"Thank you," they dutifully reply.
Frances sighs as she wipes the crumbs from her fingers and heads back to the kitchen counter. Hannah follows.
"It looks like you"re baking, too," she says, noticing the floury dough on the counter.
Frances shakes her head. "Not exactly," she says. She holds up a Chinese cookbook. "I thought I"d try my hand at Chinese cooking for Mei Ling, so I"m trying to make scallion pancakes. You fry them in the frying pan. Have you ever had them before?"
"? Sure, my mom used to make them when I was growing up. It"s one of the things I miss most about my childhood." Hannah studies the recipe, nodding. "I"ve never made them before, but this sounds right."
"You"ve never made them?" The surprise in Frances"s own voice embarra.s.ses her and she quickly adds, "I mean, not that you would have any reason to make them . . ."
Hannah laughs as she pages through the cookbook. "I know it seems strange. I cook poulet au porto more often than a pot of rice. I prefer tisanes over traditional black leaf teas. But this food is part of my heritage and I grew up eating it. I guess I don"t cook it because I"m so used to it. And the truth is I prefer European cuisine." She gives a smile as she looks at the bowl of chopped scallions. "This is bringing back memories I"ve forgotten about. My mother died when I was young, and I still haven"t had a that could match hers."
"I"m so sorry about your mother," Frances instantly says.
"Oh, it was a long time ago," Hannah says rea.s.suringly, shaking her head. "It"s a nice memory, not a sad one. I"d forgotten, that"s all. I hope you"ll save a piece for me when you"re done."
Frances grimaces as she looks at the mess in front of her. "Well, I"m not sure I"ll end up with something edible. The instructions are so confusing. It says to roll it up, then roll it in a coil and then roll it out again. Do you think I need to do that coiling and everything?"
"It"s easier than it sounds," Hannah says. "But you definitely need to do it. It makes it flaky and easier to tear it apart when it"s done. That was my favorite part. I used to watch my mother making it all the time, but eating it was heaven."
"Okay, that"s it. You realize that I"m not going to let you leave this kitchen without helping me." Frances hands her a rolling pin. "You"re too valuable a resource. In fact, there"s a good chance I"ll never let you leave this house." She nods to the kitchen table where the younger boys are watching Nick show them how to play the video game. They each have a breakfast bar in hand and they"re leaning into each other, talking among themselves, not fighting or bickering. "Happy, quiet boys? What did you put in those bars, a sedative?"
Hannah goes to the sink to wash her hands. "My secret weapon is . . ."
The women look at each and say at the same time, "Chocolate!"
As they roll out the dough into small discs, sprinkling sesame oil, scallions, salt, and white pepper, Frances tells Hannah about the quilt that she"s making.
"Don"t laugh," she warns Hannah. "I"m going to try and say it in Chinese but I"ll probably butcher it."
"I"m ready," Hannah says solemnly.
"Okay." Frances takes a deep breath. "I"m making Mei Ling a ." She says each word slowly and clearly, then waits for Hannah"s response.
By the look on Hannah"s face it"s clear it doesn"t ring a bell.
Frances says again. "A One Hundred Good Wishes quilt?"
"Oh," Hannah says nodding. Then her nose wrinkles. "Sorry. I still have no idea what that is."
"It"s a custom in northern China to welcome a new life by inviting one hundred friends and family members to contribute a fabric square to make this quilt. It"s symbolic of blessings and good luck. I"m going to make a sc.r.a.pbook with pictures of everyone who contributes to the quilt along with a sample cutting of their fabric."
"I love that idea!" Hannah says. "I"d love to contribute a square if that"s all right."
"Of course it"s all right," Frances says. She frowns, perplexed. "But you really haven"t heard of it before?"
"No. But you were saying it right- means one hundred, and bei or beizi means quilt. And the middle word--means house or family. So that makes sense." Hannah begins to roll up one edge of the dough.
Frances imitates her. She watches as Hannah carefully rolls it into a coil, then flattens the coil with the palm of her hand. She pa.s.ses it to Frances, who rolls the disc into a pancake once again, noting the pretty spiral pattern in the dough.
"Maybe it"s not a real thing," Frances says, as she puts the pancake aside and reaches for another coil. "Maybe it"s one of those customs made to sound Chinese. I mean, the only references I could find to it were at adoption sites. Maybe Chinese people don"t even do this."
"Does it matter?" Hannah asks. "I think it"s wonderful that you"re making an effort to help Mei Ling and your family stay connected with her Chinese heritage, but the thing that matters most is that she"s surrounded by people who love her and who want the best for her. Your boys are lucky to have that. Any kids would be lucky to have that. I know Jamie feels that way about his parents. Like you, his parents are outnumbered and things are crazy but Jamie and his brothers know that their parents love them deeply."
Frances knows Hannah is right, but she also can"t help thinking that she should do more, especially for Mei Ling.
"It seems too neat," Frances says. "An American family adopting a little Chinese girl who needs people to love her. I"ve told you that Mei Ling has a complex medical history and I feel like so much of it is out of our hands. This, however, is something I can do something about. Cultural differences do exist for us and I want to bridge that gap for her as much as possible. I don"t want her to lose touch with her heritage. But is it enough? Love is only part of the equation, you know? And I don"t want her to have an ident.i.ty crisis when she"s older. I don"t want her to be confused about who she is."
"I don"t know if there"s much you can do about that," Hannah tells her. "I mean, I"m still trying to figure out who I am, and I"m twenty-nine. I think it"s kind of a work-in-progress thing. I"m not so sure it"s something you can do for her. Everyone has to figure it out for themselves. It"s a part of growing up."
Frances sighs. "I"m not even sure who we"re talking about anymore, Mei Ling or my boys."
Hannah gives her a friendly nudge. "We"re talking about your kids," she says. "All of them."
Frances looks at the clock. Reed will be home soon, and she"s planning to make a chicken stir fry with snow peas and mushrooms to accompany the scallion pancakes. "Any chance I could convince you to stay for dinner?" she asks. "I"d love for you to meet Reed and I promise not to make you cook anything else in this kitchen. At least not today."
Hannah laughs as she reaches for a pinch of flour. "I"d love to."
MISSING GOAT RECOVERED.
Reported by Edith Gallagher
Avalon, Illinois-Rayna Doherty of Doherty Farms was reunited with one of her goats after it was abducted from her farm in the early hours of August 3rd.
"We heard a ruckus in the middle of the night," Doherty tells the Gazette. "We ran outside and saw the taillights of a car leaving the farm for the main road. When we checked the barn, one of our goats was missing. We were very concerned, especially since she"s pregnant."
The missing goat, Daffodil, has supposedly been in the backyard of Madeline"s Tea Salon during this time.
"I woke up one morning and saw that they"d put a goat back there," said neighbor Walter La.s.siter. "I told my wife, they"d better not be planning on keeping that animal there for long, unless there"s going to be goat stew on the menu." La.s.siter claims the goat has inflicted almost $65 worth of damage to his garden and landscape.
"I went to Madeline"s to meet a girlfriend for lunch," Geneva Burch, a regular customer at Madeline"s Tea Salon, said. "And that goat was out front, roaming free, and almost attacked me. I was shocked that Madeline would put her customers at risk."
Shirley Hamilton agrees. "I thought she"d taken leave of her senses, but then I learned that it was Connie"s goat. That"s how it was explained to me, that the goat belonged to Connie. And I thought, well, who knows what young people like these days. And Connie has always seemed a bit different. I had no idea the goat had been stolen."
Connie Colls is the Tea Salon Manager (see picture to the left) and is currently under investigation for the alleged goat-napping though formal charges have yet to be filed. She declined an interview request by the Gazette.
Sergeant Robert Overby of the Avalon Police Department offered the following statement. "We are in the information-gathering stage at the moment-n.o.body is under arrest. The important thing is that Daffodil has been returned to her owner."
The perpetrator caused some property damage to Doherty Farms. Anyone with information regarding this incident is asked to contact the Avalon Police Department at 555-2390.
Chapter 16.
Yvonne looks at the crumbling concrete, at the dying shrubbery lining the common courtyard. It"s one of those apartment complexes that seems to be tired and sagging, and Yvonne feels depressed just being here. She grabs the wobbly handrail and takes the stairs two at a time, then scans the numbers until she finds the apartment she"s looking for. She wipes her feet on the welcome mat, smiles at the small mobile hanging by the door, the only splash of color and whimsy in this place.
"Yes?" the woman says. Her hair is short and cropped close to her head, a look of defeated surrender on her face. Clinging to her legs is a young boy with large gla.s.ses. He peers at Yvonne and she smiles.
"I"m Yvonne Tate of Tate Plumbing. You called about your garbage disposal?"
"Yes . . . oh." The woman stares at her, and Yvonne suddenly recognizes her.
"Ava?" she asks.
"Yvonne? I didn"t know that-this-was you. You"re a plumber?"
"Plumber by day, sc.r.a.pbooker by night," Yvonne says.
"Come in," Ava says. "I"m sorry, I would have cleaned up more . . ." She"s fl.u.s.tered at discovering Yvonne at her door.
"Don"t worry about it," Yvonne rea.s.sures her, following Ava into the dingy apartment.
It"s small but neat. The dining room table is set for two and there"s a wicker basket filled with papers and bills. A laundry basket piled high with clean but unfolded clothes sits on a threadbare couch. The shades on the window are partially drawn, letting in a slant of sunlight. Yvonne is tempted to throw the windows open, to let in some fresh air.
"I turned it on this morning and it made this awful sound," Ava is saying as she leads Yvonne into the kitchen. Max trails after them. "I was going to call my landlord but he"s already threatening to evict us . . ." Ava stops. "I"m rambling. Anyway, I thought it would be best if I figured out what was wrong on my own, first."
"I understand. Let"s take a look." Yvonne flips the switch for the disposal and an awful grinding sound fills the kitchen. Max yelps then claps his hands over his ears.
"He"s normally in preschool," Ava says, pulling him toward her and covering his hands with her own. "But my car wouldn"t start this morning so I kept him home." She looks at Max and smiles. "Boy, it"s loud isn"t it?" But when she looks back at Yvonne, her face is filled with dread. "Is it broken? It is, isn"t it?"
Yvonne gets the sense that Ava is used to having things break down or fall apart on a regular basis.
"It"s something," Yvonne says, "but I don"t know what. It sounds like you have a meat grinder trying to churn up an automobile or two. Or maybe a spoon or fork found its way down there while you were doing your dishes." Yvonne flicks the switch again and the grating metallic sound makes them all cringe. "Hey, maybe it"s buried treasure!"
Ava lets out a small chuckle and pulls Max close to her.
"Buried treasure," Ava sighs. "That would be nice, wouldn"t it, Max?"
Max nods. "We could be pirates," he says solemnly, his first words since Yvonne"s been in the apartment. Yvonne grins as she opens her toolbox and opens the door beneath the sink.
"Yo-ho-ho," she says, pushing aside bottles of Drano and other random cleaning supplies. Yvonne grabs her offset wrench and inserts it into the bottom of the garbage disposal unit. She gives it a crank clockwise-the flywheel seems to be moving freely, but it"s obviously dragging quite a bit of debris around or something that has broken into a million little pieces judging by the sound.
"I"ll need to turn off the power for the disposal," she says, standing up. "Where"s your fuse box?"
Ava points down the hallway. "In the bathroom, behind the door."
A few minutes later, Yvonne has found the problem-she"s fished out more than ten metal bottlecaps. If she didn"t know Ava, she would have figured her for an alcoholic.
"What the . . ." Ava looks puzzled, then gasps, a red flush in her cheeks. She looks down at her son who is cringing behind her. "Max! Did you do this?"
Yvonne begins to put the disposal back together again. She inspects the lower mounting ring and tightens a few bolts, listening.
"Max, I"m talking to you," Ava says, getting down on one knee so she"s eye to eye with him. "Did you put Mommy"s bottle caps in the sink?" Her voice sounds stressed.
From the corner of her eye, Yvonne sees a small nod.
Ava catches her breath. "Okay," she says. She takes both his hands gently in hers. "Okay. I know they"re fun but you have to ask me first next time, okay? Mommy needs those for work, but I can find something else for you to play with. And I need you to be careful around the sink-I don"t want you to get hurt." She stands up and pulls Max close to her, kisses the top of his head.
Yvonne remembers now that Ava does some kind of bottle-cap jewelry. "Do you want to keep these or should I throw them away?" Yvonne asks, holding out the mangled bottle caps in her hands.
"Oh, I"ll keep those," Ava says quickly. "I might be able to salvage them somehow. Create something different, who knows." She picks one up and Yvonne sees that it"s different from the others-this one has small gla.s.s beads and a pretty design in the center even though it"s been scratched and sc.r.a.ped up in the disposal.
"Pretty," Yvonne says.
Ava blushes. "Thank you. So how much do I owe you?"
"Nothing," Yvonne tells her. "I didn"t have to do much of anything. My hands aren"t even dirty."
Ava looks doubtful. "You don"t need to give me any special treatment, Yvonne. You have to charge me something."
Yvonne puts her things away and goes to turn the electricity back on. She doesn"t feel comfortable taking money from Ava, maybe because she knows her by extension and can see that Ava"s hard-pressed to pay for anything. "It"s not a big deal and I would have done the same if you were someone else. No special treatment, honest." She crosses her fingers behind her back.
"Well, a tip then," Ava insists. "Let me get my wallet."
Yvonne tries to protest. "It"s really not necessary . . ."
"I"ll be right back."
When Ava returns, she holds out a few bills. But there"s something else in the palm of Ava"s hand. "This is to thank you for being so nice," Ava says. "I mean, only if you want it-please don"t feel like you have to take it."
Curious, Yvonne leans forward for a look. It"s a bracelet made of five bottle caps, all different beer and soda brands but in different shades of green. The centers of the caps are filled with different-colored gla.s.s beads floating in a clear epoxy. Two of the bottle caps have one word each to make the phrase: CREATE YOURSELF.
"Wow, this is nice," Yvonne says. "And green"s my color!" She slips it on her wrist and it"s a perfect fit.
Ava laughs. "It looks good on you. I"m glad you like it."
"I do. Thank you." Yvonne smiles. "So you"re all set." She presses the extra bills back into Ava"s hands. "Look, the bracelet is already a very generous tip. Use this money to buy a sink protector. I"d feel better knowing that little fingers-or bottle caps-keep their distance from the garbage disposal."
Ava gives her a grateful smile, and for a second Yvonne sees her eyes get shiny. "Thank you, Yvonne."