Potluck

In the church kitchen, Mrs. Tooele and Mrs. Witt were washing dishes. They were also getting more food ready as needed.

“Where is the pastor’s wife?” asked Mrs. Tooele, her curly gray hair bouncing. “She’s always off chatting while we’re working hard.”

Mrs. Witt nodded in firm agreement. “She is nothing like our former pastor’s wifemay she rest in peace. She was a hard worker, always there to lend a hand.”

“She was one of us,” Mrs. Witt said, becoming misty-eyed.

Outside, Mrs. Sache and Mrs. Kiljoye kept eagle eyes out to replenish vanishing items.

Mrs. Sache turned to Mrs. Kiljoye. “Can you believe that message this morning? Talk about a “sermon lite.” Our new pastor is too nice. He doesn’t get into the meat.” Her light-brown eyes darkened.

“Speaking of meat,” Mrs. Kiljoye said, “we’d better get some more out here. It’s starting to disappear.” The two women went back to the kitchen to ask for more of the main dishes and handed off the empty serving dishes to be washed. When they returned to the serving tables, Mrs. Freeton approached them, tossing her blonde, curly hair from side to side as she peered at the multitude of diners.

“Did you girls see that skinny little glutton over there?” Mrs. Freeton asked. “She just heaped several brownies and most of the cookie bars onto her plate!”

“Unbelievable,” said Mrs. Kiljoye, shaking her head with a look of astonishment.

“I know,” Mrs. Witt said. “How does she stay so thin?”

“She doesn’t have a man,” said Mrs. Kiljoye as she looked on, her stout build making her appear shorter than she was.

“Well, until her metabolism changes, I can’t stand her,” said Mrs. Witt, wearing a sour look.

“Oh, she’ll get hers someday,” said Mrs. Kiljoye decidedly.

“And none too soon,” said Mrs. Witt, shaking her head.

“Just desserts!” remarked Mrs. Freeton with a crooked grin.

“Fruitcake?” offered Mrs. Wisell, cutting into their gossip session. She was a bent-over, elderly woman with loose, curly, white hair. She held a loaded paper plate in front of her. “I’ve kept it in the freezer for a year, but I decided to bring it out for today. Or did I pull it out of the fridge?” She stood lost in thought, putting her hand up to her baby-fine white hair.

Veronica, who had been hosting and supervising, caught the situation with her eagle eyes and ears, and she quickly stepped over.

“Mrs. Wisell, it’s so good of you to bring this,” she said pleasantly. “Come and sit down.” She took Mrs. Wisell by the arm and whisked her over to a table. “Let’s see. What can we get for you to eat? Steven come here,” she commanded in a sharp tone. “Get Mrs. Wisell a plate, please.”

“Of course, dear,” Steven said, quickly walking toward Mrs. Wisell’s table.

Veronica snatched the fruitcake and walked briskly back to the kitchen. “Bury this in the garbage can,” she instructed the kitchen crew curtly. “It was not approved for this event.” Then she walked back outside to hear the old woman talking about how many different desserts she wanted. Thankfully, they are plentiful, Veronica thought...The potluck festivities lasted well into the evening. Clouds began to gather, covering the waning sunshine like a dark-purple cotton blanket...Veronica picked up some dishes and headed inside and then downstairs to the church basement...Like a sergeant, she ordered the twelve ladies of her crew,..

to wipe down tables and chairs, cover dishes, and

place them out for the owners to retrieve...

.. When Veronica finished supervising the women, she began retrieving her own dishes.“Here, Teresa,” she said, walking over to the long stainless-steel island. “Take this home to your husband. I know how much he loves homemade soups and breads.” Veronica handed her a care package. Then she picked up the pans of Andrea’s cookie bars.

Andrea noticed and hesitated. “I don’t need those,” she said awkwardly. “You take them. I know Steven likes them.”

“It’s his favorite dessert,” said Veronica sharply. “Your cookie bars, that is.” She stared at the two uncovered pans.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” said Andrea softly, looking down.

“Oh, don’t be so modest, my dear,” quipped Veronica tartly. “Here,” she said, handing the pans over to Dee. “Cover these and put them with those.” Veronica pointed to a stack of her other dishes.

“If I know Steven, he’ll have the whole pan for his midnight snack,” Dee chimed...Veronica hastily picked up her dishes and went outside to where Steven was waiting for her in the car...Veronica stood still while he opened her car door...He opened his own car door and slid onto the soft brown leather seat.The silence was loud until he broke it, saying that he was glad it was their thirtieth anniversary. “Sometimes it feels like the hundredth!” she snapped back...Steven remained quiet until they reached the front gate of their home...He parked the car and jumped out to open his wife’s door...She went in the house briskly without a word. He came in a few minutes later with the food and put it in the refrigerator. Steven noticed Veronica standing in the family room, staring at him with disgust. He looked down and asked if she would like a cup of tea before bed. She turned on a dime and said curtly, “No, thank you.”

“All right,” he said, sounding disappointed. “I think I’ll have a snack and read before bed. See you in the morning, dear.”

Veronica purposefully ascended the stairs without a word... Veronica studied herself in the mirror from different angles.

“He will have to pay for his expensive choices,” she said angrily to her reflection in the mirror. “I don’t feel one bit sorry for him either.”...Meanwhile, Steven read awhile and then watched a little television. It was close to midnight when he reached for the cookie bars.