Fools Rush In by Janice Thompson Page A

we should go next door to Club Wed and—”
    I never got to finish because Rosa interrupted me. “You like Frank Sinatra, young man?” Her eyes narrowed as she gave Bubba a solid, albeit suspicious, once-over.
    “Oh, yes, ma’am,” Bubba responded. “My dad was in the Navy, so Anchors Aweigh is one of his all-time favorite movies. I grew up watching it. And I love that one song . . . something about being young.”
    “‘Young at Heart’?” Rosa’s eyes lit up as she quoted the title of her favorite song.
    “Yeah, that’s the one.”
    “Come with me to the kitchen. Are you hungry?”
    “Well, I’m supposed to eat lunch with D.J. in an hour or so, but I guess I could . . .” His voice trailed off as Rosa took him by the arm and led him to the kitchen. One thing about Italian women—our timing might not be great, but we sure knew how to feed our men.
    Only, Bubba wasn’t our man. He was our caterer. Sort of.
    Flustered, I tried to stop my aunt in her tracks. “Rosa, Bubba’s here to work.”
    She turned to look at him, her brow wrinkled. “Bubba?” After a moment’s pause, she added, “What’s your real name?”
    “Excuse me?” He looked perplexed at best, but who could blame him?
    “When they don’t call you Bubba.” Rosa spoke with determination. “What do they call you?”
    “Oh, Lucas.”
    “A good Bible name. Are you Catholic, boy?” She squinted and dared him to answer otherwise.
    “No, ma’am.” He pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair again. “I’m from Splendora.”
    I bit my tongue to keep from laughing.
    “Methodist, then?” Rosa asked. “Like Bella and her father?” As always, she tripped over the word Meth-o-dist . No doubt she still found it hard to believe my parents had converted. And strange that she’d only mentioned Pop. Mama had switched to the Methodist church just after we moved to Galveston, right alongside my pop and us kids. Perhaps Rosa still held out hope that her baby sister was suffering a temporary lapse in judgment.
    “Meth-o-dist?” Bubba gave her a curious look. “Um, no, ma’am. I attend Full Gospel Chapel in the Pines. We’re independent charismatic.”
    “Independent charismatic.” She spoke the words slowly as if trying to make sense of them.
    “Yes.” He slipped his cap back on. “Our services are very ... lively. Some of our members take to dancin’ when the Holy Ghost falls on ’em.”
    “Well, for heaven’s sake.” Her eyes narrowed as she pondered this bit of news. After a moment, a smile lit her face. “You’re practically Catholic! St. Patrick’s hosts a dance for the young people every Saturday night.” She nodded, as if that settled everything. “And how wonderful that you’re named after Saint Luke—the good doctor.”
    “Oh, trust me, ma’am. I ain’t no saint.” Bubba looked more than a little embarrassed. “And I sure ain’t got no medical degree.”
    “Never you mind all that.” She reached for an apron. “Just let me put this apron on you, Lucas. Then take a seat on that barstool. I’m making ravioli today. You can help me. I’ll feed you a big breakfast first to get your strength up.”
    Like a pup on a leash, he stood in silence while she tied an apron around his waist. Then he plopped down on the nearest barstool and watched her work. Within minutes, the strains of “Young at Heart” filled the room.
    My thoughts were as scrambled as the eggs Rosa whipped up shortly thereafter. Bubba had come to talk about Sharlene and Cody’s wedding. We needed to get to it. But how? With Rosa in the mix, we would never get any work done.
    Not that my barbecue aficionado seemed to mind. He paid close attention as she gave her ravioli-making instructions, even going so far as to add, “Wow, I can’t wait,” when she finished. I could tell from the look on his face that he really meant it. Clearly he and D.J. were both alike in this area. They seemed to be genuinely good people who put the