Mulch ado about nothing

use some weight. I was always glad that Darlene was a bit plump. It made her even prettier.“
    “I guess that’s true of some women,“ Jane said. Arnie went on, “This was my wife’s favorite recipe, and mine, too. She made it every Wednesday night, which this is. I always cook it up on Wednesdays.”
    Jane was torn. She wanted to say, Darlene is gone. Get your own life.
    But that would only hurt his feelings. He was devoted to her memory, and duplicating their life before she died probably kept him alive and busy and made his days happier. Maybe this was the only life that could ever be his own.
    “How long ago did your wife die?“ she asked, hoping it wasn’t a tactless question.
    “Four years and three weeks ago. I wish you could have known her. She was the best woman in the world. Little, but strong. And so smart. She read all the time. And her gardens were beautiful. I’ve tried so hard to keep them just as she left them, but I’m not a good gardener. It’s sad to see her plants looking so bad.“
    “I’m sure when we visit your yard tomorrow, somebody will make good suggestions. It won’t be me, though. I’m not really a gardener, I’d just like to turn into one,“ Jane said.
    “I don’t want to be one,“ Arnie admitted. “I just owe it to Darlene.”
    Jane thought for a moment. “Are you sure you owe her that?”
    He frowned. “I’m sure.“
    “I’m sorry if I offended you,“ Jane said. “It’s just that I’m a widow. My husband died in a car wreck, but I’ve gone on with my own life. So I guess I see it differently”
    Jane didn’t think she needed to give the whole truth, that Steve had died on an icy bridge while leaving her for another woman.
    “But you’re young,“ Arnie said. “I married Darlene when we were both seventeen and we lived together with joy for decades. These things are easier when you’re young.“
    “I guess you’re right. I didn’t mean to pry or criticize. You’re a good man. And I thank you for the beans. They’ll be my lunch tomorrow and I’ll be thinking of you and Darlene.”
    Once again Arnie was about to get teary, so he very nearly ran out of the house without even saying good-bye.
    Jane felt a bit teary, too. But she’d lied about waiting until tomorrow’s lunch. She was already hungry after the mediocre meal the girls had cooked. She scooped out a ladle full of the beans and ham and warmed them up in the microwave. Katie must have smelled the aroma wafting up the stairs, and came down from her room to eat again as well.
    “Mom, this is great stuff. Did you make it?“
    “No, an old man I know made it with his late wife’s recipe.”
    Katie nibbled a few of the crackers. “These are terrific, too. “ She finished munching and said, “Our dinner wasn’t really very good, was it?”
    Jane shook her head sadly. “No, I’m afraid it wasn’t. But cooking is an art. It takes practice and experimentation. Sometimes for years. I had no idea how to cook anything at all when I married your father. I’d eaten what the staff of various embassies had cooked through my whole childhood. Then I ate in a dorm in college. And when I finished, I had a roommate who was a good cook and wouldn’t let me near the kitchen. Your father nearly starved to death the whole first year we were married, I was so bad at cooking.“
    “I’d like to be good—at something,“ Katie said.
    “You’re already good at a lot of things, Katie. Your grades at school have steadily gotten better and better and I’m so proud of you for that.“
    “But you say I’m no good at driving.“
    “Because you aren’t yet. You will be when you learn how important it is to keep your eyes and brain on the road instead of what you see around you. You might turn out to be a race driver. Though I pray not!“ Jane added with a smile.
    “So when do people get to know what they really want to be good at?”
    Hard question for a mom who wanted to give good advice.
    “Everybody knows when it comes along,“ Jane said. “I’m still working on being a writer, you know. I’ve spent a couple years on one book because it’s not good enough yet. But like you with driving, the more I do it, the better 1 get when I focus on the right things. And I’m a pretty good cook when I feel like it, even though I started out badly. And I’m a better driver than Mrs. Nowack.”
    Katie laughed. “Everybody’s a better driver than Mrs. Nowack.”
    Katie rinsed out her bowl, put it in