ELIOT

That evening, while I waited for Marj to get home, I worked on the website about Griff. I was listening for Marj’s car, but I was still surprised when the door from the garage flung open. Clunk!

The doorknob hit the wall. Not good. The doorstop broke last week, and I was supposed to buy a new one today on my way home from school. I slapped my forehead. How did I forget?

I had to get down there right away: I saved and closed my program.

I heard Marj bouncing from wall to wall down the hallway and into the kitchen. Probably too much in her hands. Suddenly, she yelped. Stuff clattered to the floor. “What a full day!”

By the time I got there, it was a mess. Scattered papers. Briefcase fallen over. Shopping bags on top of everything. Marj holding her hip where she must have banged the counter.

I scooped up shopping bags and started putting up groceries while Marj got a glass of water and watched. Couple bananas for Marj and two gallons of milk for me. And a bottle of chocolate syrup to make chocolate milk. She remembered—that made me feel good.

To reach the last bag, I moved the briefcase, uncovering a stack of papers; I wasn’t trying to snoop, but the envelope was there, and I was just trying to help. It made my breath catch. A letter from the lawyer, Mr. Donovan. That was his name in the corner of the envelope, wasn’t it? It was neatly slit open; Marj had read it. Adoption papers?

I looked up.

Marj saw the letter and frowned. She grabbed the papers and envelopes from my hands, “Here, I’ll take those.” She snapped up the briefcase, too, and carried everything into her office, right off the living room.

She glanced back and I realized I was staring. Was that letter about the adoption papers? Why was she hiding it? It was yet another question in this long summer of questions.

Mechanically, I jerked up the last plastic bag and pulled out a plastic, wide-mouthed jar. A safety jar for sourdough starter, I guessed. Someone should have thought of using plastic earlier.

Coming back to the kitchen, Marj asked, “Supper ready?”

I tried to remember – that morning – had Marj asked me to cook tonight? “Um, no. I didn’t know you wanted me to cook.”

“Video games. Right?”

“I didn’t have any homework,” I said, avoiding her question. I hadn’t told her about the website and wouldn’t until it was done. She just assumed it was a game. With Griff, now he didn’t mind if I played, as long as I had my homework done. But Marj? She hated video games right from the start. I might be off the hook if I told her what I was really doing. But I wasn’t ready yet.

Marj just sighed. A deep, tired sigh. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

“What do we have to cook? You sit and I’ll cook fast.” I probably sounded as awkward as I felt.

Marj reached down to slip off one brown high heel and then the other. She stood flat-footed and wriggled her toes. “Oh, I don’t care. Just do the boxed mac and cheese. I’ll just change clothes and be right back to help.” She trudged across the living room and disappeared into her bedroom.

I pulled out the pot and started the water boiling, then opened the mac and cheese box. I set the table and poured iced tea–at least I’d made fresh tea when I got home–and set out napkins. By then, my stomach muscles were so tight. I was too anxious to please.

I found a can of peaches and opened that. Marj liked peaches. What else did she like? Salad. The bag of lettuce was already brown, though, and she hadn’t bought another. I found a few cherry tomatoes that didn’t look too bad. I put three on each plate – she would insist I eat some, too.

Marj reappeared just as the timer on the macaroni went off. She looked more comfortable, at least. Shorts, T-shirt, flip-flops. Her thin legs really did look like toothpicks.

“Feels better just to change clothes,” she said and tried to smile.

“Supper’s almost ready.” I mixed in the cheese powder, milk and butter, and dumped half onto each plate. From a loaf of store-bought bread, I put a slice on each plate.

“Thank, Eliot. I’m just so tired. Thanks.” She held up her bread and tried to smile. “Hurrah for bread.”

My stomach eased a bit at that, and I picked at my food. Marj shoveled in all of hers, and when I offered, she cleaned off my plate, too. She ate almost all the peaches; I only got one. “I didn’t eat lunch,” she half-apologized. “But, I did get all my clients’ tax statements in on time.” She tried to smile again and this time almost made it.

After we ate, Marj cleaned up the kitchen, barely talking. I tried to stay out of her way, but still help, carrying dishes from the table to the sink and throwing away the napkins. Cooking and cleaning the kitchen with Griff, well that had been great, the best part of the day, because he talked and talked and talked. But Marj, now, she was always silent for the first hour after coming home.

“I need to wind down,” she explained when she and Griff were dating and she would come over for supper. “Don’t tell me anything or ask me anything for an hour, or at least until we’ve eaten. And cleaned up the kitchen.” She had always let Griff do the talking while she walked around like a zombie for an hour.

And it was true, she was more talkative later. Not a lot more talkative, but some. It was just hard for me to wait. Sometimes, I was so full of things to tell someone. Like today, my first day of school. Well, I wouldn’t tell her everything today, not anything really about my conversation with Alli about the Bread Project. Well, maybe not much about Miss Clay, either, and how she had redecorated the nurse’s office. But Miss Garrett and the sulfur experiment would be interesting to Marj.

So, I sat and waited. Sitting on the bar stool, watching Marj’s pale hands dip in and out of the dishwater, watching Marj’s freckled face, hoping she would wind down fast.

By the time the last pot was washed and the plates and glasses loaded into the dishwasher, Marj did look more relaxed. “So how was today?” she finally asked. “Did the kids talk about the Bread Project? Are you talking it up?”

Surprised she asked about that first, I said, “Ah, yes. The kids are excited.” I paused, feeling awkward again, trying to figure out what to say to please her. But she motioned for me to go on. “You know, some of them, the younger kids especially, they don’t understand the Project. But they want a new playground. Yeah. Excited.”

Marj’s smile–a full smile now, finally–softened her face, and I wanted to make her smile more.

“Griff was so excited about this project,” she said. “He talked about it the whole time we were on our honeymoon. Every restaurant, he ordered bread and compared it to his recipes.”

“Toby says he’s going to find a really good recipe. Something different from everyone else. And a couple kids said their grandmothers made bread from scratch, and they were going to ask for recipes.”

“Good, good.” Marj opened a cupboard and took out a bag of pretzels and opened them. Seemed like she was always snacking on pretzels at night. At the mall or at a ball game, she loved buying the big soft pretzels covered in kosher salt. Leaning over the kitchen counter, she sighed. Then, she seemed to shake herself and said, “What about the rest of your day?”

While Marj listened and ate pretzels, I talked, thinking I was chattering almost as much as Alli had. After ten minutes or so, she kept asking questions, but she also started working. Set out the new plastic jar and took the sourdough starter from the refrigerator and found the bag of flour and set it beside them. It was simple to feed the starter, hard to mess up, just adding flour and water. That’s what made it so easy for Griff’s family–my family, the Winston family–to keep it going for over 150 years.

I really played up the story about science class.

“Sulfur! I hate that rotten egg smell,” Marj shook her head. “Sounds like a new teacher.”

“She is new– ”

Ring! Marj found her phone in her purse and flipped it open. “Mrs. Lopez, I’m so glad you called. Just a minute.” Marj held her hand over the phone and said, “Go watch TV or something. This might take a minute.” She paused, and then said to Eliot, “But we need—”

She hesitated again, but nodded once, like to herself and continued, “—we need to have a serious talk tonight.”

“About what?” I asked.

But Marj had already turned away, talking to Mrs. Lopez. It was a long talk about plastic containers for the Bread Project. A fourteen-minute talk. I didn’t try to listen, but Marj got loud.

“I didn’t know you bought them special,” she said. “But there’s nothing I can do.”

Mrs. Lopez ran a small grocery store and had donated the glass jars, so she’d be really mad that Alli broke the first one. I flipped on the TV, but sat unmoving, letting the images flicker in the darkening living room while I worried: what did Marj want to talk about?

“I’m sorry,” Marj said loudly into the phone.

“No, I didn’t know you couldn’t take them back.”

“No. Mr. Benton made the decision. It’s for the safety of the children. Glass is just too dangerous.”

I closed my eyes. Tried to remember Marj’s exact expression when she said we needed to “have a serious talk.” Her exact tone of voice.

“I’m sorry.” Marj sounded tired now. “You have 500 plastic containers?” She paused. “Yes, I’ll bring the glass back tomorrow and pick up the plastic.” Pause. “No, it’ll have to be after five o’clock, when I’m done at the office.”

What had Mr. Donovan, the lawyer, said in that letter? I squirmed. I worried. Was Marj mad at me?

“I’m really sorry.” She sounded defensive again.

“I’m really, really sorry.”

When she finally hung up, Marj was just as mad, just as tense as she had been before supper.

I decided it was time to take a walk.

I turned off the TV and went to the kitchen. I picked up the plastic container with the sourdough starter. “You’re tired. I can walk over to the Porters and take the starter to Alli. Give you a little time to yourself. If you want.”

Marj sighed, but shook her head. “No. We need to talk.”