Shay and Gennie returned when I was popping the cork on a bottle of white wine.
“No eggs,” Gennie announced, turning the basket upside down as proof.
“They were perfectly behaved,” Shay added.
Gennie bobbed her head. “I threw them a cookie.”
“Where did you get a cookie?” I asked her.
“I don’t know. I had it in my pocket.”
“That’s just great.” I shared an exasperated glance with Shay. “Time to work your salad magic.”
Shay settled onto one of the stools on the other side of the island, her hands clasped under her chin as she watched Gennie climb up her stepladder and get to work. “I have to see this,” she said.
“It’s magic,” Gennie started, “because I throw these ugly things into a bowl and mix it up, and then it’s not ugly anymore. And it tastes good. Magic.”
The ugly things in question were salad greens, slivered apple, nuts. A light vinaigrette. A bit of cheese. But I didn’t mind the theatrical production of it all if it resulted in Gennie consuming a salad without first drowning it in ranch dressing.
I held up the uncorked bottle. “Wine?” I asked Shay.
She waved it off. “No. Thank you. I—I’m abstaining this week.” She laughed to herself, glancing away. “I had more than enough last weekend. As you might recall.”
“It happens to the best of us.” We couldn’t talk aboutanyof the things I recalled from that night. Couldn’t do that. Couldn’t go there because it was impossible to fall asleep without thinking about her in bed and I couldn’t look at raspberries without comparing them to her nipples—and I’d yet to find a raspberry I liked better. “Water? Soda? Pirate juice?”
“Pirate juice,” Gennie repeated in her jazzy jingle voice.
“Water would be great,” Shay replied. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do? I’m feeling useless over here.”
“You just spent the past two hours tutoring my niece out of the goodness of your heart,” I said, filling a glass of water for her. “Don’t feel too guilty about sitting.” I set the glass in front of her, avoiding her outstretched hand because I couldn’t touch her right now. Not even a light brush of the fingers. It would kill me and I had to keep it together for at least another hour. To Gennie, I asked, “How’s the magic coming?”
“Almost done.” She frowned at the salad bowl. “It’s time for the apples.”
Shay watched as I carried several dishes to the table. “What have you cooked up tonight?”
“I have reheated. Gennie’s doing all the cooking here.” I motioned to the dish. “It’s not much. Some macaroni and cheese, a veggie gratin, and the Fig and Fennel spin on pot roast.”
“And apple salad,” Gennie called.
“An updated version of apple and carrot slaw,” I said.
Shay started to respond but stopped herself. “That’s—no.” She gave a slight shake of her head, the corners of her eyes creasing. “Is that Lollie’s special occasion menu?”
“As much of it as I could remember,” I said. “The veggie dish was hazy to me. I hope this is okay.”
“You—” She pressed her fingers to her lips, held them there as her eyes glistened over again. It was very important to my continued existence that she not shed those tears. I would not be able to keep my hands to myself if she cried. “I can’t believe you did this. I can’t believe you remembered. Thank you.”
“It was Gennie’s idea.”
When in doubt, throw the kid in front of the problem. Excellent distraction; worked every time.
“Remember how I asked you all those questions about your favorite things? And you told me about your Grammy’s parties when good things happened?” Gennie asked, deviousness sparkling in her eyes. “It was my secret project for your birthday.” She held up the salad bowl. “Magic all mixed in.”
I took the bowl from her and motioned for Shay to take a seat. “You’re an excellent spy,” she said to Gennie. “And look at these placemats. Wow. This is amazing.”
Gennie beamed as she settled into her seat beside Shay. “We did a good job?”
“You did agreatjob,” Shay replied. She glanced across the table at me. “Thank you.”
