Part 10 (2/2)
Hilda's slightly greasy hair clung to her scalp, and dust and perspiration from the August heat coated her skin. A spot of grease stained the front of her Labradoodle T-s.h.i.+rt and the hem of her blue chambray skirt had picked up more dirt.
After a bit of small talk, I asked Hilda, ”Have you told everyone about Sunday?”
”Yup, and they're pretty excited. They want to meet the woman responsible for gettin' rid of Switch.”
I rolled my eyes. Then I got inspired. Tonight is Shabbat and I'm fixing a big dinner. Hilda is homeless. She could use a good, hot meal.
”Listen, Hilda, I have a large roast in the oven I have to get back to. I'd really love for you to come home with me and have dinner tonight.”
Hilda looked at me for the longest time, fighting with some inner demon, trying to decide. Her eyes became glossy with tears. ”What about my cart?” she asked in a small voice.
”We can load your stuff in the back of my car and bring it with us.”
Rafi gently patted her hand. ”You park your empty cart in back behind the Dumpster. n.o.body take it from there. Cart will be waiting for you.”
”Yeah, okay.” She wiped her eyes. ”Yeah.”
We drove to Ralphs grocery store, with the recycling center in the parking lot. Hilda exchanged two bulging black trash bags full of cans and bottles for a few dollars. She folded the empty bags and put them in the pocket of her skirt. The bills went down the front of her T-s.h.i.+rt.
When we arrived at my house, she said, ”I know this house. I've seen it from the park. You have a nice yard.”
Because of my fibromyalgia, I didn't do much of my own gardening anymore. My talented landscaper, Abraham, gave me the most beautiful yard on the street. Graceful pepper trees shaded the perimeter, and fragrant, drought-resistant plants, such as rosemary, sage, and lavender, grew in little communities. Even the white Iceberg roses did well in the xeriscape.
”Listen, Hilda, as long as you're here, you might as well take advantage of my washer and dryer. Do you have any clothes you'd like to wash?”
She seemed embarra.s.sed. ”Yeah. It's hard to stay clean. I visit the Laundromat as often as I can, but those machines are expensive. I do a little was.h.i.+ng by hand in the restroom of a Mobil station over on the corner of Balboa and Burbank. They're real nice to me there 'cause I don't leave a mess afterward. They even pay me sometimes to clean the restrooms.”
”What do you do with your wet clothes?”
”I go down by the wash, where n.o.body can see me, and hang them on a bush to dry.”
Hilda pulled a sack of clothing out of the trunk of the car. She left something bulky behind.
”What about those?” I pointed to her bedroll and towel.
”I thought you might not want those in your machines. They're awfully dirty.”
I smiled. ”Don't worry. I've got heavy-duty appliances.”
Hilda's guarded footsteps followed me to my front door.
CHAPTER 19.
The air-conditioning welcomed us as we came in out of the heat. The aroma of roasting meat, herbs, carrots, and onions filled the house. Hilda sniffed. ”Smells so good.”
I showed her to the laundry room, where she sorted her clothes. I went to check on the brisket and put the potato kugel in the oven. Soon there was a rapid clicking of the k.n.o.b turning on the was.h.i.+ng machine. Hilda started up the first load of clothes and walked shyly into the kitchen. ”I really appreciate this. Thanks.”
I smiled. ”You know, I'm thinking now you're here, would you like to freshen up? Maybe take a nice cool shower?”
Hilda's eyes opened wide. ”I would, but I don't have any clean clothes to put on yet.”
”I think I might have something to fit you. Then you could also wash the clothes you have on.”
I walked her to my daughter Quincy's old bedroom, where she slept on her visits home from the East Coast. A Grandmother's Flower Garden quilt covered a double-sized antique walnut sleigh bed. Hundreds of two-inch hexagons pieced in a mosaic of concentric circles of color mimicked the shapes of flowers. I worked over a whole year to sew the pieces together by hand and then quilt each individual hexagon.
I placed a fluffy white towel and washcloth in the all-white en suite bathroom and unwrapped a fresh bar of rose-scented soap.
Hilda pulled the bar of soap to her face, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. ”Smells like my grandma's yard when I was a kid.”
”Where was that?”
”Portland, Oregon. She took care of me after school while my parents worked. She'd have a batch of fresh, warm sugar cookies waiting for me every day after school.” Hilda smiled wistfully.
”My grandmother, my bubbie, took care of me too. I lived with her and my mother and my uncle Isaac. Only Uncle Isaac is left. You'll meet him at dinner tonight. How about your folks?”
Hilda's shoulders sagged. ”Oh, my grandma died a long time ago. My parents are . . . We don't really speak.” She looked down and turned slightly away, struggling to maintain control.
I cleared my throat and opened one section of the bedroom closet. ”Come and take a look. These are some of my daughter's clothes I've been meaning to take to the Goodwill. You're about the same size. Please feel free to take anything from this section to wear.”
”Anything?”
”Yes, and I don't mean just one thing. Whatever you can use, you can take. Pants, blouses, skirts, anything.”
Hilda gave me a funny look. ”Why're you doing this? Why're you so sure you can trust me?”
That was a good question. I was a pretty good judge of people and simply felt in my bones Hilda would never harm anyone. ”You've helped me a lot. I just want to return the favor.” I jerked my head toward the bathroom and smiled. ”Take as much time in there as you want.”
Lucy and Birdie showed up around five with six more quilts. They didn't recognize Hilda. Her face and skin were no longer covered in grime. She wore a pair of gray corduroy trousers and a white peasant blouse from Guatemala, with bright embroidery around the neckline and on the puffy little sleeves. Her shoulder-length brown hair was clean and blow-dried. She lived a rough life, but her features still showed a lot of gentleness. She appeared to be somewhere in her early forties.
Lucy's mouth fell open when she figured out who Hilda was. ”Well, don't you look absolutely wonderful!”
Amen to that.
No sooner did we put the newest quilts on my cutting table than the doorbell rang again. I left the three others in the sewing room and went to investigate.
Three hundred pounds of biker in a black T-s.h.i.+rt and red bandana walked in.
”Hey, babe. I just talked to Ed. He told me all about your conversation this morning with the-”
I held up my hand. ”Don't say it. I promised him anonymity.”
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