Chapter 6: The Casserole

"What did Grandma whisper?" I asked, as gently as I could.

Birdie sat on the edge of Inez's porch swing with her legs straight out, swinging.

"I won't tell you," she said.

"Okay."

"That's honest. I'm not saying I don't know. I'm saying I won't."

"That is honest," I said, and meant it, and wanted to scream.

Dinner was at six.

Inez had invited three ladies from her church circle, and the caseworker's rule said I could attend, so I did.

It was a ham, a green bean casserole and a long table with a lace cloth.

Gil sat at the head, because he is the man of the house, though it was his mother's house.

He gave me a look when I sat down that said, please be easy tonight.

I put my napkin in my lap and touched the card in my pocket.

The ladies were warm and curious and had clearly all seen a video.

"Birdie, honey," said the one with the cameo brooch. "How is your mother?"

"Grandma says Mom is trying," Birdie said.

The table made a small, kind noise.

"Trying what, dear?" said the second lady.

"Her best," said Birdie. "Which isn't a lot."

Gil laughed, a half second too late.

"Kids!" he said.

I put down my fork and said nothing, because nothing was the only sentence I would be glad to hear read back.

"And what do you do all day, Rena?" the third lady asked me, with so much sympathy that I could have been a houseplant.

"Bookkeeping," I said. "From the kitchen table."

"How brave."

"It's not brave. It's a laptop."

Inez passed the casserole.

"She does it so well," she said. "The numbers. It's remarkable what a person can do when they're given a little structure."

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