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Peg grabbed another onion. “What do you do? For a living, I mean.”
“I’m an artist. My work is in a half-dozen galleries in the state, and I work on commission, too.”
Both women stopped again. “For real?”
Nola grinned. “For real.”
“Do you paint naked people?” Peg asked.
Nola’s smile widened. “I’m sorry to say I’ve never had the pleasure.”
“I might have you do a nude of me. I could give it to my husband, George, to hang over the bar in his man cave,” Peg said.
Mary giggled.
Nola grinned.
When it came time to serve the food, Nola felt as close to normal as she had in a week. She moved to the far end of the food line and was waiting for the first diners to reach her when a sixty-something man wearing black sweats and an Alabama T-shirt came out of the storage room pushing a dolly loaded with more cases of bottled water. He had a crescent-shaped scar on the side of his neck and dimples in his cheeks, and his head was as shiny as his face.
Another man in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt was following him. He was stocky and middle-aged, with a gray ponytail and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
The bald-headed man spoke first.
“Hey there. You’re a new face. I’m Bill, and he’s Leon,” he said, and he and Leon began unloading the cases behind the table.
“I’m Nola.”
Leon just nodded, but Bill smiled.
“Nice to meet you, Nola. Peg sent me over here to help you. She said you’re not to be lifting stuff, so when you need new stock, Leon or I will get it for you.”
“Okay,” Nola said.
He grinned. “No problem. Truth is I’m a little scared of Peg and Mary. When they tell me to do something, I bust a move to make it happen.”
“They’re both amazing,” she said, including Leon in her comment, but his gaze was blank as he turned away.
Bill tapped her shoulder, then pointed down the line.
“Here come our customers. Since their hands are full, all you have to do is place the bottle on their tray.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Bill opened extra cases three times during the meal, and Leon set them up until the line of people straggled to an end.
“Now you eat,” Bill said. “Grab a bottle of water and go back to the kitchen. We’ll pack up what’s left.”
“Thank you for the help,” Nola said.
“No problem.”
She took the water as she started toward the kitchen when Wade Luckett waved her down.
“What’s up?” she asked, as he caught up with her.
“Tate said you like shrimp po’boys. If you haven’t already eaten, we brought you one. We appreciate being able to bunk here, but we don’t want to use up the food that’s been provided for the victims, so we get our own. If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it along with mine.”
She wondered about the wisdom of fraternizing with Tate and his agents, then thought, what the hell. She was sleeping beside them. Surely she could share a meal, as well.