Page 11 of Families and Other Enemies

CHAPTER FIVE

“COULDYOUCHOPthem finer, Kellen? We serve the soup in cups, without spoons, so we try to keep everything bite-size.” Sandra’s eyes behind her aqua metal-frame glasses were firm, but sympathetic.

SANDRA YOUNG:

FEMALE, 50S, CAUCASIAN/LATIN ANCESTRY, KITCHEN COORDINATOR, EFFICIENT, GIVING. WORKS EVERY DAY.

Kellen wiped the tears from her own eyes, and started cutting the onions into a smaller chop. “Mince, not chop. Got it. On the upside you won’t have to put salt in the soup what with all my tears.” Kellen glanced up, saw Sandra’s horror and added, “Kidding! I’m not crying directly on the onions. I promise.”

Sandra sighed in relief, then sighed again as she went to answer a summons from an adjoining room that held the walk-in fridge and apparently a small leak. “It’s always something...” she said to no one in particular as she disappeared into the hallway.

The prep kitchen was all sinks and white Formica countertops above, storage shelves below filled with whatever the grocery store or local farmers had donated that day. In the prep kitchen, eggs, tuna and chicken were fixed into sandwiches, and chips and pretzels and dried fruit were tossed together for snack mix. Next door, in the actual kitchen, prepared ingredients like winter squash, yesterday’s rotisserie chicken and Kellen’s onions were tossed into a giant pot and made into a soup, recipe to be decided by the cook’s ingenuity and that day’s ingredients.

In the few hours she’d been here, Kellen was impressed by the operation, and the volunteers who made it work. Someone manned the kitchens five days a week.

Dorothy handed Kellen a wet paper towel. “Here you go. If you put it over your eyes for a moment, it helps.”

DOROTHY TANAKA:

FEMALE, ELDERLY, JAPANESE ANCESTRY, THIN, ECCENTRIC. (PURPLE HAIR, RED GLASSES, TWINKLING DARK EYES.) WICKED SENSE OF HUMOR. MOTHER, GRANDMOTHER AND GREAT-GRANDMOTHER. DEVOUT CATHOLIC.

Kellen put her knife down, wiped her hands on her faded cotton apron with Merry Christmas written across it in large letters and put the towel to her eyes. “Wow! This really does work,” Kellen said with genuine relief. “Thank you.”

Nodding sagely, the older woman said, “The summer onions are terrible to chop. If you survive until winter, they’re milder.” She winked as she walked back to her station, hoisted herself onto the wooden bar stool and returned to what seemed to Kellen to be the most difficult job in the food bank—peeling hard-boiled eggs with gloves on.

“Having me chop onions on my first day is part of some kind of food bank hazing ritual, isn’t it?” Kellen spoke to the kitchen in general. She heard a couple of muffled coughs in response.

Ralph, who hadn’t yet looked at her directly, gave her a half-humorous glance over his shoulder.

RALPH BELLINGAR:

MALE, 60, 5'10", 140 LBS, CAUCASIAN ANCESTRY (LAST NAME NORMAN/FRENCH). BALD WITH A FRINGE OF BLACK HAIR, DARK EYES. WATCHFUL/OBSERVANT. TACITURN. SEEMS A PREP KITCHEN FIXTURE. MILITARY VETERAN (UNCONFIRMED). DESERT STORM/KUWAIT?

“What about a food processor?” Kellen asked. “Isn’t there one here?”

“Of course! We have the one that Mrs. Estabrook donated. All the attachments are cracked and when we used it plastic shards blended into the soup and we had to throw out the whole pot. But sure, we have a food processor!” Dorothy was savagely sarcastic.

Kellen assumed Mrs. Estabrook was nobody’s favorite parishioner.

Sandra rushed in from the hallway.

“Ralph!” He turned from the produce sink where he was washing grapes. “A new girl just went through the soup line. She’s maybe sixteen.” With emphasis, Sandra said, “She doesn’t look good.”

Ralph methodically removed his denim apron, hung it on a hook by the door, took a threadbare blue baseball cap and pulled it on his head, then left the prep kitchen with Sandra in his wake.

Kellen was fascinated by how unruffled everyone appeared. Lena, the other woman in the kitchen—

LENA HANSEN:

FEMALE, LATE 20S, 5'10", CAUCASIAN ANCESTRY (ASSUMED SCANDINAVIAN), BLONDE, BLUE EYES. PRETTY. SOFT-SPOKEN. FRIENDLY. WARY.

—moved from bagging snack mix to washing the grapes, and Dorothy kept peeling eggs as if nothing had happened.

Kellen couldn’t contain her interest. “Dorothy, what’s the story with Ralph? Why does he get called if there’s a new girl in line?”

Dorothy pushed her glasses up with her wrist and narrowly avoided getting eggshells on her face. “Ralph’s a jack-of-all-trades. He works here, he cooks. He makes the best soups. He can find any usable produce in a box that’s been smashed during the delivery run. Best of all, he is, well, how would you describe it, Lena?”

Lena looked thoughtful and said quietly, “You know how horse whisperers can calm down horses that are crazy or have been hurt badly?”

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