“The next day, he came by with a bag. Inside he had three types of detergent, fabric softener, and dryer sheets. I laughed my head off, thinking he was kidding. But no, he wasn’t. We went down there and did load after load. All the while, we talked about stuff like we’d known each other for years. And after he helped me with the last load, he took my hand and we danced right there in the aisle. There wasn’t any music, except for him humming softly in my ear . . . Stevie Wonder, ‘As.’ ”

“It’s a good song,” my mom replies softly.

“Isn’t it? I love me some Stevie Wonder . . .” Ms. Harris says as tears spring to her eyes.

My mom reaches across the table and places her hand on top of Ms. Harris’s. “Go ahead, go wake that girl up and fix this. Tell her you and Kingston are over.”

“She never came and told me. Nai would have told me if things were bad. I mean, if they were really bad.”

“Well, Lena, how bad are you willing to let it get?”

“He hasn’t touched her.”

“No, I don’t think he has. But kids know when someone has locked onto them and mean them harm. They always know. And I don’t understand the full extent of what is going on in your house—”

Ms. Harris jumps out of her chair. “That’s right, Rosalie, you don’t. So mind your business.”

Mom is unfazed by Ms. Harris’s reaction. “Go on, drink your coffee. We’ll figure this thing out.”

Without saying a word, Ms. Harris sits back down, dejected. And then she suddenly looks at my mom with new light in her eyes, newfound hope.

“Girl, you know what must have happened?” she asks.

“No, Lena, tell me. What happened?”

“You know how some men play too much? Well, that’s him. He just gets carried away, play’n around. I’ll talk to him and make sure he knows not to play like that. Sometimes people can take it serious, even though he was only playing. You see what I mean?”

She nods, satisfied with her conclusion. She takes a big sip of her coffee. “This is good! It’s rich and has nice, bold flavor. Where y’all get this from?”

“Sugar Hill Creamery,” Mom says, making no attempt to match Ms. Harris’s newfound enthusiasm.

“Well, it’s good. I have to go by there and buy a bag. I really like it.”

Mom gets up, goes over to the cabinets, and hands Ms. Harris a new bag of whole-bean coffee.

“Aw, you didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

My mom nods and sits back down.