A Cookbook Conspiracy

“Is that chili?” I asked, getting close enough to take a whiff of the zesty mixture. “Smells spicy.”

 

 

“Tastes good, too. I think it’s my best batch yet. And let’s see, we’ve also got hot dogs and turkey dogs, hamburgers and veggie burgers, green salad, potato salad, Savannah’s special coleslaw, tabouli. Robin baked a cake and I’ve got apple crisp and ice cream. And berries.” She glanced around, frowning. “Oh, and I threw together a pan of lasagna and a shepherd’s pie, just in case.”

 

“Just in case of what? The Apocalypse?”

 

“Oh, you know.” She shrugged good-naturedly. “In case we run out of food. It could happen.”

 

Right. “Guess I don’t need to make my guacamole,” I said, frowning at the small shopping bag that held all the ingredients I’d brought with me.

 

“Of course you should,” Mom said. “We love your surprises.”

 

“Thanks, I think.” My family was used to my bad cooking and odd recipes, but this one wasn’t my fault. A few years ago, I called Savannah to get a good recipe for guacamole, but our connection was scratchy and I misunderstood what she said. Instead of “grated garlic,” I heard her say “grapes and garlic.” The resulting Guacamole Surprise became a family favorite.

 

I chuckled as I pulled knives and forks out of the drawer to set the tables.

 

“And, Brooklyn?” she added. “After lunch I’ll perform my protection spell for you.”

 

That wiped the smile off my face. “Mom, no. It’s not necessary. I’m fine. And I’m not in danger.”

 

“But your psyche might be.” She held up her hand to stop me from protesting further. “Please, just humor me.”

 

When she put it like that, how could I say no? Besides, I could see her lip quivering and any minute now she’d start crying. Damn it. Just like that, tears of my own sprang to life and I surrendered. “Okay, Mom. Sounds good. Thank you.”

 

“That’s a good girl,” she said, her tone indicating she knew all along I would capitulate. “And as a reward, later I’ll show you the new goat gland facial I discovered. It’s guaranteed to obliterate the ravages of time.”

 

“What ravages of time?” Slightly panicky, I touched my face. “I don’t have ravages.”

 

“Of course not,” she said pleasantly. “Oh, don’t forget the napkins. It’s going to get messy out there.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

 

It is my humble wish to please both the eyes and the appetites of my guests without stooping to pernicious ways for the sake of false beauty. To say it simply, I shall never fluff my flounder.

 

—The Cookbook of Obedience Green

 

 

 

As I was setting the outdoor tables, China arrived with her husband, Beau, and their adorable baby daughter, Hannah. I gave them all hugs and kisses, and China handed me the baking dish she was carrying.

 

“I brought a taco casserole,” she said.

 

I laughed. “Thank God, more food.”

 

“I figured it was probably overkill,” China said, “but we can always take home leftovers.”

 

“Good point.” I took the casserole and placed it on the side table.

 

China owned Warped, a beautiful knitting and weaving shop on the Lane. Beau worked in production for the winery and often gave tours and tastings because he was both knowledgeable and a charming speaker. He and China had fallen for each other the minute he showed up in Dharma six years ago.

 

Beau passed baby Hannah over to China and headed for the industrial-sized cooler to grab a beer.

 

“She wants to play,” China said, and put Hannah down in the play yard Mom had constructed next to the terrace. We all watched the little girl hesitate before she took a step, then start walking on the padded surface. Happy with her accomplishment, she tried to run, but stumbled and fell on her butt. Instead of bursting into tears, she giggled and pushed herself back up.

 

I could hear China’s sigh of relief.

 

“What a little trouper,” I said. “She’s moving faster every day.”

 

China nodded. “And life will never be the same again.”

 

Last year, Mom had transformed a portion of her vegetable garden into this dream play yard for her grandbabies. It was completely fenced in, of course, and the ground was covered in a hard rubber material so none of the kids would be hurt if they fell. The fence consisted of bright babyproof plastic panels linked together, and each panel featured something fun: a ball spinner, a steering wheel with a horn, colorful twirling shapes, and other goodies for the babies to grab and squeeze.

 

Toys were strewn across the play yard, along with a bouncy chair and a baby swing. When the kids got older, Mom planned to add a swing set and a wading pool. I was horribly jealous of all the fun kid stuff, especially that bouncy chair, but I managed to hide my bitterness.

 

The huge oak tree that shaded my parents’ terraced patio was just beginning to sprout new green leaves. There was still a touch of chill in the air, but the sun made it warm enough to sit outside if you wore a light sweater.

 

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