Come to the Table

by Neta Jackson

  A surge of anticipation sent her running up the stairs of the station just as a train pulled in. As the doors slid shut, Kat hung on to a pole and studied the map above the window. The Sheridan El station was barely halfway to the Loop. Shouldn’t take too long. Looked like an easy walk from the El station.

  The car was almost empty at this time of day. Kat swung into a seat and stared out the window as the elevated train rattled past the back sides of brick apartment buildings, past a park full of lush trees and jogging paths, and over busy intersections, scenes that were starting to feel familiar.

  The train picked up a few more passengers at each stop. Munching on an apple from the sack lunch, Kat paid little attention until the recorded voice announced, “Berwyn. The next stop is Berwyn.” A smile tipped the edges of her mouth. This was where she and the other CCU students had transferred to the Foster Avenue bus that took them back and forth to the campus this past spring and early summer.

  But no more. Not her anyway. Bree had one more semester to finish up her master’s degree and would go back to campus in the fall, and Nick had to complete his internship before getting his M-Div. But Kat had graduated in June. Well . . . officially, anyway. She hadn’t attended her own graduation. What was the point? Her parents hadn’t come. Off on some cruise. The school would mail her diploma. She’d spent graduation day checking out the apartment in the Rogers Park neighborhood the four friends were going to sublet for their “summer in the city.”

  So much had happened already—and it was only the last week in June. At first it seemed like everything was going wrong. Pastor Clark, one of SouledOut’s pastors, had had a heart attack in the pulpit when they’d been attending the church only a few weeks. Then Olivia got banged up when her purse got snatched at the El station, causing her to fall. She’d decided to go home, leaving them one short to pony up on the rent. And to Kat’s disappointment, the Douglass couple upstairs had seemed a bit distant, even though they held leadership roles at SouledOut. Hard to put a finger on, until Kat discovered one of the street people she’d met Dumpster diving turned out to be Mrs. D’s missing daughter. That explained a few things.

  But she had to admit God was working things out. Give credit to God, wasn’t that what Nick always said? They’d all found summer jobs, enough to get by for a few months. With Olivia gone, they had a room to offer to Rochelle and her little boy, for the summer anyway. And Nick had landed the internship at SouledOut, thanks to the Douglasses’ support.

  Not to mention that Edesa Baxter had called that morning, offering to talk about teaching nutrition to— Wait. Did the intercom just announce Sheridan is next?

  Sure enough, the station sign said Sheridan as the train slowed and stopped beside the wooden platform. Grabbing her backpack, Kat scurried out the door and made her way down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. Pulling out her computer map, she tried to get her bearings—but her eye caught the sign of a tiny shop tucked underneath the El tracks.

  Emerald City Coffee.

  Whoa. Just what she needed. And it was only one o’clock. She had plenty of time.

  Kat went into the coffee shop and ordered an iced raspberry tea and a cup of homemade minestrone soup. But as she sat down at a rickety table with her soup, her cell phone rang. “Hello? Kat here.”

  “Kathryn? It’s Edesa. Um, any chance you can get here sooner than two? Estelle Bentley needs to—”

  “I’m already here! I mean, I just got off the El. I can be there in five minutes.” That was a guess, but it’d be close.

  “That’s great!” Kat heard Edesa turn away and speak to someone. “She just got off the El . . .” And then she was back. “See you in a few minutes.”

  Kat hastily put her phone away and took her food back to the counter. “Can I have these to go, please?” A minute later she was out the door with a coffee cup of soup in one hand and iced tea with a straw in the other. She walked fast, chugging the soup at corners when she had to wait for cars to pass.

  Turning the corner by a Laundromat . . . there it was. The church-like building she remembered from her first visit that housed the Manna House Women’s Shelter. Tossing the soup cup in a trash basket, she saw several women sitting on the cement steps that led up to the double oak doors. Two were playing cards on the step between them, but a few more just sat, not talking, having a smoke.

  “Hello.” Kat smiled as she threaded her way between them.

  “If ya came for lunch, it’s come an’ gone,” one of the card players growled, not looking up.

  “That’s all right. I’m here to see someone.” Kat pressed the doorbell, waited, then pulled open the door when the buzzer went off.

  Edesa met her in the foyer, holding her sleepy two-year-old. The foyer was cool and welcoming after the muggy heat outside, lit only by sunlight streaming in through the two stained-glass windows on either side of the doors and the round stained-glass window above the doors. Two wooden struts dissected the high round window, one vertical and one horizontal, throwing the shadow of a cross on the floor.

  Edesa stopped by the reception cubby. “Angela, would you sign Kathryn Davies in? Check ‘Volunteer.’ But we’ll be leaving in a few minutes, so go ahead and sign her out too.” She beckoned to Kat. “Come on downstairs and meet the others.”

  “Leaving?” Kat felt confused. Others?

  They crossed a large room with various couches and chairs, coffee tables with magazines, a slightly leaning bookcase with table games and books. An assortment of females of varying ages dotted the seating areas, one woman zonked out, lightly snoring.

  “I didn’t have time to explain on the phone,” Edesa said, leading her down a flight of stairs. “I wanted to include Estelle in our conversation, but it turns out her cooking class meets today and they’re doing a grocery shopping trip, so we’re going along.”

  Kat tried not to show it, but she was irked. She came all the way down here to the shelter just to go grocery shopping with some cooking class? This was not what she had in mind at all.

  Chapter 5

  Ah! There they are.” Estelle Bentley peeled off the ugly net cap covering her long silver and black hair, which had been straightened and piled up on her head in a loose knot, untied the big white apron she was wearing, and tossed both into a laundry cart. “Ladies, this here is Kathryn Davies—some folks call her Kat. Kat, this is Penny, LaDonna, Beverly, and Shawanda.”

  The four women—all black except Penny—nodded curtly at Kat.

  Edesa signaled Estelle. “Give me a moment. I’m going to change Gracie. Maybe she’ll fall asleep in the stroller on the way.”

  Kat didn’t know what to do. But the other women were still sitting around one of the tables, so she sat down too.

  “Soon as Miss Gabby gets here with some CTA passes, we can go.” Estelle squirted some hand cream into her palm and passed around the tube. “As I was sayin’, good cookin’ means havin’ the right ingredients on hand when your kids come in actin’ like you haven’t fed ’em since the day they was born. That means plannin’ ahead, knowin’ how to shop, how to stretch those food stamps if that’s what you got, an’ gettin’ the best bang for your buck.”

  “Ain’t that easy down where I live,” the woman named Beverly groused. Kat guessed she was somewhere in her forties. Thin mouth. Hard eyes. Hair cut so close to her head it looked military. “Ain’t nothin’ but liquor stores, hamburger joints, and a 7-Eleven. Ain’t no fresh vegetables or fresh fruit, nothin’. They don’t call it a food desert for nothin’.”

  “Now you talkin’,” LaDonna butted in. She was a big-breasted woman with yellowish skin and packing extra weight, but younger than Beverly—maybe in her thirties? Her hair had been pulled into a tight knot on top of her head, and she wore large gold hoops in her ears. “Them white neighborhoods got two, three big grocery stores within a couple blocks of each other. An’ some neighborhoods got nothin’.”

  Heads nodded. But Kat was still stuck back on Beverly’s comment, “down where I
live.” Weren’t these women homeless?

  “Well, until this city gets serious about those food deserts or Jesus comes again, whichever come first, that’s somethin’ we can’t solve in a day,” Estelle said. “So you gonna have to travel to another neighborhood a couple times a month to stock up. That’s what we’re doin’ today. But it’s worth it. Otherwise—”

  “—we be givin’ the kids five dollars to run down to the White Castle.” The girl named Shawanda—she looked all of twenty—snickered and high-fived LaDonna.

  A woman with a head full of curly red hair clattered down the stairs. “Okay, got your passes,” she said, waving a handful of cards. She passed them around but stopped at Kat. “Oh. Hi. You’re Kat, right? Uh, do you need a CTA pass?”

  Kat shook her head. She’d seen this woman regularly at SouledOut—hard to miss, all that curly red hair—but had never actually talked to her. “You work here?”

  Estelle broke in. “Sorry. Didn’t know you two didn’t know each other. This here’s Gabby Fairbanks. Gabby is the program director at Manna House. Watch out, she’ll have you signed up as a volunteer faster than you can say da Bears.” Estelle clapped her hands as Edesa returned, lugging Gracie and a folded-up umbrella stroller. “Okay! We’re all here. Let’s move, ladies.”

  Everyone stood and trailed Estelle up the stairs. Kat carried the umbrella stroller and unfolded it once they got outside. “I’ll push her,” she told Edesa after Gracie was strapped into the stroller. At least it gave her something to do. What was she doing here? She didn’t need a shopping lesson. Good grief, she’d been doing the grocery shopping for their summer household for the past six weeks and had managed to put healthy meals on the table most days, thank you very much.

  “She’s asleep,” Edesa murmured after the first block. “Now if we can just keep her that way!”

  “Uh-huh.” Kat didn’t trust herself to talk, afraid the disappointment she was feeling would leak out. But when the group ended up right back at the Sheridan El station, she couldn’t help it. “Edesa! I was just here! Why didn’t you just tell me to wait for the rest of you since you planned to come this way?” She could’ve at least enjoyed her iced tea and soup in peace.

  Edesa shrugged. “I thought you’d like to meet the ladies in the cooking class and hear Estelle’s explanation of what they’re going to be doing today, rather than just ‘Hi’ and ‘Good-bye’ on the street. No?”

  Thought she’d like . . . ? Not much. This whole afternoon was turning out differently than she’d expected. But for the next few minutes she just concentrated on helping Edesa get the stroller over the turnstile and up the stairs to the platform without waking the sleeping two-year-old.

  Once the Red Line pulled in and she and Edesa found seats together at the back of a car with a space for the stroller, Edesa laid her hand on Kat’s arm. “I know I said we’d talk, but it will be good to tag along with these women. Just be patient, mi amiga. Listen. Try to understand their situations. These are the kinds of families who might benefit from learning more about nutrition, right?”

  Well . . . Edesa had a point. And it would only be an hour or two, and then she’d need to excuse herself to get to work on time. But Kat hid a smile when Estelle and her crew got off at the Berwyn Avenue stop and headed for the big Dominick’s store. At least she could check out the Dumpsters, see what “pickin’s” she could salvage today.

  But so much for keeping Gracie asleep. When they got to the store, jackhammers and a backhoe were digging up the parking lot next to the store behind a temporary fence with a Danger—Keep Out sign posted on it. Big signs in the store windows said Open During Construction. Uh-oh. Might not be so easy to check out the Dumpsters.

  Kat followed the others as they trooped in. Penny—a pale woman who wouldn’t look half bad if she had a good hair styling and some makeup—gave a long, low whistle as she gawked at the front displays piled high with flowers, fruit, and gift packages of chocolates and candles. “Looks like a whole mall in here.”

  Estelle herded them all into a corner near the front door. “What we’re goin’ to do is this: Each of you take a cart and select food for three meals to feed you and your kids—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Then we’ll meet . . . let’s see, back by the fish counter in half an hour, and take a look-see how we’re doin’.” Estelle winked at Edesa. “All right, you’re on your own.”

  “Money don’t count?” Shawanda asked suspiciously. “I don’t get any more food stamps till first of the month an’ I’m out.”

  “We’re just window shopping.” Estelle chuckled. “Gonna have to put it back.”

  “Wait.” LaDonna glanced around uneasily. “I been here once before, an’ some white dude in a tie followed me around like I was gonna steal somethin’. Made me so nervous I left my cart without gettin’ nothin’.”

  Some of the other women nodded their heads and made faces.

  Estelle frowned. “All right. Hold tight. We’ll take care of that.” She marched off, leaving the rest of them looking at one another. Gracie, short on sleep, fussed about nothing in particular. Kat was wondering if she had time to excuse herself and check out the Dumpsters when Estelle came back with a fleshy man in a white dress shirt, dark patterned tie, and metal name tag that said Seth Young, Manager.

  “These are members of my cooking class, Mr. Young, and I’d like your permission to conduct a shopping lesson today, how to read prices, make use of sales, things like that. We’d be glad to check back in with you before we leave.” Estelle’s chin was up, her tone courteous. But Kat caught a hint of daring him to disagree.

  “Well . . .” The manager seemed to count heads. “Six, uh, students—plus yourself, Mrs. Bentley.” He allowed a toothy smile. “We’re happy to host your cooking class, Mrs. Bentley. Be our guest. But, yes, why don’t you just let me know when you’re done.” He smiled as he backed off. “Enjoy.”

  “Don’t nobody laugh,” Estelle muttered under her breath. “If you can’t lick ’em, join ’em, I always say. Now go. Remember, food for three meals. Meet up in thirty minutes by the fish counter.”

  Kat watched as the four women grabbed carts and took off in different directions. So what was she supposed to do for—

  “You too.” Estelle pushed a cart at her. “This is a one-size-fits-all exercise.”

  All right. They didn’t usually shop for groceries till the weekend, but maybe she could pick up some things. Gave her something to do anyway. She waved at Gracie, buckled in the child seat of Edesa’s cart, and headed for the produce section.

  She really did want to check out the Dumpsters, though. Today was Thursday, the day of the changeover from last week’s advertised items to this week’s. A lot of food got tossed out that was past its shelf date. Then she’d know better what to buy. But Estelle said to meet up in half an hour . . .

  Breakfast. Kat picked up bananas, Greek yogurt, and a package of Swiss Müesli granola. Added fresh-squeezed OJ in a half-gallon carton. Lunch. Pita bread, sprouts, can of black beans, fresh peaches. Supper. Whole wheat pasta, extra-virgin olive oil, garlic, organic tomatoes—though not really in season— white English cheddar cheese, and fresh basil leaves. A salad would go good with pasta. She picked up a bag of baby spinach, a red onion, sunflower seeds, and dried cranberries for a great salad. Might as well get the large bag of cranberries. Made a good snack.

  Done. She headed for the fish counter, avoiding LaDonna, who was frowning at a display in the bakery section. She was tempted to get some fresh catfish—great sale—but getting it safely home and in the refrigerator was iffy if she had to go straight to work.

  The six carts met in the back of the store. Gracie was digging a chubby finger into a snack-size box of raisins. “She was fussing, had to get something to keep her busy,” Edesa hastily explained. “Don’t worry, I’m buying the six-pack.”

  “All right,” Estelle said. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  As each woman ticked off the items in her cart, Estelle made com
ments. “Check out the ingredient list on those boxes of cereal. If sugar’s in the top three, forget it . . . Those cinnamon rolls are okay as an occasional treat, but whole wheat toast sprinkled with cinnamon sugar will keep most kids happy . . . This can of stew would be easy but has lots of preservatives. Not hard to make your own stew, tastes a whole lot better too . . . Anything that comes in individual packs is convenient, sure, but costs a lot more than buying the same thing in bulk . . .”

  Kat couldn’t believe the stuff in Shawanda’s cart. Grape drink. A frozen package of buffalo wings. A frozen pizza. (“Cheaper’n orderin’ from Pizza Hut,” she protested.) A large box of Kraft macaroni and cheese in SpongeBob shapes. (“Dessa an’ Bam Bam won’t eat nothin’ else.”)

  Estelle chuckled. “They will if they get hungry enough. Depends on what you keep on hand. Most of you got brand names. Look for generics and store brands. They’re cheaper and usually just as good, unless the brand names are on sale. All right, let’s put this stuff back. Next time we’ll bring calculators, see how far we can stretch twenty dollars—”

  “What about her cart?” Shawanda crossed her arms and glared at Kat, who had hung back. Part of her wanted Estelle and Edesa to note the healthy choices she’d made—a good example for the other women—but mostly she just wanted to buy her groceries and get out of there.

  “Miss Kat! Almost forgot you!” Estelle seemed to think it was funny. “All right, let’s see what you have here . . .” She pawed through the stuff in Kat’s cart. “Mm-hmm . . . hmm . . .” Kat fidgeted. Was that good?

  Finally Estelle looked up. “Kat has chosen some healthy foods here. Wouldn’t mind going to dinner at her house!” The large woman laughed, and Kat thought she was actually very attractive, nicely proportioned for her size.

  “Unfortunately,” Estelle went on, “most of these items are pricey and probably out of reach for anyone on food stamps. But there are alternatives.” She pointed. “Spinach is good, but anything already bagged costs more. Ditto with organic—nice if you can do it, but always more expensive. Choose fruits and vegetables in season and look for sales. You can make your own granola . . .”