Page 15 of A Fabulously Unfabulous Summer for Henry Milch

“Fine, take her side.”

“I don’t know what you’re fighting about so I’m not taking anyone’s side.”

Not entirely true. Of course, I was going to take Bev’s side. Of the two of them she was the reasonable one.

“I told her that you were asking questions about Reverend Hessel’s murder for me, and she told me I should stop. That it’s bad for my health. I told hershewas bad for my health and threw her out.”

“You’re red in the face. You should sit down.”

Surprisingly, she clomped over to the table and did as I’d asked.

“What is all this?” I asked, waving a hand at the counter and stove.

“I want to make sauerkraut. You need to get me ten heads of cabbage.”

“From the garden?”

“No, not from the garden. You didn’t plant any, remember? Besides… if you had, they wouldn’t be ready until July.”

She was confusing me. “You’ve turned the burners on, and you don’t even have the cabbages?”

“You don’t cook sauerkraut. It’s pickled.”

I just lost all interest in sauerkraut.

“I’m trying to cook those brats you bought. What day did you buy them?”

“Yesterday.”

“Oh. So they’re not going bad?”

“No.”

Now she was confused, putting her hands on the table as though to brace herself. They were spotted and gnarled. Honestly, getting old looked like a nightmare. I promised myself I’d avoid it.

I went over and turned the burners off. Then I opened the refrigerator and took out a casserole. Lasagna. We’d eaten half of it a few days before. I turned on the oven to heat it up.

“You have to take that back,” she said, behind me.

“The lasagna?”

“The dish. Did you do what I told you?”

Oh, God—what had she told me? Something about the casserole dishes. Was I supposed to remember who brought which dish? I should have taken notes. Crap, that’s probably what she told me. Take notes.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to understand her at the time. That request was one of many I’d just smiled and nodded agreement to. I did sort of remember when she’d asked that.

I’d told her, “Your friends are bringing casseroles by.”

She struggled with a few garbled words, one of which might have been ‘dish.’

“Yes, it’s very nice of them to make us food. I did check with the nurse, and they don’t want me bringing food into the hospital. I’m going to freeze most of it.”

Actually, that was a lie. They’d told me I could bring her food. But they’d still be charging her for her meals, and I would have had to go out and spend money on food for myself. I decided it was smarter to just freeze what I couldn’t eat and save it for when she came home.

She tried to say something else. Which, looking back, was probably that I should take notes or label the dishes when I finished the casseroles.

Now I said, “I’m sorry, I tried to keep track—”