The Color of Hope by Kim Cash Tate Read Free Book Online Page A

across the front that read “Welcome to the Sanders Family Reunion!” And the fried fish was already sizzling in a huge outdoor fryer, the delicious aroma permeating the evening air. The family’s annual gathering had begun—minus one.
    It hit Libby as she took it all in on her Grandma Geri’s back porch—for the first time, her grandmother wouldn’t be here. And she’d always been more than here , she’d been central. She and Grandpa Elwood Sanders had started this reunion almost forty years ago. They’d told the story a million times, how it started one year as a tribute to Grandpa Elwood’s parents. Grandpa Elwood and his siblings surprised them by showing up with all of their kids and grandkids. They lamented that they’d never done it before, and Grandpa Elwood decided they wouldn’t let a year go by withoutgetting together. He and Grandma Geri oversaw the planning until they grew older and passed it down. But Grandma Geri remained a central figure, the one who knew every family member who showed up, no matter how distant the relation or how infrequently they came. The void would be palpable.
    The screen door opened behind her, and Stephanie poked her head out. “You’re wanted in the lab.”
    “I was just on my way in there,” Libby said.
    Ever since their parents had arrived in town—Libby’s, Stephanie and Cyd’s, and Janelle’s—the moms, along with Aunt Gladys, had taken over the kitchen, as usual. The girls had taken to calling it “the lab” because these women were serious when it came to cooking up some food.
    Stephanie opened the door wider, and she and Libby headed through a living area and around the corner to the kitchen. The aroma indoors was as enticing as the one outside. The women had been baking cakes and cobblers, and had also made several side dishes—boiled potatoes, green beans, potato salad, coleslaw, and rolls. As much planning as Libby had done, she’d be nowhere if she couldn’t count on the love of cooking in her parents’ generation.
    Libby’s mom, Denise, saw her walk in. “Sweetheart, you need to get going with the hush puppies.” She was stirring the coleslaw. “You sure you don’t want me to do it? It’ll only take a few minutes.”
    Libby folded her arms. “I’m noticing there’s been more than one offer to take this to-do item off my hands. Y’all think they won’t turn out right, don’t you?”
    “I’m a little nervous,” her mom said unapologetically. “You rarely cook, and I don’t think you’ve fried anything a day in your life. I don’t know why you’re attempting to tackle this for such a large crowd.”
    She wouldn’t be tackling it if it weren’t for Travis. He’d made an offhanded remark that they’d never had hush puppies at the Fridaynight fish fry, and Libby immediately knew they would be a hit. She’d planned to ask her parents who could do it, the women or perhaps the men, since they could fry them outside while they fried the fish. But Travis had a third option—the two of them. It would be easy enough, he said, though he’d never done it. And it would be fun. Reminded her of the time they tried to fix lasagna while dating and never got further than the noodles that burned. The laughter was almost worth the awful smell.
    “It’ll turn out great, you’ll see,” Libby said, half convincing herself.
    “When do you plan to mix the ingredients?” Aunt Gladys said. “Everything else is about done.”
    “We already did it, in Travis’s kitchen, since the lab was taken.” She made a face. “Had to make Travis and Marcus clean it first, though. Aunt Gladys, have you seen that pigsty they’re living in? I told Marcus I know you taught him better than that. And Travis ought to be ashamed of him—What?”
    Aunt Gladys looked amused, her eyes darting beyond Libby.
    She turned. Travis had eased into the kitchen with the pans of mix they’d made, already shaped into puppies.
    “So you’re doggin’ me behind my back,