A Quiche Before Dying

grandmother had died and she had no one to keep the child. Listen to this: ‘I told her, of course, that children had no role in the workplace, as all decent Americans knew very well. Though she was very unhappy about it at the time, I’m sure she benefited from the knowledge and later had cause to thank me in her prayers.’ The nerve!”
    Jane was frantically searching the refrigerator. She’d bought some very good brie as a concession to her mother’s visit just the day before, and couldn’t find it. Where could a large, white cheese hide in a confined area?
    “Here’s another one,“ Cecily was continuing in an outraged tone. “Mrs. Pryce was interned in a prison camp in the Philippines during the war—can you imagine being locked up with the woman for a couple years? She turned in a young woman who had stolen some powdered milk from the stores. One of their own people. The woman was tortured to death for it. Pryce says it was ‘unfortunate,’ but makes the point that they had to behave in a civilized manner and keep close control of their limited food supply or face the consequences. Garr!“
    “Mother, are you sure you want to take this class?“ Jane said, spying the missing cheese getting squashed under an orange juice carton. Katie must have done that.
    Cecily closed the book and shoved it aside. “Of course. I just won’t look at this anymore. We can ignore her.“
    “She doesn’t strike me as the ignorable type.“
    “My dear, I have ignored heads of state when it was prudent,“ Cecily said with a smile. “What else have we here? Who’s this on the pink paper?“
    “Are you really going to take this class?“ Jane asked Shelley later in the afternoon. She’d run over to Shelley’s to borrow some milk. They were sitting at the table in Shelley’s always immaculate kitchen. That was one of the great mysteries about Shelley. Her house was always spotless, but Jane had never actually caught her cleaning. When did she do it all? Jane often wondered.
    “Yes, I think I will. I’ve dragged down the box of photo albums and letters, and I’ve been sorting through it. That’s what that stuff on the sofa is,“ she said, gesturing toward the family room. “What’s all that you’ve got?“
    “It’s my copy of the class materials. I’ve already read all of it except Mrs. Pryce’s, which I don’t intend to read. Mom’s working on her copies now, and you can have mine.“
    “Are you enjoying having your mom here?“
    “Sure. She’s got a real talent for visiting people. She’s really no trouble at all. You know how some people are—my mother-in-law’s a perfect example. They’ll say, ‘I won’t put you out a bit, but I don’t eat any meat or dairy products or bleached flour, and MSG gives me hives, and do you have the receipt for that blue dress I bought you in 1963?’ “
    Shelley laughed. “Thelma’s not that bad, is she?“
    “She would be, if she thought of it. But Mom’s not like that at all. She settles right in, does her share of the work without any fuss, and will eat absolutely anything. She does her own laundry without even asking how the machine works or where the soap lives and can unload the dishwasher and get everything back in its proper place. I don’t know if she got that way under the pressure of living all over the world or whether it’s the other way round. That she was naturally suited to be a gypsy and saw in my father a man who would let her be.“
    “Do I detect a sour note?“
    “Oh, just the usual, I guess. It was a weird childhood, never having a home or friends for more than a year before uprooting all over again.“
“But you’ve got a home of your own now.“
    “And they’ll have to take me out of it on a gurney!“ Jane said, getting up from the table.
    “Stay a minute and tell me about these chapters. I don’t think I can get them all read by this evening.“
“Sorry. Can’t stay. I’ve started a fake autobiography I want to type up.“
    “A fake autobiography?“
    “Yes, I’m really having fun. Her name is Priscilla. She was born in 1773 and she has a very mysterious past—“
    “Jane! Let me read it!“
    “Not now. Not until I mess around with it a little more,“ Jane said. She was sorry she’d mentioned the project now that she realized Shelley would want to see it. It was still too tentative and fragile for even a best friend’s eyes. “I’ve really got to go. I’ve got to get dinner ready. Uncle Jim’s coming