How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [48]
“That’s okay. Want me to put water on for tea?” I look at the clock and see I need to leave for my cooking class in ten minutes.
As Giovanni relaxes on the rug by the sliding glass door, Regena Lorraine finds room on the couch. Her face is blotchy; her eyes are rimmed in red. She moistens her lips, starts to speak, and then looks longingly around the living room. “It’s just that…”
“Yes?” I sit in the chair across from her.
“Well…” She takes in a long breath and lets it out like air being released from a bottle of soda. “This cabin is filled with memories.”
I join her in glancing from wall to ceiling to floor.
A tear runs down her cheek. “I miss him.”
A gentle feeling eases over me. My aunt is missing her daddy. “I wish I’d known him better,” I say.
“Yes, well. Well, yes.” She considers saying something else, stops. Finally, “Families. They often don’t see eye-to-eye. You know, how it can be. Your mother…”
“Never liked Dad’s relatives?” I complete the sentence for her.
She dabs at a tear that rolls from under the bottom rim of her designer leopard-spotted glasses.
“True, right?”
My aunt lets another tear follow the first. “True.” Then quickly, “And Ernest traveled a lot. He was often gone to some foreign place, especially after Mother died. So he wasn’t around to make those visits that probably made your mother turn up her nose.”
I laugh. Turn up her nose. Yes, that is what my mother does when she doesn’t like or approve of something or someone. My aunt knows her well.
Regena Lorraine blows her nose into a pink tissue she takes from her bosom. “I miss so much about Ernest. He was a good father.”
I look at my aunt with her reddened cheeks and sad expression and think she has never looked more endearing.
Suddenly a thought comes to me. “Do you know anything about a raccoon bowl?”
“Raccoon bowl?” Removing her glasses, she wipes both eyes. “Yes. I gave it to Ernest when he was harassed by hungry raccoons a few years ago.”
“Where is it?”
This time my aunt laughs.
Although she confuses me, I allow her this indulgence. Anyone who has just cried deserves to laugh.
“I came in and stole it.”
Is she telling the truth? “Really?”
“Yes. I’m a regular thief. Shortly after he died, I saw it on the counter. I recalled that time three raccoons surrounded him. That was some story!” She glances at me. “Have I told you?”
“No, you haven’t.”
Clapping her hands together, she begins. “Well, he was carrying a bag of potatoes and had to lift it over his head so that the raccoons wouldn’t be able to reach it. Then he ran inside. I was in my car in the driveway. I laughed so hard. Once the raccoons left, I went into his cabin and we laughed together.” She takes a deep breath. “When I eat my bran cereal out of that silly bowl every morning, I can hear his laughter.”
I decide then that I will not ask for the bowl so that I can get the best effects from my grandpa’s peanut soup. Perhaps I will never be able to taste all the flavors. Yet Jonas tasted every single one and I served the soup to him in a white ceramic bowl. Ordinary people think that the dishes we serve our food in don’t matter. However, early on, Chef B taught me that the plates and silverware we use to present our works of art must compliment the food. “Never serve mint curried chicken in dark bowl. See? Its color is dark, so to present it well, place it in a light bowl, white or cream in the color. See?”
I did see. I have tried to follow his instructions. My grandfather Ernest must have realized the importance of serving food in the appropriate dishes, as well. If he were here, I know he and I could have some amusing conversations. Especially if I got the chance to tell him about the family gravy bowl that is so ugly I once considered purposely knocking it off the counter onto the kitchen floor.
My aunt stands, and I catch the scent of her perfume. She makes her way toward the door. “Gotta go.” Giovanni stretches, shakes his massive frame, and prepares to leave with her.
Quickly, I say, “No, you don’t. I have to get to class. But you take