He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Get dressed. We have work to do. By 9:00 a.m., the Henderson backyard had been transformed. Darius had brought folding tables and string lights from his truck.
Mrs. Patterson had arrived at 7:30 with three other women from her church carrying enough food to constitute a full southern Sunday dinner, including two peach cobblers that she placed on the center table with the gravity of someone installing crown jewels. Mr. Henderson's granddaughter, Ka, who was 22 and had appointed herself the event's unofficial social media coordinator, was taking photographs and posting them to a neighborhood community page that Marcus had not known existed until 40 minutes ago. Marcus was tying a final knot on a banner that Ava had painted the previous night. White butcher paper, blue paint, slightly uneven lettering that read, "Community Stands Together, with small handprints along the bottom border." because Ava had run out of letters to paint and improvised. Darius appeared at his shoulder.
How many people do you think she's expecting? She thinks it's a small gathering. My words. Your words. Darius looked at the 37 people currently occupying Mr. Henderson's backyard.
The folding tables, the string lights, the two peach cobblers. Marcus, I know she might be upset. I know. Is that a risk you're taking on purpose? Marcus tied the last knot, stepped back, looked at the banner.
I'm taking the risk that showing someone they matter is worth the temporary discomfort of being shown it. Darius was quiet for a moment. Then you love her. Marcus did not answer. Darius nodded slowly.
Okay. All right. How do you want to do this? I'm going to go get her at 10:00. And if she won't come, she'll come.
How do you know? Marcus looked across the street at Olivia's house, at the fresh white paint on the side wall, at the front porch where she had stood two nights ago with her arms crossed, reading the budget document he had revised, asking careful questions in the voice of a woman who was terrified to hope. Because she's tired of doing everything alone, he said, "And some part of her knows it." He crossed the street at 9:58, knocked on her door at 10:00 exactly. Olivia opened it in a gray sweater and dark jeans, looking like someone who had been deciding what to wear for longer than she intended and had settled on something she hoped communicated casual but not effortless. She had made the effort.
He noticed. Ready, he said. She studied his face. You're doing the thing where you look very calm but your jaw is tight. My jaw is not tight.