Read Online Wings of Glass by Gina Holmes - Free Book Online

ever tell you there are starving children in Af—” My eyes must have become the size of plates when I realized what I was about to say. I jerked my head toward Fatimah, who satbeside me. Unaware, she ate potato chips as she watched a baby throw his sippy cup onto the floor.
    Callie Mae touched my arm, making me jump. “Penny, it’s okay. Calm down. You’re with friends.” The way she looked at me with that sweet expression touched me to my soul, and I knew she was right. I was with friends. I was safe. Still, my face was hot with embarrassment. “That was a stupid thing to say.”
    With a raised hand, she summoned our waiter back to the table. “Excuse me, young man, do you think you could find me an envelope?”
    He gave her a tired look, but left and returned a few minutes later with one of the long, check-holding kind. “Will this do?”
    “You don’t happen to have one that’s insulated with dry ice, do you?”
    He slowly shook his head with a weary expression. “Sorry, all out. Anything else?”
    “That’s it. Thank you very much,” Callie Mae said.
    He set the envelope down on the edge of the table. When he left, she picked the peppers off her plate and dropped them, mayonnaise and all, into that envelope. The liquid bled right through, making an oil stain on the front. She peeled back the flap, gave it a lick, and sealed it up. “Fatimah, what’s the address for Africa?”
    Fatimah turned around, looked at the envelope, then at Callie Mae. “For the last time, woman, we do not want your scraps.” A crumb of potato chip clung to the corner of hermouth, moving up and down as she spoke until she brushed it away.
    I sat, stunned, looking back and forth between the two of them.
    Fatimah took a sip from her drink, then looked at me. “She tells me mothers here tell their children to finish everything on their plate because there are starving children in Africa. There are hungry children here too, true?”
    Callie Mae sighed. “You couldn’t tell my father that. When I was growing up, he was forever chiding me at dinnertime about those starving children in Africa.” She rolled her eyes. “As if that would encourage me to gluttony. One day, I couldn’t finish the five pounds of meatloaf my mother heaped onto my plate, so I put my leftovers in an envelope and asked him for Africa’s address.”
    “What did he say?” I asked.
    “He gave me a tail whooping I’ll never forget and sent me to bed.”
    I pictured a little blonde Callie Mae with pigtails, alone on her bed crying her eyes out. “That’s terrible. He thought you were being a smart aleck.”
    “I was.”
    Fatimah clicked her tongue. “You were a terrible child. He was a wise man to give you the rod. Being hungry is not joke.”
    Callie Mae’s smile faded. “No, it’s not. But how is a chubby American girl being forced to overeat affecting anyone in Africa or anywhere else for that matter? Every time Iopened my mouth to ask a question or speak my mind, my folks shoved food down my throat to shut me up.”
    It was clear then that Callie Mae was more than just the church lady with the smart clothes and well-to-do late husband. She had her scars just like the rest of us. I wondered what others she bore and if we’d be friends long enough for me to find them all out. I hoped so.
    In one fluid motion, Fatimah ripped open the short end of the envelope and dumped the hot peppers onto her roast-beef sandwich. “On behalf of the great people of Africa, we thank you for your contribution. Feel better?”
    I choked on my salami sandwich.
    “Are you all right?” Callie Mae asked.
    I took a sip of root beer and nodded.
    “You know,” Callie Mae said, looking at Fatimah, “I liked you better when you didn’t have a bun in the oven. You used to be a lot more fun.”
    Fatimah clicked her tongue again and waved her hand like she was trying to shoo away a fly.
    “You’re pregnant?” I asked, surprised.
    Fatimah gave her flat belly a rub.