“Second drawer.”
“I’ve checked.”
“Then look behind the measuring spoons.”
He found it.
I heard him laugh.
Tilly settled beneath the dining table, her tail moving against the chair leg.
I looked at the four plates, the folded napkins, and the sunlight falling across the wooden floor.
Then I went into the kitchen to taste the stew.
Michael held out a spoon.
“Well?”
I took a sip.
“Needs more pepper.”
He groaned.
“Dad used to say the same thing.”
I reached into the cabinet, found the pepper grinder, and handed it to him.
“Then perhaps you should listen to both of us.”
He laughed and turned it over the pot.
At the table, Noah called, “Grandma, can I have the big piece of bread?”
“After you wash your hands!”
“Okay!”
His footsteps hurried toward the bathroom.
Michael lowered the heat beneath the stew.
And when the doorbell rang, I wiped my hands on a towel and went to welcome Ruth inside.
