by Cathy Lamb
Renata had rushed back during the bombing raid for the cookbook, for their family’s history, their stories, their recipes, the hand-drawn pictures. She had gone back for Tsilia and Aron Bezkrovny, Sarrah and Efim Tolstonog, Ida and Boris Zaslavsky, Esther and Alexander Gobenko, and all of their children and grandchildren. She had gone back for the recipes she and Gisela had written together and for Isaac’s pictures and red ribbons. And now she was gone.
Gisela lay down, amidst the destruction, and cried until her heart felt it would break if one more tear fell out. Mrs. Lowenstein, Keila, and Naomi didn’t even try to move her. They simply sat in the rubble with her, all too exhausted and stricken to move. They had loved Renata, too. Damn the bloody Germans. Damn the Nazis to hell.
When Gisela finally stood up, Keila and Naomi holding her, she saw something shimmering amidst what had been their home. Something silver. She stumbled toward it, sank to her knees in the rubble, and held her family’s menorah in her trembling hands. The menorah that had been made by Aron Bezkrovny and given to his granddaughter, Ida, for her wedding to Boris Zaslavsky in Odessa. Decades later, Ida tearfully gave it to Esther, to give to her and Renata when they were escaping on the Kindertransport out of Munich. Gisela clutched it to her chest. The menorah had now survived two attacks—one in Odessa, one in London.
That night, when the Germans came again, Gisela stood in the middle of the street, clutching the cookbook and holding the menorah high, swearing at them, using every swear word she knew. She swore in German and in English. She swore in Yiddish. People tried to get her to go underground, but it wasn’t until three men dragged her off—“Come along now, lass. You’ll do no good out here, we have to carry on”—that she was forced away from cursing the Nazis for what they had done to her family.
She hated them.
There were rumors of camps. Concentration camps. Where Jews and gypsies and foreigners and enemies of the state were being held and killed. Burned in gas chambers. Starved. Worked to death. That couldn’t be true, could it?
Her sister was dead, she couldn’t locate her family, and London was being bombed and obliterated from above. Was she all alone?
Gisela wanted to die.
* * *
The girls had another day off of school for a teacher work day, and I couldn’t miss work. I bundled them up in their coats and we headed out. My grandma said she would pick them up by two. She had appointments that morning, people who would come into the clinic only to see Mrs. Gisela, “who knew how to naturally heal people without all this modern bullarcky and who wouldn’t charge a fortune for fake medicines that make the pharmaceutical executives rich!”
“We’re going to work,” Stephi declared. “I’ll bring my rocks.”
“I’m going to help you, Aunt Olivia,” Lucy said.
“I’m going to help, too, right, Aunt Olivia?”
“Yes. Both of you are going to work and help me out.”
Two little girls. In the kitchen. With my full staff flying around in orchestrated chaos.
Sheesh.
* * *
It was in the middle of flipping huge slices of cinnamon and nutmeg Big Bear French Toast that Jace walked in and saw Stephi and Lucy. Both of them wore white aprons. They were at the island “helping” Dinah make lemon muffins. He had known they were coming, as I had asked if I could bring them. His response was, “Anytime, Olivia.”
“Hi, Uncle Jace,” they both said, flour on their sweet, smiling faces, their blond curls back in ponytails.
Lucy was wearing her purple and blue butterfly wings and a blue T-shirt with a green lizard on it along with her red cowgirl boots, and Stephi had on a pink tutu and a pink shirt with a furry mutt. Her cowgirl boots were light blue. The boots were from my mother to “start their collection.”
“Hello, Stephi. Hello, Lucy.” He smiled, seemed happy to see them. Tough Montana cowboy had a soft spot.
“We’re helping.” Stephi waved a wooden spoon around, batter flying.
“I put the flour in.” Lucy pointed her finger in the air.
“I put the vanilla in,” Stephi said.
Jace peered into the bowl. “I think I see a tiny fairy in there.”
The girls gasped and yanked the bowl closer. “You do?”
“Yes, she’s in there. Tiny wings. Glitter.”
The girls’ heads conked together as they searched for the glittering fairy. “I got a fork!” Lucy said. “I’ll move the flour around. I bet she’s hiding.”
“No, you might poke the fairy!” Stephi admonished her sister.
“I won’t poke her.” Lucy frowned. “I’ll be very very very careful.”
“Wait a minute!” Stephi’s head whipped up. “Are you kidding us?”
“Would I do that?”
“Yes!” they said together, and grinned.
Jace chatted with them, made them giggle, then wandered over to me and slung an arm around my waist. “You’ve made my favorite chocolate breakfast mousse.”
“I renamed it.” I loved my chocolate mousse recipe. And yes, it was for breakfast. What was wrong with a dollop of cold chocolate before starting your day? I put the mousse in elegant wineglasses.
“What did you name it?”
“Chocolate Mousse Moose.”
He laughed. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I’m looking forward to eating my chocolate mousse moose.” He kissed me on the temple. It made me want to whip open my white chef’s jacket and get naked.
Stephi said, “I saw that. Gross.” She smiled.
Lucy said, “I saw it, too. But I guess it’s okay because you’re married.” She put a finger up. “But it’s still gross!”
Jace greeted the rest of the staff, then he left to say good morning to the clients, and I cooked.
Blue skies, no snow coming down, spring tumbling in, the air warmer, the snow melting, the bulbs peeking through the soil, the girls still surreptitiously searching for a glittery fairy in the pan, and Jace.
I didn’t let my mind go any further than that for once. I simply thought: This is what I’ve always wanted.
Including the glittery fairy.
* * *
Dinah, engineering student turned my right-hand woman in the kitchen, held the camera as the girls and I cooked that afternoon. Dinah’s hair was pink tipped today. One more video for our website. Who knew what would happen this time?
“Hello, everyone. I’m Olivia Martindale. Welcome to Cooking with Olivia on Martindale Ranch in Montana. These are my girls, Lucy and Stephi.”
Lucy and Stephi waved in their white aprons. They were wearing cowgirl hats that Jace gave them that afternoon. They had both been so excited when he put them on their heads. They were real cowgirl kid hats, leather with silver medallions in front.
Lucy was still wearing her purple and blue butterfly wings, and Stephi was wearing her pink tutu.
“Today I want to show you how to make a special, healthy, and delicious macaroni and cheese that your kids will love. It’s called Double Delicious Mac and Cheese Noodles—”
“Yep. They’ll love it!” Lucy said. She was sitting on a stool at the island next to Stephi, who was next to me. “They’ll eat it up like a lizard. Like this lizard.” She pointed at her T-shirt, then yelled, “Lizard power!”
“Unless they burn it,” Stephi said. “That’s happened at our house before.” She pointed at me, her pink tutu bopping. “One time she burned spaghetti noodles. They turned all black. Like dead black worms.”
“Right,” I said, maintaining my smile and trying to appear, yet again, calm and serene. “Sometimes cooking disasters do happen. To make the macaroni and cheese you need—”
“What? Now, wait a minute.” Lucy turned to me, her butterfly wings flapping. “I don’t want to make macaroni and cheese. I want to make a pizza. I thought we were making the pizza called We Are All Crazy Ladies Pizza.”
“Not today—”
“I thought we were going to make a pie today,” Stephi said. “
Grandma Gisela’s pie? From her cookbook from her grandma Ida. I love that pie. Chocolate pie. It looks like dog poop.” She giggled at the camera and pointed at Dinah. “Don’t eat dog poop!”
Dinah laughed.
“Stephi.” I tried to say it in a soft voice. “We don’t need comments like that. We’re cooking. That’s gross.”
“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. Ding dong, ding dong, I’m sorry.”
Ding dong? “Thank you. Okay.” Back to the camera! “This is the kind of noodle you need for the macaroni and cheese—”
“Aw, man! Not macaroni and cheese! Not that!” Lucy put her head on the counter and conked it a few times, as if life was so frustrating she simply couldn’t stand it.
“I got a new cowgirl hat!” Stephi took the hat off her head and swung it around to show Dinah. “See? I’m a tough-talkin’, hip-rockin’ Montana woman!”
What?
Lucy conked her head another time and sighed dramatically, her butterfly wings straight up.
“Here we go.” I began the cooking lesson. Think serene! I gave Lucy the cheese to grate. She scrunched up her face so that it was all sulky and mad. I told Stephi to measure out the butter. She bopped up and down, the stool fell out beneath her, and I caught her around the waist before she fell, her pink tutu flying up, cowgirl boots in the air. “Thanks, Aunt Olivia. I almost fell on my ass.”
On her ass? “Stephi,” I admonished, dumping her back on the stool. Where in the heck had she heard that? I do not swear around the girls. Rarely. Hardly ever. Only now and then when the moon is blue. “Don’t say that word.”
“Okay. It’s a bad word. Hey!” She turned to Dinah. “Look at this damn tutu.” She pointed to her butt.
“Stephi,” I snapped. “Stop.”
“I wear my tutu at recess when I’m running so fast I beat the boys. They’re slow. Girl power!” She raised her fists in the air, and her cowgirl hat fell off her head. “Girl power!”
“I want to put the milk in,” Lucy said. “Milk is from a cow.” She still had her grumpy face on. “That’s kind of yucky. I mean, you pull on the cow’s”—she paused—“thingies and then milk comes out. I wouldn’t want someone pulling on me like that.”
What was wrong with them? They never acted like this.
“Cows like it,” I said, then I rolled my eyes. Why had I said that? “I don’t know why I said that. Anyhow.” The noodles were boiling, the cheese shredded. “Now, while you’re waiting for the macaroni to cook, make a smoothie for your kids. Blueberries are delicious to add to a smoothie because—”
“Uncle Jace says that he’s a giant, Dinah,” Stephi said. “Do you think he’s a giant? You do?” Her eyes became huge as Dinah nodded behind the camera. “He is big. Aunt Olivia says he’s big, too. She says that Uncle Jace is really, really big, yes, you did, Aunt Olivia, I heard you say that he’s big. One time you said Uncle Jace was too big. Why are you telling me to shush? Shush! Shush! I know you said it. I heard you. Why do you say he’s too big?”
Oh. My. Lord. I felt myself blush. “Girls, let’s get back to the smoothie recipe.” Smile! Choose serenity! We went through the motions of making a smoothie. Lucy started throwing blueberries up into the air to catch them with her mouth. Stephi put three strawberries in her mouth and smiled, the berries sticking out like teeth. Lucy said she wanted to grow up to be a leprechaun one day, and Stephi put two blueberries up her nose and grinned. I pulled the blueberries out of her nose and threw them away.
Honestly. What had happened to my sweet girls? Do other parents deal with Jekyll and Hyde children?
“Now, girls, hold the lid and turn the blender on.” I smiled at the camera. Be calm! “Cooking with kids can be fun—”
Lucy held the lid, and Stephi turned the blender on.
Then Lucy was distracted. She announced, “I’m a fairy queen! I own the world!” and put both hands in the air, taking the lid with her. The entire blueberry, strawberry, raspberry smoothie erupted, splattering everywhere.
Stephi screamed, excited. Lucy screamed, surprised.
I said, “Damn it,” and pulled the plug on the blender. Dinah laughed so hard she snorted, the camera still on.
Lucy and Stephi were covered in smoothie. It was on my face and in my hair.
“And that, everyone,” I said, smiling through the goo because what else could I do, “is how fun cooking with your kids can be.”
“I want to be a lizard,” Lucy said. “And a doctor. I want to cut people up and take out the bad stuff.”
“I want to be a frog ballerina!” Stephi said.
Dinah’s laughter filled that kitchen.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed, too. Then I took the smoothie on my hands and ran it over the girls’ faces. They giggled and laughed and did the same to me.
* * *
The video was seen thousands of times.
I showed the girls.
“Now I’m a famous butterfly,” Lucy said.
“And I’m a tough-talkin’, hip-rockin’ Montana woman!” Stephi said, spinning around.
* * *
Mr. Giant had never been too big. He had always been the perfect size.
* * *
“She’s been released.”
I gripped the handle of a wooden spoon with one hand and my cell phone with the other as I listened to Claudine, my attorney, who had seriously bad news.
“I’m sorry, Olivia, but Devlin’s out. She’s on parole. She’ll have to participate in parenting classes, drug tests, counseling, she’ll have to find a place to live that’s safe, and a job. She’ll probably fail at all of this, so getting the girls back may not even be a possibility. A judge will decide, at least about the girls’ current placement, at the hearing.”
“Devlin’s record as a lousy, neglectful mother is hardly going to count, is it?”
“The courts hate severing parental rights, you know this. But listen, you have almost a three-year relationship with the girls. You were close to their grandmother, who wrote a letter indicating she wanted you as the girls’ guardian. The caseworkers have all loved you. That will count with the judge.”
“Will it count enough?”
She paused. “I don’t know. She is their biological mother, and Devlin is a master manipulator.”
I was past tears. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. Panic can do that. You panic so quickly, it’s like your tears freeze. They’re on hold because you are not in a normal state of life. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you are seeing devastation coming at you at the speed of a Mack truck and you cannot move out of the way. You’re stuck. And you don’t know what to do.
The Mack truck was coming for the girls.
I didn’t sleep all night.
* * *
First thing in the morning Devlin called. I let it go to voice mail as I lay in bed and clenched my teeth. I listened later.
She whispered, “I’m out, Olivia.”
She laughed and laughed, then she screamed that I was a “stupid bitch” and she would get the girls back and I would “never, ever see them again, you demented asshole,” and hung up.
* * *
“What’s wrong, Olivia?”
I busied myself at the sink. Breakfast was over. We had served ham and bacon crêpes, our usual omelets that are individually made for our clients by Justin, and cinnamon rolls.
“Olivia?” Jace came up beside me. I was glad that the staff was in the other room, sharing a late breakfast and coffee.
“I’m fine, Jace, everything’s fine, everything’s good. It’ll all be fine and good.” I sucked in a breath. I was having trouble breathing, my chest tightening. I was even having trouble swallowing again. It felt as if I was choking.
“Everything is not fine, I can tell, babe. You’re pale, you’re almost hyperventilating. Come on, Olivia, what is it?”
I kept scrubbing a pot. Rather vigorously. I wanted to keep moving because I was trying to outrace the panic attack. Sometimes, if I can change course in
my head, I can beat it back or lessen the impact.
“Can you give me a hint about what’s wrong?”
I couldn’t give him a hint, because my tears were falling into the pot.
“Aw, geez, Olivia. Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
He put a hand around my waist and that made my tears slip out faster and harder. I scrubbed the pan with all I had, then I shoved it back into the hot water and gave up. I muffled a sob.
“Olivia, let me help you.” He turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried my hands. “Please talk to me.”
Jace was strong and smart. He could help. He could listen. I felt dizzy.
“It’s Stephi and Lucy.”
“What’s wrong?” His voice sharpened, tightened. “What is it? Are they sick, are they hurt?”
“Their mother is out of jail. She is petitioning for full custody of the girls. She has an attorney.”
“Are you kidding me? I thought this was all hammered out. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to involve you, Jace. I didn’t want my problem to be your problem.”
“If you have a problem, I have a problem, Olivia. You should have told me. I can’t help you if I don’t know. Damn, Olivia.”
“Jace, there’s nothing you can do anyhow.”
“I can get you an attorney in five minutes.”
I told him about Claudine. “Devlin apparently has been well behaved in jail and she says she is no longer addicted to drugs and has found God.” I rubbed my face with my hands. “Found God. A mother who semi-starved and severely neglected her kids claims to have found God, and the court might believe her and return the girls to her.”
“All criminals claim they have found God when they want something, and some people are stupid enough to believe them,” Jace muttered. “So what happens next?”
“I have to go to court. A hearing. We’re fighting over the girls.”
