I returned to the microphone. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
I’ve demonstrated enough.
Beatrice turned toward the entrance.
Then she recognized the blue coat.
Margaret walked in.
I helped Margaret to the microphone.
“My grandson was sick this week,” she began nervously. “I wanted to make him soup.”
She looked ready to scream.
Beatrice stared at the floor.
“Sometimes ten dollars makes a difference. Sometimes kindness makes an even bigger one.”
Margaret looked around.
“Needing help doesn’t make somebody less important.”
The guests applauded.
I helped Margaret to the microphone.
I handed Beatrice a grocery package. “Would you give Margaret the first box?”
Beatrice hesitated, then accepted it.
“Here.”
“Thank you,” Margaret said.
Beatrice looked at her. “I’m sorry about this morning.”
Sometimes ten dollars makes a difference.
“I appreciate that.”
Whether she meant it, I couldn’t tell.
And the evening still wasn’t over.
