Mary got to work, preparing a hamburger hash that the guys seemed to enjoy. Since they each took turns when it came to supper, they each got to taste different regional dishes— the regions being New York, Texas, and Wyoming.
The first supper she’d made for them, after they’d decided to take turns and make food from their childhood, was corned beef and potato pancakes. Anthony had followed up with chicken enchiladas. He said he went light on the chilies, and she believed him despite the heat of the dish. It pleased her that she’d handled the spices. Toby’s first offering had been something he called frybread. They’d had it for breakfast on a Sunday morning, served with honey. She’d liked that, a lot.
They each kept note of the meals that seemed to go over the best. Of course, they also would dine out at both Lusty Appetites and Angel’s Roadhouse. And they would make their own meals, together, too. Those were the best times of all.
As she cooked, Mary dared to let her mind wander. She’d done a pretty good job of compartmentalizing everything that was going on in the world outside of Lusty. Of course, some of what was happening out there was happening in here, too.
While Cody Harper had been spared any virus symptoms and had tested negative, his husband, Greg, hadn’t been quite as lucky. Mary knew that he hadn’t needed a ventilator, but it had been close. Now recovering, he was resting at home with Cody and Rebecca. He remained weak but was gaining strength each day.
Rebecca told her that Cody had become Greg’s nursemaid, and at one point he’d apologized for what he himself had put Greg through, just before they’d come to Lusty and in the weeks immediately after. Mary had heard the story, of course, from Aunt Samantha at the time.
Cody, a photojournalist, had been kidnapped and held prisoner for several days in the Middle East. He’d nearly died from the untreated gunshot wound he’d received when he’d been taken—kidnapped in a plot engineered by another journalist who’d considered Cody a rival. That man was still behind bars and would be for some time to come. Apparently, Greg had been Cody’s nursemaid, as he’d recovered from that and PTSD.
The Jessops—Paul, Lucas, and Wesley and their wife, Kat—had returned from California and gone into quarantine for fourteen days. When the quarantine was done, they’d returned to their home here in Lusty, having tested negative the entire time.
Cousin Christopher was settled in town, in his new house that she’d helped to furnish. He, too, had stayed isolated for the prescribed period of time and had also tested negative for the virus.
Her own family not currently in Lusty—those still in New York State—were beginning to circle the wagons. Her uncles and their families all lived close to each other, each having bought good-sized properties an hour outside of Albany, as well as a large “farm” used for family vacations within a short drive of each of their homes.
There was enough room in that enormous old farmhouse for all of the Kendalls left in New York, and as she’d guessed they would, that was where they’d chosen to hunker down. The Kendalls of New York tended to be a thrifty lot. Her uncles and her father recalled growing up with a single mom and taking in her lessons on stretching those dollars.
The fact that none of them had to do that anymore had nothing to do with anything. To this day they were careful, and she knew that in that farmhouse, in what they called the “utility kitchen” the three freezers, two fridges, and dozens of shelves would be chock full of enough supplies to get them through several months, if necessary. She’d also been assured they had access to testing supplies, as well as medical personnel who could be summoned and utilized if necessary.
Beyond Lusty, in points northeast and northwest of this great country, things were not going as well.
Mary sighed and tucked those thoughts away. She ignored her inner voice that told her she wasn’t really dealing with things.
She set a lid on the skillet and turned the burner down to between low and medium. In twenty minutes, supper would be ready. She planned to turn it off for a bit once cooked, fully believing that allowing a stove-top casserole to “rest” improved its taste. While supper simmered, she set the table and then poured herself a glass of tea.
Mary let her mind wander to pleasant locales as she looked out the kitchen window, the tiny one over the sink with a nice view of the driveway and the house next door.
She recalled moving to New York City from her rural home and the excitement she felt, living in the greatest city on earth. In those early times, she’d believed she’d be a New Yorker for life. She never would have imagined feeling at home, here in a small house in a small town in Texas.
Of course, she never could have imagined being attacked in her own home, either. Mary worked hard at yanking her thoughts away from the dark, back to the light. Sometimes it wasn’t easy to do. An expression she used from time to time flitted across her mind, making her smile. Yep, it’s true. Writers are, by nature, neurotic.
And then she was saved from herself when the door opened and a voice reached her, the sound coming closer with each word.
“Something smells really good in here. Well, a couple of somethings, actually.” Anthony was the first through the kitchen door, and he raised his eyebrows and sent Mary a lascivious grin.
“If I smell, period,
