A Year Less a Day by James Hawkins Page B

better.

    â€œIt’s gotta be worth a try,” she is telling Ruth when Cindy breaks through on the intercom.
    â€œTrina. There’s a very funny smell out here.”
    â€œOh shit! ... Colostomy bag,” exclaims Trina and takes off at a run.
    By the time Trina arrives the following morning, the café has turned upside down and, according to Cindy, Ruth has lost her mind. “Look at this,” she complains to Trina, stabbing angrily at the cooler filled with salads. “It looks like a cow has thrown up in there. Where’s all the cakes?”
    â€œWhere’s Ruth?” asks Trina, and Cindy nods toward the kitchen.
    â€œI’ve been up all night,” gushes Ruth as Trina dashes in. “Look,” she adds, sweeping her hand across the opened book and around the bare shelves.
    â€œTrans fats, saturated fats, and hydrogenated oils—all gone,” she says, ticking off her checklist as she points to a packed garbage bin, then she turns to the next bin and plucks at bottles, cans, and packages as she sings out: “White flour, refined sugar, nitrates, sodium, modified starch, unpronounceable something-or-other, more unpronounceable stuff, chemicals, chemicals ... more chemicals.”
    Ruth stops to jab at Marcie’s book and recites, “‘Golden rule number one,’ Trina: ‘Never eat anything you can’t pronounce.’”
    â€œYou can’t throw all that away ...” starts Trina, but Ruth’s on a roll as she turns to the third bin. “Burgers, bacon, wieners ...”
    â€œBut I could take it to the women’s shelter,” says Trina starting to haul out the still packaged food.
    â€œNo you don’t,” says Ruth, ripping it from Trina’s hands and dropping it back in the bin. “Thosepoor devils have enough problems without you poisoning them.”
    â€œPoison?”
    â€œYes. It’s a wonder no one ever sued us for making them fat.”
    â€œThey couldn’t ...”
    â€œThey can in the States,” says Ruth, flipping through the book. “And I haven’t even started yet. Here it says, ‘broccoli and garlic,’” Ruth pauses to look up, sensing a certain lack of enthusiasm from Trina. “Thanks, Trina. You’ve no idea what a difference this will make.”
    â€œRuth. You’ve got to be sensible.”
    â€œI am. That’s exactly what I’m doing from now on.”
    â€œWhat I mean is, you’ve got to be realistic. There’s a lot we don’t know about cancer. How is Jordan doing anyway?”
    Ruth’s fervour wanes at the thought of her husband. “He doesn’t say much. He’s on the Internet quite a bit.”
    â€œThat’s good. He might come across some coping strategies, maybe even some new therapeutic procedures.”
    Ruth doesn’t answer. If Jordan has found coping strategies online they are not medically related.
    The intercom buzzes to life. “Tom’s usual please, Ruth,” calls Cindy. “Two eggs, sunny-side up, bacon, and sausage.”
    Ruth gives a sly smile as she puts her finger on the button. “Check the new breakfast menu please, Cindy.”
    â€œShit,” mutters the waitress after a few seconds and races to the kitchen.
    â€œWhat’s happening, Ruth? What about breakfast?”
    Ruth shrugs. “Nothing fried, Cindy—no bacon, burgers, or hash browns. I mean, look at those people out there. Look what they’re doing to themselves.”
    â€œBut that’s the point, Ruth—they’re doing it, not you.”

    â€œAiding and abetting, Cindy. We’re aiding and abetting, and we’re not going to do it anymore.”
    â€œBut we’ll lose all our customers.”
    â€œBetter than poisoning them.”
    â€œThis is ridiculous, Ruth. That’s why they come here: to get a fat fix.”
    â€œOK. So what are you saying? If we sold guns and a guy