getting too hot for lettuce, so Mary Jane cleaned out her garden.” Aunt Marie dumped the box on the counter. “Just look at all this.”
Karen saw a ladybug trying to escape and put it outside. “What can I do?”
“Get the stewpot and fill it with cold water.” Standing at the sink, the two of them rinsed, chopped, and bagged the greens while Aunt Marie caught her up on the news of the neighborhood. “I thought fried chicken for dinner?”
“I’ll help.”
“And tomorrow after Mass, I invited the relatives to come over so they can visit with you before you leave.” She shook the water off a head of lettuce and set it on a clean towel. “How long will you stay?”
Karen dried her hands and leaned against the counter. “I’m going to take a chance and stay the week.”
Aunt Marie looked out the window. The wind was picking up ahead of a late-afternoon monsoon. “Are you sure?”
“I work hard. I don’t take vacations, and I’ve got about a year’s worth of sick leave saved up. I am never away from that stinking office and I’m tired of it.”
“It’s all right, dear. I just asked.”
“Let me explain something.” Karen felt reckless, as if admitting the narrowness of her existence now compelled the telling of more secrets. “I feel bad about ignoring Mom. I know you say there’s no need, but I feel guilty. I should have come to see her more often and I didn’t, and now I’d like to make amends. Even though she’s gone, I can at least spend time with the family, and with friends. I’d like to think Mom will somehow be aware I’m hanging around, and if she is, it will make her happy. So that’s my decision, and I don’t care if I get fired. Well, I do, but I don’t think I will, because I have too much history with the place and they’d be insane–well, anyway, my boss is out of town and he’ll never know.”
Aunt Marie nodded. “I understand, but it’s too bad.”
“What is?”
“That you work for such a dumpfbacke .”
Cousin Joan dropped a corn fritter into the caldron of hot oil and stepped back as the batter bubbled. “You know Frieda’s crazy, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter. I told her no. She’ll have to find another way to Denver.” Karen swiped a strand of hair out of her eyes. The kitchen was hot from all the baking and cooking, and the proximity of relatives. She hardly remembered some of them. Aunt Lizzie was so old and thin, you could practically see through her, and Joan used a cane. There was more than one wheelchair parked out on the back porch.
“Pound the steak real good.” Aunt Marie watched over Karen’s shoulder as she wielded the meat tenderizer tool. “That way you can get away with a cheaper cut.”
With flour up to her elbows, Karen rolled the cutlets around chunks of onion, wrapped a strip of bacon around the roll-up and anchored it with a toothpick. After browning the rollups in a frying pan, she transferred them to a casserole dish, drowned them in tomato bisque soup, and set the oven timer for forty-five minutes.
“Perfect,” said Aunt Marie. “You’ll be a chef in no time.”
“Joan’s right about Frieda.” Lorraine pulled a chair from the kitchen table and sat down. “She had a yard sale about a month ago. Practically gave all her stuff away. Nobody can figure out why.”
“I can,” said Joan. “She’s goin’ to Denver to die. I would say good riddance but I don’t want God mad at me. Got enough problems.”
Marie’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “Don’t mind Joan. She’s still unhappy about that baking contest. What’s it been, thirty years?”
“Frieda cheated. And it wasn’t that long ago.” Joan ladled hot fritters from the kettle.
“It surely was,” said Aunt Lizzie, her voice a raspy whisper. “I believe the peanut farmer was president.”
After dinner, Karen carried plates of cake and ice cream into the living room where the men were fooling around with musical instruments. Uncle Roger tested
Karen saw a ladybug trying to escape and put it outside. “What can I do?”
“Get the stewpot and fill it with cold water.” Standing at the sink, the two of them rinsed, chopped, and bagged the greens while Aunt Marie caught her up on the news of the neighborhood. “I thought fried chicken for dinner?”
“I’ll help.”
“And tomorrow after Mass, I invited the relatives to come over so they can visit with you before you leave.” She shook the water off a head of lettuce and set it on a clean towel. “How long will you stay?”
Karen dried her hands and leaned against the counter. “I’m going to take a chance and stay the week.”
Aunt Marie looked out the window. The wind was picking up ahead of a late-afternoon monsoon. “Are you sure?”
“I work hard. I don’t take vacations, and I’ve got about a year’s worth of sick leave saved up. I am never away from that stinking office and I’m tired of it.”
“It’s all right, dear. I just asked.”
“Let me explain something.” Karen felt reckless, as if admitting the narrowness of her existence now compelled the telling of more secrets. “I feel bad about ignoring Mom. I know you say there’s no need, but I feel guilty. I should have come to see her more often and I didn’t, and now I’d like to make amends. Even though she’s gone, I can at least spend time with the family, and with friends. I’d like to think Mom will somehow be aware I’m hanging around, and if she is, it will make her happy. So that’s my decision, and I don’t care if I get fired. Well, I do, but I don’t think I will, because I have too much history with the place and they’d be insane–well, anyway, my boss is out of town and he’ll never know.”
Aunt Marie nodded. “I understand, but it’s too bad.”
“What is?”
“That you work for such a dumpfbacke .”
Cousin Joan dropped a corn fritter into the caldron of hot oil and stepped back as the batter bubbled. “You know Frieda’s crazy, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter. I told her no. She’ll have to find another way to Denver.” Karen swiped a strand of hair out of her eyes. The kitchen was hot from all the baking and cooking, and the proximity of relatives. She hardly remembered some of them. Aunt Lizzie was so old and thin, you could practically see through her, and Joan used a cane. There was more than one wheelchair parked out on the back porch.
“Pound the steak real good.” Aunt Marie watched over Karen’s shoulder as she wielded the meat tenderizer tool. “That way you can get away with a cheaper cut.”
With flour up to her elbows, Karen rolled the cutlets around chunks of onion, wrapped a strip of bacon around the roll-up and anchored it with a toothpick. After browning the rollups in a frying pan, she transferred them to a casserole dish, drowned them in tomato bisque soup, and set the oven timer for forty-five minutes.
“Perfect,” said Aunt Marie. “You’ll be a chef in no time.”
“Joan’s right about Frieda.” Lorraine pulled a chair from the kitchen table and sat down. “She had a yard sale about a month ago. Practically gave all her stuff away. Nobody can figure out why.”
“I can,” said Joan. “She’s goin’ to Denver to die. I would say good riddance but I don’t want God mad at me. Got enough problems.”
Marie’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “Don’t mind Joan. She’s still unhappy about that baking contest. What’s it been, thirty years?”
“Frieda cheated. And it wasn’t that long ago.” Joan ladled hot fritters from the kettle.
“It surely was,” said Aunt Lizzie, her voice a raspy whisper. “I believe the peanut farmer was president.”
After dinner, Karen carried plates of cake and ice cream into the living room where the men were fooling around with musical instruments. Uncle Roger tested
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