“Food?” Theresa teased.
“Oh for …” Frida responded.
“Thanks for a different Arizona experience.” Theresa used air quotes forexperience.
“Noon okay with you?” Henry asked.
“Perfect. I’m at The Canopy.”
“See you then,” Henry replied, and Frida waved.
Theresa sent off a quick text to Lizzie.Can we talk? Have some info. Tks.
Theresa’s head was spinning. This time, it was from her imagination.Body parts? Ew.
Chapter Ten
A New Mission
Pinewood
Myra was up early the next day. Lady and her pups lifted their heads and then placed them back on the bed. It was too early for them. They needed another half hour before they had to go outside and then have breakfast.
Myra was unusually agitated. Something about this senior living thing bothered her. Something wasn’t right, and it had nothing to do with the proximity of the residents to her own age. There was a vulnerability about it.
Myra knew she was fortunate enough to have whatever she wanted at her fingertips. At least material things. She would give it all up if she could have her daughter back. But she couldn’t, so she would do the best she can with what she has. And she has many resources.
She padded into the kitchen and fixed a cup of coffee with the French press. Myra had always used an automatic coffee maker, but Charles insisted that once she had coffee made that way, she would never go back to Mr. Coffee. “You’re divorcing him!” Charles proclaimed.
When Charles began to show signs of boredom after his retirement, Myra suggested he develop a hobby. Much to her delight, and to her dismay, it was food. Charles became a gastronomical connoisseur, and over the years developed into a gourmet cook, with Fergus as his sous chef and kitchen help.
Myra was in excellent shape, and she only imagined she was getting fat. Charles was very keen on never mentioning any woman’s age, weight, or shape. If the woman asks, “Does this make me look fat?” the answer is always, “Of course not, honey. You look gorgeous.”
Myra and Charles were never fancy people. They had nice things but nothing extravagant. Myra was low-key. She preferred classic but casual clothes. Unlike Annie, who preferred her white rhinestone cowboy boots. Myra was the yin to Annie’s yang. Actually, the two couples fit together like a jigsaw puzzle.
Myra’s coffee preparation must have disturbed the pups, because soon Lady strolled into the kitchen and sat at the back door. Her pups were not far behind. Myra walked outside with them while her coffee was going through a full-immersion process. She had to admit, it made a delicious cup. She strolled over to the garden, where Charles grew his vegetables for cooking. Myra was in charge of the herb garden. It was the season for basil. She rubbed a leaf between her fingers and inhaled the essence of the fragrant oil. “I’m surprised this isn’t illegal,” she said, and chuckled.
As soon as Lady rounded the corner, Myra knew it was time the coffee was ready.Funny how certain routines seem to evolve without planning. By the time she got to the kitchen door, Myra could smell something baking in the oven. “Oh, no! Not scones again!” She was half joking.
Baking wasn’t Charles’s forte, with the exception of scones and Yorkshire pudding. Annie once argued that popovers did not count as baking. “But don’t let me stop you from making them!” she said gleefully.
Charles then gave Annie a history lesson of the cherished delight, citing that “pudding” referred to rustic desserts, eaten by lower-class people, and were made in coal ovens by the miners. Regardless of their origin, popovers, as they’re called in America, are a Pinewood favorite. Charles also pointed out that they are lower in carbs. On the other hand, scones were packed with carbs, sugar, and fat.
“Oh, Charles, why do you tempt me with such things?” Myra took a long whiff of the treasures in the oven.
“It’s part of our marriage certificate. I do believe it is stated quite brilliantly. ‘Charles must, at all times, unless other wise noted, tempt Myra with a variety of delights.’” He raised his eyebrows.
“Darling, it’s too early for verbal volleyball.”
“Who said anything about sports, love?” Charles pinched her fanny.
Myra patted him on the cheek. “Later, darling. We have work to do this morning.”
“Yes, we do. But not yet.” He wrapped his arm around Myra’s waist, bent her slightly backwards, and planted a wet kiss on her mouth.
“Off me, you brute!” Myra kidded. “At least give me a scone first.”
Charles pulled on the oven mitts and removed the pastry. “I shall apologize in advance. These were made yesterday. I was simply heating them up.”
