“Oh. Thank you.” My mouth watered for the first time since leaving her house almost two weeks ago. I plucked one of the fancy confections off the plate and took a tentative bite. As expected, the treat melted into an array of flavors. Vanilla. Strawberry. Dark chocolate. I didn’t stop until half the plate was clean and probably wouldn’t have stopped then if she hadn’t offered me an icy glass bottle of Cheerwine.

I took a deep pull from the bottle, drinking it too fast. A burp escaped with such force it tickled my nose and burned my chest. My hand flew up to cover my mouth. “Excuse me.”

Ignoring my rudeness, the prim woman crossed her legs and flicked a wrist toward the wall. “What is all this?”

Miss Wise had shared so much with me that it was only right for me to do the same. I washed another tiny cake bite down with a sip of cola while studying the collage I’d made, using polyurethane to seal it. “They were my mother’s maps. She always loved the idea of traveling someday.” I placed the plate on the floor and scooted over to the wall, using the tip of my finger to trace the circle around my name. “She named us after cities she wanted to visit.” I scanned the other maps until spotting each sibling’s name. Smiling at the crossed-out circle around Elizabeth on the North Carolina map.

“Edith was a fine woman. She would be proud of you.” Miss Wise offered the compliment along with another plate from her bag. This one had an array of dainty finger sandwiches with the crusts cut off and everything.

Her kindness made my eyes sting and my chest ache, but I swallowed that down with the cucumber sandwich and followed it with an egg salad sandwich. While I worked through cleaning another plate, Miss Wise told me the next part of her story, a happier part. One that took her on a journey to France and then to the States, where she indulged in her love for food by making a career in the culinary world, vowing she would never go a day hungry again.

Trucks had pulled up outside sometime in there, so she packed her canvas bag and stood. “Now, no more of this foolishness. Eat.” She wagged a slim finger at me and began climbing down the ladder.

“Miss Wise,” I called. She reappeared, peeping between two rungs at me. “I know I’m just a stupid girl and don’t know much.” I paused when she scoffed and rolled her eyes at my snide remark. “But I do believe God gets blamed for a lot of stuff that he shouldn’t. . . . And I also believe forgiveness and getting over being mad is a gift for ourselves, not for the ones who wronged us.”