Knit in Comfort by Isabel Sharpe Page B

chairs. What was she talking about? “We’re family.”
    â€œYes, and friends gathering for coffee to meet the newcomer. It’s just so…perfect.”
    Perfect? What kind of life had this child-woman had if Stanley and Megan’s house counted as perfect? “Well, thank you. That’s very sweet.”
    â€œI don’t know if I came here for a reason or not. But if I did, I think I’m figuring out what that reason is.”
    For a moment Megan considered ignoring her obvious cue and moving back into the kitchen, but she couldn’t bring herself to be that rude. “What?”
    â€œTo show me what my life has been missing. I think I’m going to find it here.”
    A sharp laugh threatened to burst out of Megan. She gave in to the cliché and tried to make it sound like a cough.
    â€œWell. That’s very nice.” She shut the closet door, bewildered. Maybe she should have known that someone from New York wanting to move into a garage apartment in a town like Comfort would be a little off. Stanley would say told-you-so, and then he’d imitate his grandmother’s deep old-lady voiceand tell Megan she’d pooped in her own bait bucket, which would make Megan laugh in spite of herself.
    Maybe Megan needed more time than she expected to adjust to the newcomer, more time to adjust to having yet another body and mouth around, this one not part of her family or Stanley’s.
    Or maybe Megan would discover there were limits even to what she could cope with.

Chapter Four
    B anana-cream pie!” Elizabeth couldn’t stop beaming. Another great meal. Pork and beef meat loaf. Potatoes mashed with butter and milk. Green beans from the garden cooked until tender and served with lemon and salt. Tossed salad with bottled Italian dressing. Now pie, and she was pretty sure she saw an empty box of Jell-O pudding—a childhood favorite—though Megan had made her own crust. “I haven’t eaten this well in way too long.”
    Lolly exchanged a what-is- her -problem look with her sister. “It’s just normal food.”
    â€œIt’s Comfort food!” Elizabeth giggled at her own joke and got a chuckle from Vera.
    â€œI thought you were married to a chef.” Jeffrey, fast becoming Elizabeth’s favorite, wrinkled his slightly upturned nose in comical curiosity. He was brown haired and brown eyed, aswas his sister Deena, a contrast to strawberry-blond Lolly, who would probably end up auburn like Megan. “Can’t he make meat loaf?”
    â€œWell yes. But he’d make bison meatloaf with crimini mushrooms and sun-dried tomatoes, and mash his potatoes with fennel, garlic and imported goat-milk Parmesan.”
    â€œMercy.” Vera looked appalled. She had a great face: high forehead under old-lady white curls, sunken eyes and a ball at the end of her nose. Twin grooves extended outward from nostril to lip, two more from lip to chin, like the stacked roofs of Japanese temples. “What a fuss over meat and potatoes.”
    â€œI know! Then for salad he’d have organic mâche with—”
    â€œOrganic mash?”
    Elizabeth laughed, then noticed no one else did and stopped abruptly. “ Mâche . It’s a kind of lettuce, also called lamb’s tongue.”
    â€œEwwww!”
    â€œMore milk, Jeffrey?”
    â€œYes, please, Mom, thank you, Mom.”
    Elizabeth got up to get herself more water while Meg poured milk for her son. She missed having wine with dinner, but that was the only criticism. With meals like this she’d have to keep up her running schedule or inflate like a balloon. “Can I get anyone anything?”
    Megan looked up as if the question surprised her. “Oh, no. Thank you. We have everything.”
    â€œWe’re all fine here. Just fine,” said Vera.
    â€œGood. Okay.” Elizabeth went back to the table. Apparently she’d managed to say the wrong thing.