“Plan on keeping her or taking her back to the shelter?”
No way could I take that poor creature back. She’d hated it there. “I don’t know yet.”
Ryan reached down and stroked the cat’s fur. “I best get back to it. We’re almost done. Come down and have a look when you get a second.”
I watched him leave, broad shoulders swaying with his easy gait. I tossed the cartoon material on the bed with the rest. Maybe Ida had meant it for a friend’s baby shower or had planned to make a dress for a girl at church.
Or maybe she’d longed for a grandchild and had bought it after her son’s wedding in hopes of making a baby blanket. It didn’t really matter. I’d never know. Still, something about the scrap of fabric covered with my favorite childhood cartoon filled in a missing chunk, and so, regardless of Ida’s original plan, this piece would be worked into the other mismatched fragments representing my heritage.
I gathered the pieces and closed the door to Ida’s room. What other things could I find to put in my memory blanket? I crossed over to my room and opened the wardrobe. Ida must have used it to store quilting materials. Good to know. I’d need the batting and flat sheets to complete the quilt. I put my other finds on the floor.
Past the bags of cotton and rolls of batting, I found a cream-colored sheet that would work well as a backing. At least it wouldn’t clash with the hodgepodge of crazy materials.
I glanced at my father’s teddy bear sitting on the dresser. “Good finds, huh?” And…I was talking to toys now. Bad enough I talked to the cat. I must be losing shards of my sanity.
All right, Ida. I’ve found memories.
With one of her dish towels to remind me of Ida’s cooking, along with the rest of the things I’d found, I’d have enough material to piece together fragments of the past. Only one thing was missing.
I pulled my suitcase out from under the bed. The jeans I’d ripped the day I’d gone out with Mira Ann and Ryan. They were pretty much ruined anyway. And wasn’t that what Ida had said? Take the ruined and transform it into something else?
Feeling satisfied, I gathered the materials, patted the teddy on his faded head, and bounded back down the stairs to check on the progress outside.
15
Food for the Soul
Food has a way of settling the mind and calming the spirit. The scent of garlic bread and tomato sauce smoothed away the wrinkles in my flustered nerves. I inhaled deeply, letting the subtle hints of basil and oregano tingle my senses. Nancy’s wooden spoon settled naturally in my palm and glided through the thickening sauce on Ryan’s stove.
The men had made a lot of progress dissecting the tree. After the tension of spending an hour fretting over the mess, I preferred the simple joy of the kitchen. Thank goodness for men with chainsaws. I was completely useless out there. In here, however, creation, rather than destruction, ruled.
“You look like you’re in your element.”
I peeked at the little woman through the corner of my eye. “Yeah?”
She wiped her hands on a yellow dishrag. “You always look stiff. Jumpy.” She swatted me playfully. “Except when you’re sprinkling herbs or turning dough.”
And she knew me well enough to determine what I always looked like? I put the lid on the sauce and turned down the heat. Yeasty smells clung to the oven mitt I slid on my hand. “And when have you seen me outside of the kitchen?”
Nancy eyed the slices of bread as I pulled them from the oven perfectly toasted. “Saw you at church. And outside looking at that tree.”
“Both stressful situations.” I removed the oven mitt and placed it back in the drawer. Feeling oddly at home, I plucked the ricotta cheese out of the fridge and popped the lid.
“Church is stressful?” Nancy leaned around me and reached into the fridge, pulled open a drawer, and handed me a bag of shredded mozzarella.
Globs of ricotta plunked into the glass bowl where I’d cracked two eggs. I added a cup of the shredded mozzarella and stirred before answering. “Anyplace with lots of people, especially new people, is stressful.”
Nancy cocked an eyebrow and plopped her hand on her waist. “Ida said you were a waitress. Isn’t a restaurant filled with lots of new people?”
Touché. “Probably one of the many reasons I didn’t like my job.”
Nancy sprinkled basil into my cheese mixture and then cranked the pepper grinder. “What about that man you were talking to earlier? He have anything to do with your job dissatisfaction?”
I darted a sidelong glance in her direction. “Maybe.” How much did this woman know about me? I watched her scrape browned hamburger meat into my finished tomato sauce. “Did Ida talk about me?”
She tapped the spoon on the side of the pan and gave the sauce a good stir. Her eyes twinkled. “Of course. After your visit, she hardly stopped talking about you.”
My forehead wrinkled. “We didn’t know each other long.”
“Didn’t matter.” Nancy wiped her hands on her apron. “You were her granddaughter, and she was proud of you.” She patted my shoulder. “That’s what old ladies do. Brag on their kids and grandkids. Ida had to make up for lost time.”
Something in my middle twisted and skewered me with a strange blend of affection and regret. “She did, huh?” The words mingled with the tantalizing aromas and tainted them with sour disappointment. The one person in this world who wanted to dote on me, and God had taken her.
“Ida loved you. No mistake about that.”
But she didn’t know me. No one who really got to know me still liked me. Frustration scorched up my throat, but I grabbed my glass of sweet tea and forced it back down. I wouldn’t let this evening be ruined by life’s unfairness.
“Noodles are ready.” I pointed at the pot. “Time to start assembling.”
Nancy drained the sheets of pasta while I covered the bottom of a baking dish with a layer of the tomato sauce. We quietly layered noodles, cheese, and sauce. The simple rhythm restored my equilibrium.
“Tell me about the man on the phone.”
And just like that, my peace shattered. I shot Nancy one of my cactus stares.
She lifted her eyebrows, disturbingly unaffected. “You don’t want to talk about it.”
Bingo. I snatched a piece of aluminum foil from the roll on the island and stretched it over the lasagna. Nancy watched me shove the pan in the oven, check the temperature setting, wipe crumbs up from the counter, and head to the sink with the dirty bowls before she spoke again.
“The sore subjects are the ones that most need discussing.”
The glass bowls clattered into the sink. I struggled to keep my tone even, but my voice hitched up with annoyance anyway. “He was a jerk. We broke up. He fired me. End of story.”
Compassion swarmed in her eyes, and she reminded me so much of Ida that my defenses crumbled. The fire shooting through my chest cooled.
“He fired you because you broke up?”
I shrugged. “He cheated. We had a fight. He fired me and kicked me out. That’s what I get for living with my boss.”
Nancy wrapped her arm around my waist, and we stared at the dirty dishes crowding the sink.