn’t believe it. I met them a short while ago. You invited them?

Of course, said Gail throwing up her hands. Their house is between ours. I told Dan I was sure they had no time yet to cook or even go to the grocery, so we should invite them to dinner tomorrow since the boys weren’t coming. He agreed. I was so surprised. He said it would be a nice way to show his appreciation for their not having a dog. You know how he feels about dogs.

Yes, murmured Adrienne. ‘Sol too. He’s really annoyed Miriam still hasn’t taken Mr. Bibbs back."

So, on my way over here I stopped to invite them. They accepted. I’m so excited! It’s going to be so much fun!

Uh huh, replied Adrienne, forcing a smile. Looking forward to it. What time should we be there?

Two o’clock, said Gail, looking down at her watch. Well, I have to go. There’s a Christmas Eve Mass at church tonight and I have to get ready. Oh, and Miriam and Jake and her kids are invited also. Will you pass along the invitation?

I will, but the boys are with their father in New York. You’re going to be terribly busy preparing for all of us. You need some help? I can help.

Oh no, don’t be silly. Gail shook her head as if she’d just been asked the most ridiculous question in the world. I’ll put Dan to work. He’ll do anything I tell him.

A blast of wintry air burst in as Gail darted out into the cold and hurried down the porch steps.

We’ll see you tomorrow! shouted Adrienne. She quickly closed the door. Sol!

No response. She thought she could hear him snoring.

Wake up, Sol! Get down here. She heard Mr. Bibbs jump off the bed. His little black fuzzy face poked around the corner and stared at her