Page 58 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

Mrs. Hickman stuck her head out the door, looked both ways, then held the door open and ushered Celeste stealthily inside.

She was slightly nervous, as she followed Mrs. Hickman through her cozy house to her kitchen in the back. What if it was like the cookbooks and the woman began at a level that was over Celeste’s head, causing her not to be able to understand anything?

“This is a kitchen, and this is an oven,” Sheila said slowly, gesturing to the white behemoth in the corner.

Celeste smiled and nodded, took out her notebook, and wrote it down. And then she took a breath. Everything was going to be okay.

Three hours later Celeste left Mrs. Hickman’s house with a perfectly imperfect strawberry-rhubarb pie. Celeste chose the filling, reasoning that no one could object to the lesson as long as Mrs. Hickman wasn’t giving away her huckleberry secrets. The pie wasn’t as beautiful as the ones Mrs. Hickman made to sell. In fact it looked like it had been made by an overzealous ten year old, (a fact which set Mrs. Hickman’s mind at ease because she was not training her replacement in the competitive Paradise tourist pie market.) But Celeste couldn’t have been happier orprouder with her first effort. It was so much simpler than she’d thought it would be, and every bit as rewarding. As with the bread, it soothed her to put her hands in the dough and create.

People are meant to make things with their hands,she thought, making a mental note to addcreativityto her list of important words.

She wanted to go straight home and show Sam the pie, knowing he would be as excited as she felt. But there was the practical matter of supper. Last night they finished off the last of the chicken salad Esther made. Celeste had plenty of canned and frozen food on hand, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat it, not after realizing what she was missing out on—real food made by a real person and not in a factory somewhere far away.

Instead of heading away from town and toward home, she turned instead toward the market. Again.I must be setting some kind of Paradise record for consecutive grocery visits.At the moment she didn’t care. All she could think about was creating something in the kitchen.

But as soon as she parked and wandered into the store, she was immediately overwhelmed. There were so many options and she had no idea what to do with any of them. All she knew was chicken salad, which was good. But they had eaten it two days in a row already. How long would it take to become malnourished by eating only chicken salad? Probably not as long as it would take to become sick of chicken salad.

“Celeste, hi.”

Maybe spoke from very nearby, making her wonder how long she had been standing there while Celeste stared at the meat display, wondering what the difference was between London broil and rump roast and why it mattered.

“Hi,” Celeste said, smiling. She didn’t have to fake it today. Maybe was a little scattered and eccentric, but she was sweet andsincere. “Thanks so much for sending Jack. I think he’s going to be life changing.”

“Well, he was for me,” Maybe said. She motioned to the beef display. “Are you trying to figure out what to make for dinner?”

“Yes,” Celeste said, but it came out sounding like a question.

“It’s the worst. I have to menu plan for the entire week, otherwise I lose my train of thought and will to cook. And sometimes we go to the diner anyway. Other times we eat leftovers because I’ve never acclimated to cooking for just me and Baird and cooking for three teenagers is a vastly different experience, so we always wind up with hordes of extra food. What’s that, Maybe? Stop weirdly monopolizing the conversation and shut up? Okay. Sorry.” She gave Celeste an apologetic smile and pointed to her mouth. “Once I get going, it’s hard to stop.”

“It’s fine,” Celeste said, realizing with some surprise she meant it. She had enjoyed the little glimpse into Maybe’s life. It was surprising to her that she cooked every day with no children at home. And sometimes they ate leftovers? Somehow she’d pictured regular people eating something new and delicious each day, not rewarming food they’d already eaten. That was something Celeste did—bought takeout and made it last three days.

“What are you considering? Perhaps I can help,” Maybe said.

“I don’t know,” Celeste drawled, making an inspection of the beef again. “I don’t know how to make anything and I don’t know what these things are.” It was getting easier to admit her incompetent helplessness. “I want to learn to cook, but I haven’t found anything that’s basic enough for beginners. And I meanbasic.” Sheila Hickman levels of basic. Celeste supposed she should have been insulted when Sheila held up a box marked BUTTER and said, “This is butter,” slowly and carefully, but shehadn’t been. Because that was how little confidence she had in her ability to learn or understand this new thing.

Maybe glanced at her watch. “What are you doing right now?”

“Talking to you?” Celeste said, confused.

Maybe sputtered a laugh. “Good one. Are you free the next few hours? Is Sam expecting you?”

“I didn’t really give him a time for my return. I’m free.”

“How do you feel about chili?” Maybe continued.

“Good, but I’m losing the thread of the conversation,” Celeste said.

“I have that effect,” Maybe said, shaking her head sadly. “What I’m trying to say is that you should come home with me and I’ll teach you how to make chili. Then you can take it home with you and that can be your supper.”

“Oh,” Celeste drawled. “Would that really be okay?”

“I’d love it,” Maybe said with so much sincere enthusiasm Celeste believed her. “Why don’t you ride with me? I’m terrible at having people follow me. I tend to space out and forget and then it’s three weeks from now and I suddenly remember and wonder where you are.”

“Sure. What ingredients do I need to buy for chili?” Celeste asked, turning helplessly toward the meat again.

“None,” Maybe said.

“None?” Celeste swiveled to inspect her, confused. She wondered if everyone was equal parts confused and charmed when dealing with Maybe, or if it was only her.

---