“No, I—”
“Please? Grannie made me this amazing, creamy oatmeal that I’d love for you to try.”
He glances at the door, then at me.
“Can I check on him first?”
“Of course you can.” I put my hand on his arm. “Just come back, okay?”
“I will.”
He leaves through the back door, and I go into the kitchen, putting the eggs into the container and gathering everything I need to make oatmeal.
Grannie has an old recipe card box, the cards thin, the corners curled and bent. The ink is still clear though, and so I get to work making the most perfect oatmeal.
Gus is awake when it’s done, so he, Rhett, and I sit and eat.
“It’s good,” Gus says.
“Not as good as Grannie’s,” I say, scooping up a blueberry.
“What’s different about it?” Rhett asks.
“Hers was creamier. Smoother.”
“Maybe she overcooked it?” Rhett suggests.
“I followed the recipe card and cooked it for as long as it said.”
“You remember those brownies Tina used to make?” Gus says to Rhett.
Rhett groans.
“Tina?” I question.
“She was Rhett’s family-cook. Made the best cookies I’ve ever had. Anyway, she had said she followed a recipe but always did something a little different because it felt right.”
“So, you’re saying…”
“Maybe Agnes cooked it just a little longer because it felt right?” Gus says.
“Could be,” Rhett says, taking his last bite.
He brings his dish to the sink to wash it.
“Maybe,” I say, taking another bite.
“I’m going out to work on the fence,” Rhett says.
“Stay here again tonight,” I say.
He looks at me like he doesn’t want to agree.
“Please? I feel better with you in the house.”
“We’re used to being outside,” Rhett says.
“No, not because of that.” I clear my throat. “It’s just… you know, this is a big house, and the locks aren’t great, and…”
