Sunfire

Before the ferry shift

On Friday, the first bowl of soup at Imani Bell's community kitchen goes to a man who has forty minutes between ferry shifts and always takes the seat with its back to the door. Imani puts a towel under his bowl because that table wobbles if he leans on it. She has offered to make the repair. He says a bigger table would bring too many people into his lunch, so she still folds the towel. Two nights a week people bring their supper to the back room and fix the kit they use to mend nets or catch fish. The kitchen only got those evenings after a year of being run whenever Imani happened to have time.

Her pay comes out of a community lease and the rules require a signed deputy in the building if she's out. Her son Dev earned the signature years ago. He's used it twice, both times in winter when Imani lost her voice. If you come in wearing a courier jacket, you might get a heel of bread tucked into your bag without even sitting down. Inez Vela generally manages to sit long enough to give one account of the wind from each direction.

The seat someone gave her

Imani first went to DGM to ask a question about the Ferrari Dino 206 GTA she'd acquired from a cousin. The person she meant to find had already left. A busy paddock thinned and regrouped around a preparation bench while she stood with her keys in her fist. After estimating how long she had to stay before she could tell Dev she'd given it a chance, she sat down on an upside-down bucket. Somebody beside her said they were getting tea and asked her to save a seat. In the ten minutes before they came back she worked out which way the returning cars kept their nose, and where she'd been standing wrong.

Now she brings the big red thermos, which finds its way onto a spare seat early. It has a draining cap so she dries it on her trouser leg before using it. Orla from Garnet Ghost sat with her occasionally and knew she could get up without explaining where she was going.

Dev's key

It took Imani most of a year to realize that both of them were still carrying the same kitchen key every Sunday. She'd tell Dev he could have any shift he wanted, and then she'd arrive before him and check everything. When she asked him to take over for a full day he ran a white cloth along the inside of the door and made her watch it come away clean. She left during the morning rush with a slice of pie she'd bought for herself, a manner of spending Sunday sufficiently odd to make her miss her bus the first time she tried it.

A cold bench

She likes the light, long arc she can take through the first turn with the Dino and dreams of having enough practice to follow it through the second without wondering who's about to need her. Today she left before the first kitchen customer and arrived at the paddock early enough to choose the seat beside the gate. Dev says he has enough bread. She is waiting to see if he'll call about the bowls. When Orla passes, Imani shifts the thermos over without pulling the lid off.