Bob watched Tyrone until he disappeared back inside, then he stared at the plate before lifting his eyes to me.

“Having that man for a friend”—Bob inclined his head toward the direction of the bar—“is like having a two-hundred-forty-pound, black Jewish mother. I’m surprised he didn’t come out here with a bowl of chicken soup.”

Bob looked at the spread of food on the table and shook his head as though he were contemplating a distasteful task.

“If it’s chicken soup you want, I’ll go in and tell him,” I said as I peeled a shrimp.

Bob picked up a fork and began to pick tentatively at the salad. “No, this will do,” he said. “Don’t give him any more ideas.”

The seafood came fresh off the boat from local waters and could not have been more delicious. I dug in with gusto, and it must have appealed to Bob’s palate also, because my friend began to eat with the semblance of an appetite, and before long, I even saw a smile appear on his face. All in all, we did the meal the justice it deserved, and it was good to see Bob enjoy the food.

I gave Tyrone the high sign to let him know it had gone well when I saw him eyeing us from the doorway to the bar. He ducked back inside and returned to our table with fresh drinks. Dropping the drinks in front of us, he bent down to clear the table.

Picking up Bob’s empty plate, he growled, “That’s good, Bob. I didn’t want to get rough with you ’bout this.”

Bob stared steadily at the big man’s face until I saw Tyrone make eye contact with the old veteran.

“Gracias, compañero,” Bob told his friend in a low voice.

“No hay de qué,” replied Big Tee, a fleeting smile illuminating his face for a split second, before his habitual scowl fell back into place once again.

The wide platter, balanced on Tyrone’s massive hand as he sauntered away with the grace of a ballroom dancer, looked like a coffee saucer would have on mine.

Bob leaned back in his chair. “I think I could get used to eating again if it was always this good,” he said with a contented sigh.

Fran had told me that Bob’s appetite was waning and that she was becoming worried about him, as nothing seemed to appeal to his taste. But it looked like Big Tee’s pointed concern had done the trick this time. I made a mental note to call Fran and let her know.

“I’m glad,” I replied. “Must be the setting and the company this afternoon.”

Bob lifted his drink. “Maybe so,” he said and took a long swallow.