“No, and I didn’t know it was from the chili until much later. He was fine the next day, but after that, he was lethargic. He had a fever and difficulty swallowing and speaking. Said his vision was blurry. But he was always such a big baby about being sick. He would be completely out of commission with only a runny nose sometimes, so I thought he was being dramatic.
“He died in our bathroom in the middle of the night.”
“What the fudge,” Jonah whispers. “D–did the girls see him?”
“No. Thankfully they were staying at a friend’s house that night. I called the police when I found him early that morning. I was questioned and our home was searched. Later, when it was revealed he died of botulism, they seized all our canned food and it was tested. Sure enough, the only thing that contained the Clostridium botulinum bacteria were a few other jars of chili. Just that one batch.
My mind reels back to that fateful day over two years ago. Not to the day my husband died, but the weeks just before.
There’s a knock on my open office door, and I peer up from my work to find Professor Lewis holding a gift box in her arm. “Happy New Year, Renée.”
I swallow the last bite of my homemade soup. “Hey,” I smile. “Happy New Year, Tracy. Ready for your last semester?”
She steps into my office and sets the present on the floor. “I’ve been ready to retire for the last ten years,” she says.
“I’m sure you have.”
Without asking, she closes the door and sits on the other side of my desk. Okay... a little weird since we don’t speak all that much, but maybe she has something hot she wants to discuss.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
She leans back into the chair, crosses her legs, and folds her hands. “I just read the most fascinating story recently. Well, it’s more tragic than anything, but, I guess it depends how you look at it.” I watch her closely and push my empty bowl and glass mason jar to the side. “This man in Iowa almost died from eating tuna from a can. Apparently, there was a recall on those easy-open pull-tab cans, you know the ones?”
I nod, but wonder where she's going with this odd topic.
“They were recalled for a high risk of Clostridium botulinum.” Tracy keeps going because she doesn't have to explain to me, a biologist, what that bacteria is. “I guess he didn’t hear about the recall and ate one of those cans. He was out in the woods camping with his family, but after a few days he had blurred vision, trouble keeping his eyes open, and abdominal pain. On their last day of the trip, he had difficulty breathing, so his wife took him to the nearest hospital where they discovered the toxin. They had to give him mechanical ventilation and an IV of antitoxin.”
“Jeez,” I wince. “You don’t hear about that a lot.”
“You don’t,” she replies. “They said if he hadn’t come in for treatment within another two days, he could have died. All from one can of tuna. And you know, if he hadn’t gone in for treatment, if the level of bacteria was higher, he would have been much weaker. Unable to speak. His limbs and diaphragm would go into paralysis… eventually leading to respiratory failure.”
All at once my body goes still as ice—complete with a shiver licking up my spine. Why is she telling me this?
“But without a recall, how can anyone know for certain their canned food is safe?” She shrugs, “We’re at the mercy of the Food and Drug Administration and the quality checks from food manufacturers. But then that got me thinking... What about those who can their own food at home? I’m not so certain they’re testing their food at home. And I mean”—she chuckles softly—“not everyone has access to a laboratory, do they?”
I shake my head almost imperceptibly, and my stomach tightens and twists until I’m actively fighting back a full-body tremor. She... she knows I process my own food. We don’t talk much, but she’s seen me eat lunch enough over the years to pick up on this.
Tracy trains her focus to my empty mason jar for a second and slowly drags her attention back to me. She waves ahand dismissively. “But home canners probably know all the proper methods like pressure canning—not just boiling the water. And I’m sure they’re careful about acidifying the foods they’re canning. Like, oh I don’t know, tomatoes for instance. Or beef.
“You know, under the right circumstances, the level of Clostridium botulinum could be so high in just one jar of food, it could take a grown man down in a matter of a few days. Isn’t that wild?”
Slowly, silently, I nod—not missing her choice to use the word ‘wild’ to describe this hypothetical situation. If she’s telling me this for a reason, and it very much feels like she is, what else does she know about me? I’ve always kept my personal life hidden away for fear of judgment, for fear that others will see what I ignore, what I endure.
Tracy slaps her hands on her thighs and stands up—the picture of cool, calm, and collected. “Anyway,” she sighs, before picking up the gift box and placing it on my desk. “I hope you had a fantastic holiday break with your family. I’m happy to see that bruise on your face is almost all gone.”
I suddenly feel as though I could faint, and my heart jackhammers until sweat instantly forms under my arms. How did she know about that? I covered up that bruise with full-coverage foundation and concealer.
My knee-jerk reaction is to touch my face, search for the pain his hand left on me the day before classes were let out for the holiday break, and cover what I thought had disappeared. But I refrain—for what purpose, I’m not sure. I guess I worry that If I cover it, I’ll only validate her suspicions. But what’s the point in denying it now?
Tracy taps the box, poised and serious. “Sorry I didn’t get this to you sooner. It’s just a few jars of chili. Homemade gifts are always more special, aren’t they?”
And with that, my colleague leaves me in a cold sweat, feeling like I’ve been handed a loaded gun.
I clear my throat and meet Jonah’s eyes. “I don’t can food at home anymore.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Obviously! Sugar, that’s messed up.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Sugar?”
