“Ya…Yes…”
Lizanne lifted Daisy up and grabbed a dish towel.
“Here we go, wave it against the fire alarm.”
She grabbed another for herself and together, they waved until Daisy no longer cried and the alarm no longer screamed.
“There we go.”
“What about the eggs?”
“We don’t speak of it,” Lizanne said.
Daisy’s mouth moved toward a smile.
“Is everything all right?”
Rose was standing in the kitchen doorway in her dressing gown, her hair a mess and her eyes red at the edges. She looked exactly like someone who had dragged themselves out of bed to investigate a fire.
“Everything is under control,” Lizanne said.
Rose looked at the pan. At the open window. At Daisy in the princess dress. Her eyes flicked to the bin, then back to Lizanne. For a second, the air between them was thick with the things they hadn’t fought about yet.
“Back to bed,” Lizanne said, her voice softer this time.
“I can just—”
“Rose. Go. I’ll order something.”
Rose lingered, but then went back down the hall.
Cleaning the pan took a while. Daisy helped by handing Lizanne things she hadn’t asked for and asking questions about fire. When the kitchen was clean, Lizanne stood at the counter and thought about the card. She thought about asking; she thought about the way Rose had looked at the bin just now. She decided that story was Rose’s to tell.
What she had to focus on now was whip up some food. She didn’t actually want to wait for someone to deliver something, because she was hungry and Rose needed to eat before she could take medicine.
So, she made soup from a can instead. She heated it with close attention, made a sandwich for Rose, and put it all on a tray.
“Can I come?” Daisy asked.
“Yes. Carry this.” She handed her the crackers she’d pulled out for herself.
They moved down the hall like a small procession. Rose was sitting up when they came in.
“You made soup,” she said.
“From a can,” Lizanne said. “I want to be clear about that. I did make the sandwich myself though.”
“It counts.”
Daisy climbed onto the bed and presented the crackers. “These are for Lizanne. She doesn’t like sandwiches with soup. That’s strange, right?”
“To each their own,” Rose replied and looked at the dress. “You’re very formal today,” Rose said.
“It’s Saturday,” Daisy reminded her, as if that explained anything. “I didn’t shower yet.”
Rose glanced at Lizanne and Lizanne saw her bite back a smile. Lizanne sat in the chair by the window, watching her while her own soup grew cold. There was a vulnerability to seeing Rose like this—stripped of the makeup, just a woman eating canned soup and a sandwich in a messy bed.
When the soup was finished, Lizanne went back to the kitchen and returned with crushed garlic and the olive oil.
