”Grandpa, why is it called Otter Lake?”
“I suppose it’s because otters make their home all around this lake. Do you know what an otter looks like, Emma?”
“Yes. I saw one in a book at the library, but I want to see one now, Grandpa. Can you get one to come over to the boat?”
“Well now, Em, I can’t say that I can, but, I tell you what, if you stay real still while I fish, we just might see one.”
Continue readingThe noise was the first thing that struck Landry Merriman as she stood just inside the swinging kitchen doors of the Chessman Hotel. It was a veritable wall of sound, with pots and pans clattering, oven doors slamming, dishwashers humming, and people yelling to be heard over all of it.
“As you can see,” Mrs. Myers said, rather loudly, “It’s a very lively place,” she slipped out into the relative quiet of the sumptuously carpeted hallway outside the kitchen, “Why don’t we finish the interview in my office, Ms. Merriman.”
Landry reminded herself to wipe the judgmental look from her face as she followed the woman down the hall and into a small, tidy room. She had never, ever seen such a horribly run professional kitchen in her career, but it wouldn’t do to be critical, until she had the job, at any rate.
Continue reading“Addy, this is the second time that I’ve had to ask you to come in for dinner, so get moving. Now!” Lena Wallis let the screen door slam behind her as she raced over to the stove and pulled the pot of bubbling pasta water off of the burner just in time. She glanced at the clock on the stove and sighed in irritation. Mark was late. Again.
“Mommy, here I am,” Addy’s sweet voice came from the doorway, “Penny wanted to play longer, but she said you were mad so we should stop.”
“Penny said that, huh?” Lena took the pot over to the sink and poured the contents into the colander, “Well, at least she’s smart. Addy, go wash your hands and get ready for dinner.”
Lena took a scoop of pasta from the colander and put it into a small bowl. She stirred a tiny bit of butter into it, and added a sprinkle of salt and parmesan before taking it to the table and placing it in front of her daughter.
“Penny wants her own bowl, Mommy.”
“Penny can share yours,” Lena scowled at the rag doll that her four year old daughter had placed in the chair beside hers, “Mommy is stressed, Addy, so you and Penny need to cut her some slack, okay?”
“What does slack mean, Mommy?”
“Never mind,” Lena stirred the rest of the pasta into the skillet of meat sauce on the back burner. A burnt garlic smell suddenly permeated the room, “Shit!” she declared, as she searched for the pot holder, “I forgot about the damn garlic bread.”
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