She whisked off into the kitchen again, leaving me totally confused and wondering how in the hell I was going to tell her about my visit with Mama Vermillion with a guest at the table.

“Baby, I wish you had told me we were having a guest over. I thought we were going to have a talk.”

Giggling from the kitchen was her reply.

“Finally,” Maggie said, as she placed the last bowl of black-eyed peas on the table along with a tray of cornbread, my favorite, and a salad and fresh corn on the cob.

I said, “For Christ’s sake, Maggie, will you please sit down and tell me what’s going on?”

“Oh, poor baby,” she said, as at last we were finally sitting together at the table about to share the most beautiful meal I had seen in a long time.  

“Where’s our special guest?” I asked.

“Let’s pour some wine,” Maggie replied. “Don’t give me much. I can just have a sip for our toast.”

I looked at her as I poured our favorite Chianti in her “for special occasions” wine glasses, first hers and then mine.

As soon as I set the bottle down, Maggie announced her toast.