She said, “How demoralizing to live in a terminally quaint western village.”
I made sympathetic noises.
“Of course, I don’t know why I would need a size sixteen cowgirl dress anyway,” Marla complained, “since I’m not coming to this shindig tomorrow. The Jerk’s going to be there, isn’t he?”
“He certainly is,” I said. “But I’m leaving the rolling pin at home.”
Bad joke, but we chuckled anyway. The Jerk was what Marla had dubbed our mutual ex, for his personality and his initials, J.R.K. Marla so intensely disliked seeing John Richard that it was hard to understand why she talked about him so much. Seven months after my divorce was final, John Richard ended a fling with a married woman who sang in the church choir and wedded Marla’s bulk and wealth. They were divorced fifteen months later and she and I promptly became partners in anger. But before that point Marla’s disgust with his extramarital antics had ballooned her up another thirty pounds, weight she’d used to good advantage when he came at her with a rolling pin. She had managed to heave him into a hanging plant, dislocating his shoulder.
I looked down at my right thumb, which still would not bend properly after John Richard had broken it in three places with a hammer.
“That rolling pin,” Marla was saying between giggles, “that damn rolling pin. You could use it to fix him green tomato pie.”
Without thinking, I looked at the menu. Tomatoes. Damn. Amid all the other grousing he had done, John Richard had been at pains to remind me of his allergies to chocolate and tomatoes. I was planning to mince some of the latter and sprinkle the red bits on the asparagus vinaigrette, for color. John Richard would have to get mushrooms if I didn’t want to make him sick. Oh, I thought as I poured my coffee down the sink and finished mixing the scones, the adjustments we make after divorce.
Marla had stopped laughing. “I have news,” she announced. “He’s bringing his new girlfriend …”
I shook my head and began to spoon mounds of batter onto cookie sheets.
“Think of it,” Marla went on, “you could poison both of them.”
“Wouldn’t you just love that,” I muttered.
“On second thought, maybe one death is enough for a while,” said Marla. “Since the funeral’s tomorrow, I guess our women’s group won’t meet tonight.”
“I’m swamped,” I said truthfully. “How about later in the month?”
“Don’t know if I can wait that long. I need to order some cookies.”
I said, “Can we talk about it later? I’m awful busy right now.” I wedged the phone between my chin and shoulder and scraped the last of the scone-shortcake batter out. It made a sucking noise before plopping on the sheet.
“The cookies can wait. My pantries are full, anyway. You’re getting upset because we’ve been talking about you-know-who. Sorry.”
“Not to worry,” I said. “If I hadn’t wanted a family so badly, I’d never have made the mistake of marrying him in the first place.”
Marla sighed. “Oh God, think of Laura. She didn’t even have the chance to get married.”
I checked inside the proofing box; the dill rolls had risen. I snapped the other oven button to Preheat.
I said, “I am thinking about it. I am thinking about her. I’m fixing all the food, aren’t I?”
“Where’s your housemate? What’s her name, Patty Sue? Can’t she help you? What about Arch? You going to draft him to serve?”
“Patty Sue will help tomorrow,” I said. “She’s at the doctor now. Korman senior. Arch is going to have to help. I hate to do that to him since he was so close to Laura. Plus the aunt decided to have this reception over at Laura’s house, all the worse. Just a sec.” I grunted. I was thrusting my free hand through my dry goods shelves. “Oh my God,” I said, “I’ve let my supplies get too low, even if this is the slow season. I’m out of honey
“No honey and no sugar,” observed Marla. “You’re not doing very well. And as Laura would have said, you’re not acting too
“Goodbye, Marla.”
The front door swept open and let in a gust of aspensweet October air. Arch traipsed into the kitchen and threw his backpack onto one of the counters before heading for the refrigerator.
I said, “How’d it go today?”
He groaned. “Terrible. As usual.”
He turned his small, earnest eleven-year-old face full of freckles and brown hair and tortoise-shell glasses to me.
He said, “Larry and Sean attacked me. They said I was stupid for still going around on Halloween. They say I’m stupid about everything, and they’re the stupid ones. Halloween isn’t even here yet!” He shook his head, disgusted. “They said it was like believing in Santa Claus. Look, they tore my shirt.” He fingered a rip in the blue- and-red flannel.
“Hmm.”
He gave me a grim look. “And don’t tell me all that stuff about turning the other cheek because I already tried that and it doesn’t work. I’m going to have to think of something else.”
I said, “Sorry. Want a hot biscuit in two minutes?”
“Can’t.” His voice wrapped around the open refrigerator door. “Todd’s calling as soon as he gets home. We’re doing a role-playing game and then TV trivia. I’ve been reading a book about the old shows all week.” He emerged clutching a pitcher of peppermint tea, his favorite. “Don’t worry. I’ll use the other phone line in case any clients call in.”
He smiled, and I wanted to hug him, ripped plaid shirt and all. But he was at the age where this made him uncomfortable, so I just lifted one eyebrow at the tea.
“You use the last of my sugar in that?”
“I had to use something,” he said in defense. “I needed it.”
I shook my head and began to mince scallions for my Wild Man’s Wild Rice Salad, so named because
“Listen up,” I said. “You remember I need you to help tomorrow?” He nodded. “Your job now, please,” I went on as I handed him two dollar bills, “is to pop on down to the convenience store and get me another bag of sugar. And don’t open it for a sweet fix on the way home. I have to have it for the muffins and strawberries and lemonade.”
He groaned dramatically and clomped out, yelling something over his shoulder about Todd calling back in half an hour.
I washed the food processor and started on Goldy’s Marvelous Mayonnaise. When Todd rang I gave him the message. Halfway through drizzling in the safflower oil for the mayo, Alicia banged through the front door. With all the
Goldy’s Marvelous Mayonnaise
1 large egg, purchased from a salmonella-free source
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
? teaspoon dry mustard
? teaspoon salt
1 cup safflower oil
Put the egg, juice, vinegar, mustard, and salt in a food processor fitted with a metal blade. Process until well blended, about 30 to 40 seonds.
Place the oil in a small pitcher and, with the machine running, dribble it into the egg mixture in a thin stream. When all the oil has been added, turn off the processor and scrape the mayonnaise from the bowl and the blade into a small bowl that can be tightly covered. Keep the mixture chilled. It is best to use homemade mayonnaise within 24 hours.
