“Okay, buddy,” Holly said, crouching to clip on the dog’s leash. “You’re probably ready to go home.” She turned to Mish. “Thank you.”
Mish handed her a bunch of carrots. “Anytime. It’s nice to be able to—no,no!” Her attention snapped to her children, who had gathered around something in the dirt, something neither of the women could see. “Don’ttouch that. Dirty!” She rushed off, crying, “Not food!”
Holly, along with carrots and Bean, left the garden and headed home. The day was leaning into the afternoon, and Holly had much more to get done today.
Sixteen
Holly brought Bean back to their living unit and fed him. All that sunbathing had exhausted the pup, who climbed up on the couch and collapsed there. Holly sat beside him and tentatively petted him. She wasn’t sure if hewantedto be pet. Her parents’ dog was very clear when he wanted attention and even more so when he didn’t. Bean was a mystery. He never approached her unless he wanted something, like a walk, or food, and he still gave her the most judgmental side-eye whenever she entered a room he was in.
But maybe he was waiting for something from her. After that revelatory conversation with Mish, Holly looked at Bean a little differently. The dog lay on the couch in a loose ball, gazing up at her as if to say,what, lady?
Hewasan older boy. While mostly black and tan with a white, speckled belly, the white hairs that sprinkled over his face were so abundant, she couldn’t tell what his face must have looked like when he was a puppy. If he’d spent his whole life, until now, with one person, and that person was gone, perhaps he felt abandoned. Or worse, perhaps heknewhis human was dead and was grieving. Charles had died in this unit, and poor little Bean had likely been here when that happened.
Maybe if she talked to him, he’d hear the sincerity in her voice and trust her a little. “Hey, Bean.” She let her fingers slide behind his long, velvety ears to scratch the spot he seemed to like when getting affection from others. “I’m sorry Charles is gone. It must be hard for you. I’m going to take care of you, though. You’re going to be okay.” She sounded beyond ridiculous. Holly thanked thestarsLuv was busy elsewhere in the hotel. She’d be hearing digs about this for days. “You’re very cute.Andyou’re a good boy.”
Bean lifted his head. And burped.
“Nice,” she said dryly. But she kept on, shifting up his collar to scratch his neck. “What’s this, now?” Her fingers encountered a small silver ball the size of a marble dangling from the collar. She’d felt it before, but not taken the time to look at it. Charles must have added the charm to Bean’s collar. It seemed to Holly like an ornament for a dog who was loved.
Her eyes burned, thinking about the bond her grandfather must have had with this dog. “Good boy,” she said again.
Bean kept his dark brown gaze locked on her. He shifted his little body slightly closer to her. Close enough to rest his chin on her thigh. It was a step. A very positive step. “Thank you, buddy,” she whispered, and pet him a little bit more.
When Holly walked into the lounge, she was feeling good. Positive things had happened in the past handful of days, and she was starting to feel at home in this place.Thiswas on her list for today. After relieving Cody of his cooking duties, she and Luv had spent multiple days scrubbing the kitchen and everything in it until the surfaces gleamed. The grimy counters were clean,the dishes washed and put away, the stoves polished to a mirror shine.
Today, Holly wanted to see if she could actually bake something.
If she could, perhaps, create a small menu. Offer a meal or two for travelers when they came. It would give them a reason to spend a few morenitsbefore continuing on their journey. Every bit of income helped. And hopefully, Harry would be happy with the addition of some positive reviews.
Also, she had come to despise hot porridge. Even with berries.
Upon hearing Holly’s plans, Luv had reminded Holly of the old cookbook from Charles’ storage crate. She believed it belonged to Holly’s great-grandmother.
After she retrieved it, she found the book to be so old she was afraid to touch it. She placed it on the counter and turned the pages with care, afraid of tearing the paper. On each page were recipes with photographs in faded ink. It was clearly older than her great-grandmother, making it a valuable relic from a time long before the outpost existed.
She vowed to scan the contents and transfer them to a d-pad for safekeeping. The book was too precious to risk damaging with daily use.
Holly did not know how to cook or bake. Her living unit on Nova didn’t have a kitchen and it was rare to find a home on Earth with one, when a good NuProd could generate most any recipe with the perfection of a skilled chef. Restaurants still existed, of course. In fact, to sample chefs’ new creations was a treasured experience, and the wait lists at some restaurants could span years.
She’d like to purchase a new, modern NuProd for the lounge, but until more important repairs were checked off the list, andthe station had thenitsto spare, she’d manage with what she had.
Ah—a recipe for blueberry muffins. Simple enough, she thought.
Holly gathered her ingredients and arranged them on the counter. Her problem was, most everything had to be substituted. They didn’t have eggs here, as there were no chickens. So, she pulled out a liquid protein substitute.
Flour. Well, okay, but not the kind ground from wheat. This was a basic carbohydrate powder. Down the list she went, substituting this for that. Even the measuring utensils in the kitchen used a different unit of measurement. So, she estimated.
Three-quarters cup of sugar. What, exactly, was a “cup?” Earth had moved to a galactic standard of measurement almost a century earlier. Unsure, she pulled a teacup from the shelf and added what looked right.
She mixed the dry ingredients together in a bowl, then added the wet ones. So far, so good. Holly stirred vigorously, ignoring the fact that none of it was actually, well,mixing. The oils stayed separated, the sweetener tablets wouldnotdissolve, and the leavening powder she’d used in place of baking powder had turned everything orange. Still, she folded in the blueberries, knowing that at leastthatpart was right.
She greased a muffin tin, filled each cup to the brim, and slid the whole thing into the oven. The recipe said to bake until golden. She set the temperature to somewhere in the middle and set the timer. Holly thumbed through the rest of the cookbook while she waited, humming to herself. She had done it. Her first batch of muffins, from her great-grandmother’s recipe book, no less.
A burning smell tickled her nose.
Holly spun around. Smoke seeped from the oven door, gray tendrils curling toward the ceiling. Odd that it hadn’t triggered the fire alarm.
“No, no, no.” She grabbed a cloth, yanked open the oven, and pulled out the muffin tin.
