Cooking for Harry by Kay-Marie James

Author:Kay-Marie James [James, Kay-Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4000-8073-1
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

9

I had a few errands to run on my way home from the hospital. I picked up the dry-cleaning. I stopped at the butcher. I dashed into the co-op for some greens. Yes, Pittsburgh has a co-op. We have a lovely farmer’s market, as well. Believe me, we’ve come a long way since the era of steel mills and slaughterhouses. The Cathedral of Knowledge still looms over the city like a haunted house, but we have plenty of architecture that doesn’t frighten children. We have lovely riverside parks and terrific restaurants. We have top-rate universities and a wonderful science museum. We have charming little neighborhoods lined with sweet brick bungalows, and tonight, for the sheer pleasure of it, I avoided the interstate, winding my way through the side streets until I reached our house.

Lulled by the warm afterglow of the workshop, thinking about my breath coming in cool and exiting warm, I didn’t immediately notice the two pickup trucks parked along the curb. Each had an extendable ladder strapped to its side, and the beds were filled with a clutter of tools, two-by-fours, pieces of Sheetrock. On the side of one was a logo: INSTA-GYM: REMODELING DONE IN A DAY. It was then that the house itself caught my eye. It looked different, though in a way that was hard to explain. Something about the droop of the curtains in the front windows. Something about the way the light behind them seemed too bright. An enormous garbage pile spilled into the street—had it been there when I left in the morning? Drawing closer, I suddenly realized it wasn’t garbage at all. It was the contents of Harry’s den: the recliner, the exercise bike, the long table he’d used as his desk. I felt my heart sink: There were cookbooks and magazines, too. Rolls of indoor-outdoor carpet. Pretty much everything that had been in the room, except his computer—though who could say? Amber was nothing if not thorough. Perhaps the computer was at the bottom of the pile.

For the first time, I noticed Harry’s car, idling at a crazy angle in the driveway, the driver’s-side door slightly open. The front door leading into the house was open, too. I parked and got out. Shrill voices drifted into the darkness like sparks from a raging fire. I took the precaution of turning off Harry’s car and pocketing the keys before heading up the steps. The kitchen was empty, and so was the living room. The drama seemed to be unfolding in the den. I opened the door and found not only Harry and Amber, but Malva Miracle, Krys Placek, and four hulking men wearing tool belts and paint-splattered jeans.

Everybody seemed to be talking at once. In the midst of them all stood Jason, who was attempting to referee. The room that had been here when I’d left this morning had vanished like Brigadoon. In its place was, well, another country, a land of white walls and track lighting and freshly laid carpeting. A stainless-steel desk with a Herman Miller chair sat beside a wall of stainless-steel shelves.

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