Recipe Index

Part 1 My daughter Rachel used the word “placement” three times before I understood she was talking about me. We were at her kitchen island in Naperville. She’d made coffee in the machine that grinds the beans loud enough to cover a conversation, which I now realize was on purpose. Her brother Danny was on…

Part 1 Three weeks after we buried our mother, my sister sat at Mom’s kitchen table eating a sandwich and told me the bank account was empty. “Empty how,” I said. “Empty like empty, Rachel. Zero.” Ellie shrugged, like she was talking about a gas tank. “Mom must have spent it on the hospice. That…

Part 1 The CEO called me “Marta” for twelve years. My name is Diane. I never corrected him. Twelve years of “Evening, Marta,” and twelve years of me nodding while I emptied the trash can under his mahogany desk. He was on the phone half the time anyway. The other half, I wasn’t the kind…

Part 1 My son took my house keys off the ring at Christmas dinner, and my daughter-in-law told me it was for my own good. They did it between the ham and the pie. Marcus walked around the table, put his hand on my shoulder the way his father used to when he needed something,…

Part 1 The cashier’s check was sitting on my welcome mat under a jar of peach preserves. Ninety-two thousand dollars. My name on the pay-to line in my sister Rachel’s careful, teacher’s-handwriting cursive. No note. Just the check and the preserves and a Post-it that said *from Mom’s pantry, thought you’d want them.* I stood…

Part 1 The envelope from Ridgeline Title had my sister’s handwriting on the return address, and my mother had been dead for eleven days. I stood at the end of the gravel driveway holding it. The mailbox flag was still up from whatever Rachel had mailed the day before. A red-tailed hawk was screaming somewhere…

Part 1 I recognized the back of his head before I saw his face. Twelve years is a long time, but you don’t forget the man you left standing in a rented tuxedo in front of a hundred and forty people. You especially don’t forget the specific stubborn cowlick at the crown of his head,…

Part 1 The morning of Danny’s funeral, I opened the business account to pay the caterer and the balance said $412. It should have said $187,000. I stood in my kitchen in the black dress my sister had zipped up for me an hour earlier, and I refreshed the screen three times. The number did…

Part 1 My sister deposited a check for $180,000 on the same morning we buried our mother. I know because the bank called me at 11:47 a.m., while I was still standing at the graveside in Millbrook Cemetery with dirt on the hem of my black dress. They wanted to verify a large transaction on…

Part 1 My three grown children took a vote at Sunday dinner about whether to sell my farm, and none of them thought to ask me first. I was standing at the sink rinsing the good plates. The ones with the little blue flowers my mother-in-law gave me in 1974. Behind me, my son Danny…