"I think it's the glaze for the cherry tart Henry makes. You know he cleaned the refrigerator just two days ago."
She screwed the lid back on and put the jar on the counter. "That's what he said. As it happens, cleaning refrigerators is one of my specialties. I taught Henry how to do it back in 1912. His problem is he isn't sufficiently rigorous. Most of us aren't when it comes to our own trash. As long as I'm here I might as well get everything shipshape."
"Was that your lot in life, teaching all the boys how to do things around the house?"
"More or less. I helped Mother raise and educate all ten of us at home. After Father died, I felt obliged to stay on until she recovered her spirits, which took close to thirty years. She was heartsick when she lost him, though as I recollect, the two of them never got along that well. My, my. How she did grieve for the man. It occurred to me later she was putting on a bit just to keep me underfoot."
"Ten kids? I thought there were only five. You, Charlie, Lewis, William, and Henry."
She shook her head. "We were the five surviving children. We took after the Tilmanns, on our mother's side. In our family, there was a distinct division among the children she bore. Half took after her side of the family and the other half took after the Pitts on Father's side. Line us up for a photograph and you could see it plain as day. Now this is a fact. All Father's people up and died. It was a pitiful genetic line when you stop and calculate. They were small people with tiny heads, so they didn't have the brains our side of the family did and they had no physical stamina whatsoever. Our father's mother was a 'Mauritz' by birth. The name translates as 'Moorish,' which suggests a bunch of blackamoors somewhere up the line. They were swarthy, all of them, and just as feeble as could be. Our grandmother Mauritz died of the influenza, and so did two brothers above me. It was a mess. She went and he went and the other one went. Our sister, Alice, was another one we lost. Dark skinned, tiny head, she died of the influenza within a day of taking sick. Four cousins, an aunt. Sometimes two would go on the same day and we'd have a double funeral. That entire line was wiped out in a five-month period between November and March. Those of us who took after Mother are the only ones left, and we expect to go on for years. Mother lived to be a hundred and three. Right about the time she turned ninety, she got so crabby we threatened to withhold her sour mash whiskey if she didn't straighten up. She only required six tablespoons a day, but she believed it was absolutely essential to life. We put the bottle right up on the shelf where she could see it but couldn't reach. That settled her right down, and she went on for another thirteen years just as gentle as a lamb."
She closed the refrigerator door temporarily and returned to the sink, where the dishwater was now cool enough to allow her to wash the meat bin. She opened the cabinet under the sink, and I saw a frown cross her face.
"What's the matter?"
"Henry's out of the oven cleaner I like to use on these racks." She peered in the cabinet again. "Well, I'll just have to use a little elbow grease."
"You want me to make a quick run to the market? I can pick some up. It won't take ten minutes."
"No, that's all right. I can always use a scrub pad. It'll clean up in a jiffy. You have other things to do."
"I don't mind a bit. I was thinking about a movie, but I've lost interest, to tell the truth."
"Are you sure you don't mind?"
"Scout's honor," I said.
"I'd surely appreciate it. We're low on milk, too. Once the kids have their milk and cookies tonight, there won't be enough for breakfast. This is really awfully sweet."
"Don't even think about it. I'll be back shortly. What kind of milk? Low fat?"
"Half a gallon of skim. I'm trying to wean the kids off fat where I can."
I searched through my handbag for the car keys and then eased the strap across my shoulder as I headed out the door. My car was parked about two doors down. I fired up the ignition and pulled away from the curb. At the corner of Albanil and Bay, I turned right, passing Bucky's place, which had become my new reference point in the neighborhood. I'd probably never pass the house again without turning to look. I peered down the drive toward the garage apartment. Lights were on upstairs, and I saw a shadow move across the front windows.
I slowed to a stop, peering up at the apartment. I didn't think any of the Lees were home. The last I'd seen, the three of them were still up at Rosie's having supper. The lights went out and I saw someone emerge onto the darkened landing.