with some milk and salt and pepper, and I put a cup of flour on another plate. I sliced a lemon and browned it in some olive oil and butter. Then I dredged the chicken breasts in flour, dipped them in the egg mix, and browned them all, putting them aside to rest as they were done. When we were ready to sit down I’d squeeze the juice of a whole lemon in my frying pan along with a big chunk of butter to make a sauce. Then the chicken would go back in the sauce with the lemon slices to warm it up and coat it all in lemony, buttery heaven. At the last moment, I’d drizzle it with honey and sprinkle minced chives from my garden over the top. Even my mother liked it. It was that good.
I flipped the album over and set the table in the kitchen, because we never used the dining room, except on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Besides, it was half covered with mail, mostly catalogs my mother refused to let me throw away. She had a black belt in shopping.
The grocery store flowers went into a glass vase in the center of the table. I used our newest place mats and paper napkins folded in triangles. The next challenge was finding four unchipped plates, and to my surprise, I did. When it was all put together, the table looked inviting. Not magazine worthy, but it had a wholesome charm.
By six, everything was ready. A fresh pitcher of iced tea stood on the counter, because of course we drank iced tea all year round. The peas were buttered, the chicken was sauced, and the potatoes were whipped into velvet ribbons. A Mrs. Smith’s frozen apple pie was bubbling away in the oven, and it was as domestic a scene as any woman ever set. All I needed was a golden retriever to star in a Martha Stewart tableau. The doorbell rang. On the way to answer it, I glanced at myself in the hall mirror to see that I had forgotten to put on lipstick or to brush my hair and thought, Oh, well, too late for vanity. I bit my lips to give them some color. Didn’t Scarlett O’Hara do that when Rhett showed up unexpectedly?
“Come in! Everything is ready! Did you boys wash your hands?”
“Yup,” Tyler said. “What’s that thmell?”
“Apple pie baking in the oven,” I said.
“Yum!” Tyler said and raced ahead.
“I washed my hands two times!” Hunter said. “Can we have pie first?”
“It never stops. My little rule breaker,” Archie said and ruffled Hunter’s hair. “No.”
“Pie is for dessert!” I said. “If you eat your dinner, that is.” I surprised myself by saying something that sounded so parental, but when I looked at Archie’s face, he was unfazed by my words. The stress of the days since he’d lost Carin was still all over his face.
Tyler was already in the kitchen, having raced ahead, peering into the oven to confirm that there was indeed pie in his future.
“Close that oven door, young man,” Archie said and looked at me. “I’m sorry. He knows better.”
“It’s totally okay,” I said. “Now, what would y’all like to drink?”
I poured milk for the boys and iced tea for Archie and me and we sat down to eat. I caught a side glance of Archie and saw that he had double dimples in his cheeks. I loved dimples because I thought they were a sign of being good natured.
“So, boys? Are y’all having a good year in school?” I asked, thinking, That’s what a mom would ask.
They both bobbed their heads.
“Well, would you like to tell your dad and me something that’s going on? Tyler? You go first.”
Tyler, the second-grader, said, “Well, we’re learning how to carry one, you know, in math.”
“And is that easy for you?” I asked.
“It’s not hard,” he said. “I’m better at it than most of the kids.”
“Great!” I said.
“That’s good, son! Keep up the good work!”
“How about you, Hunter? What’s new in kindergarten?”
“Hmmm?” he said and looked up to the ceiling to see if the answer was there. In typical baby-of-the-family style, he decided to make it funny. “Well, last Monday our class pet, which is a snake, got loose and Miss Langbein, our teacher, almost fainted. But we found it and put it back, the boys did, that is. All the girls were standing on their chairs pretending to be scared. It was just a little old garter snake.”