Page 65
Story: The Mirror
“Naturally. Maybe we can use this. I’m going to ask my grand-mère.”
“You need to keep it somewhere secure. I don’t think we should keep it in the house, at least for now.”
“I’ll take it.” Owen held out his hand. “It’s Jones’s trophy anyway. I’ll bring it back if you find out you can use it, but this way it’s at my place.”
He looked toward the stove. “Isn’t that done yet?”
Cleo held up five fingers, and went back to stir.
“We’ll set the table.” Sonya rose.
“I’ll let the dogs—sorry, dogs and cat out. How did you keep them calm?” Trey wondered.
“I honestly don’t know.” Sonya got out plates then handed them to Owen. “It seemed like they settled down when we got calm, and Cleo started with the smudging. What’s this?”
Sonya noticed the dish on the counter, and lifted the dishcloth that covered it. “Cake?”
“Corn bread. Grand-mère again. She said if I was doing her jambalaya, I had to make her corn bread to make it right. I sampled some, and think I pulled it off.”
“We could all have used a sample.”
“You can have more than a sample in just a minute, Owen, because this looks ready to me.”
When they dished it up, Owen dived right in. “Got a real nice kick to it.”
“Chef’s kiss,” Trey agreed.
“It’s wonderful, Cleo. When I think how you buried this talent.”
“Didn’t bury it, Son; didn’t know I had it to bury. It’s like a fun hobby now. I never had a hobby.”
“Shopping.”
Cleo shook her head. “Shopping’s a calling, even a mission.”
Clover came out with some honky-tonk-type piano, then a rough, ready voice.
“Dr. John?” Owen grabbed some corn bread. “‘Mama Roux.’ Oh yeah, Clover’s the girl of my dreams.”
“You know Dr. John? That’s Creole music. Grand-mère’s a major fan.”
“Then she’s got damn good taste,” Owen said.
“It’s spooky.”
“Meant to be, Son.”
“Well, here’s to the chef, and her grand-mère.”
The rest raised their glasses with Trey.
Since Cleo had cooked, Sonya split leftovers into three tubs. “Anyone up for a movie? Down in the movie room.”
“What kind of movie?”
Recognizing Owen’s caution, Sonya smiled. “Don’t worry, Cleo and I save our rom-coms and weepers for girls’ night. Only thing off the table are horror flicks, which pains me, as I love them. But after the last couple of days, I’m not waving a red flag.”
“The lastIndiana Jonesis a good one.”
“You need to keep it somewhere secure. I don’t think we should keep it in the house, at least for now.”
“I’ll take it.” Owen held out his hand. “It’s Jones’s trophy anyway. I’ll bring it back if you find out you can use it, but this way it’s at my place.”
He looked toward the stove. “Isn’t that done yet?”
Cleo held up five fingers, and went back to stir.
“We’ll set the table.” Sonya rose.
“I’ll let the dogs—sorry, dogs and cat out. How did you keep them calm?” Trey wondered.
“I honestly don’t know.” Sonya got out plates then handed them to Owen. “It seemed like they settled down when we got calm, and Cleo started with the smudging. What’s this?”
Sonya noticed the dish on the counter, and lifted the dishcloth that covered it. “Cake?”
“Corn bread. Grand-mère again. She said if I was doing her jambalaya, I had to make her corn bread to make it right. I sampled some, and think I pulled it off.”
“We could all have used a sample.”
“You can have more than a sample in just a minute, Owen, because this looks ready to me.”
When they dished it up, Owen dived right in. “Got a real nice kick to it.”
“Chef’s kiss,” Trey agreed.
“It’s wonderful, Cleo. When I think how you buried this talent.”
“Didn’t bury it, Son; didn’t know I had it to bury. It’s like a fun hobby now. I never had a hobby.”
“Shopping.”
Cleo shook her head. “Shopping’s a calling, even a mission.”
Clover came out with some honky-tonk-type piano, then a rough, ready voice.
“Dr. John?” Owen grabbed some corn bread. “‘Mama Roux.’ Oh yeah, Clover’s the girl of my dreams.”
“You know Dr. John? That’s Creole music. Grand-mère’s a major fan.”
“Then she’s got damn good taste,” Owen said.
“It’s spooky.”
“Meant to be, Son.”
“Well, here’s to the chef, and her grand-mère.”
The rest raised their glasses with Trey.
Since Cleo had cooked, Sonya split leftovers into three tubs. “Anyone up for a movie? Down in the movie room.”
“What kind of movie?”
Recognizing Owen’s caution, Sonya smiled. “Don’t worry, Cleo and I save our rom-coms and weepers for girls’ night. Only thing off the table are horror flicks, which pains me, as I love them. But after the last couple of days, I’m not waving a red flag.”
“The lastIndiana Jonesis a good one.”
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