February 22, 2019 Friday
“Take it out now,” Aunt Daniella instructed Yvonne Harris, Tootie’s mother.
Pulling down the oven door, heavy hotpads on her hands, Yvonne withdrew the square pan, placing it atop the stove. “Got it.”
“Now put a towel over it until it cools.”
She opened a drawer, pulled out a red-striped kitchen towel, carefully draping it over the pan.
“The secret to spoon bread is getting it out of the oven in time. That and a tablespoon of Duke’s mayonnaise when you stir the batter. Don’t tell about the mayonnaise.”
“Won’t. Smells good.” The former model inhaled the enticing fragrance, as did Ribbon, her half-grown Norfolk terrier, spoiled rotten.
The ninety-four-year-old woman, in fabulous shape, one of the great beauties of her generation, leaned back in the kitchen chair, watching Ribbon clean the plate. “What a good idea.”
Yvonne smiled. “Makes washing dishes easier. I hate a dishwasher.”
Ribbon licked the empty batter bowl Yvonne placed on the floor.
“How’s your fox?”
“Comes and goes. Ribbon pays him no mind. Sometimes I look out the back and there he is, curled up in the special doghouse filled with old towels and rags. I’ve grown quite fond of him.
“I was so obsessed with making spoon bread I forgot to ask you if you’d like a drink. I have your favorite bourbon.” Yvonne had both Blanton’s and Woodford Reserve.
“Too early but I’ll have a cup of tea. I see your shiny teapot over there.”
“Sister gave me that.” Yvonne filled the pot, turned on the flame. “Heard the cold was numbing yesterday. Tootie, tough nut, actually admitted she was glad to go in. She also told me about Morris Taylor driving a Range Rover through Cindy Chandler’s fence.”
Aunt Daniella nodded while the water came to a boil. “Gray called to tell me the same thing.”
Gray and his brother, Sam, were Aunt Daniella’s nephews, the sons of her departed sister, Graziella, herself a beauty but not wild like Aunt Daniella. Free-spirited as she was and remained, the lady excelled at covering her tracks.
“Shouldn’t he be in a home? Some kind of structured living?”
“According to Drew, Morris’s mind is like a house. The upstairs lights go on and off. A few are now definitely off and some downstairs are flickering. He says he can take care of him, plus he has a part-time male nurse.”
“But driving? How did Morris get the keys?”
“I don’t know. And there’s so much attention paid to dementia now. When I was young I remember a few older people becoming forgetful but I can’t say that they completely lost it. Then again, diseases carried us off earlier. Perhaps in time they would have become a blank.”
Yvonne poured the tea. “Can’t say as I saw anyone when I was a kid. Then again, other things can hide it, I suppose. Drinking, drugs. People assumed that was the problem. How’s your tea?”
“Hot. What kind is it?”
“Assam. Tootie, who is beginning to pay attention to such things, said the Range Rover and Drew’s BMW X5 were new, or almost new.”
“The Taylors are not on food stamps. They inherited the insurance company. I suppose Drew will get by but it will fritter away when he dies. Morris has a useless son. Really, Drew should sell it now while Taylor Insurance still has a good reputation. I read about your ex-husband building an auto manufacturing plant in Zimbabwe. The government…well, the dictator, really…gave him all manner of enticements.”
“I’m sure he did, and some of them walked on two legs.” Yvonne rose to fetch a plate, putting cookies on it.
“Oh well, Yvonne, half of marriage or looking desirable is theater. You are well out of it.”
“I am.” Yvonne sat down. “Are there car manufacturers in Africa? Then again, are there roads in Africa?”
“Not like here. Having never visited Africa I can only imagine there must be a great disparity between the countries. A pan-Africa highway, one north and south and one east and west, for starters, would seem to me to be a great boost to businesses and outside investors. But how to get all these nations to cooperate, especially when many of the citizens are being robbed blind?”
“You know, Aunt Dan, whenever I am fed up to here,” she drew her hand up to her neck, “I remind myself of situations like that or of Syria. I’ve visited Egypt, South Africa, Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Namibia. Glad I did. Cape Town is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. The natural beauty alone is thrilling, and I admit, seeing the pyramids and the Sphinx was overwhelming. But I was always glad to get home.”
“I can imagine. Time to take the towel off, wrap the pan in aluminum, and put it in the refrigerator.”
“Don’t you want to test it?”
“Good idea.”
Yvonne walked over to the stovetop, brought out a knife, cut a sizable square for each of them, brought out the creamery butter, two spreading knives, two small plates. “Here goes.”
“Spoons. We need spoons.”
“Oh, Aunt Daniella, of course. That’s why it’s called spoon bread.”
The two carefully poked their spoons into the heart of the golden corn bread.
“Well?”
“Aunt Dan, your recipe did the trick. I can’t wait to spring this on Gray and Sam.”
The phone rang. “Excuse me. I told Tootie to call me this afternoon. I’m taking her and Weevil to dinner.” She pulled out her cellphone. “Hello.”
“Mom. Remember the accident I told you about? It’s on the news.”
“A car going through a fence?”
“Yes, because his son who was supposed to watch over Morris was found by the side of the road in his car with all the Taylors’ silver.”
“Dead?”
“No, on drugs or something.”
After Yvonne hung up the phone she relayed the news to Aunt Daniella then laughed. “It’s funny living here. Barely a day went by in Chicago without a murder, a big robbery, a protest. Here it’s silver in a car by the side of the road.”
“Too compromised to keep driving. I mean, if you’ve stolen silver you should keep going.”
Yvonne looked at the older woman. “You’d think he’d have the sense not to get loaded.”
“Yes, you would.”