Rachel Alexander 09 - Without a Word

got a big bowl, filled it partway with water and brought it out to the table.
    “A swim before dinner?” I asked, not waiting for an answer. I’d be as likely to get one from Emil/Emily as I would from Madison. She opened the purse, picked up Emil/Emily and put him/her in the bowl, then stood bent over with her elbows on the table and watched the little turtle swim.
    I walked back into the kitchen and took a piece of organic lettuce out of the crisper. I also had some chopped beef I was going to give Dashiell. I took a small piece out, rolling it in my palms to make a tiny ball. I put both on a plate and brought those out to the table.
    Madison took the turtle out of the water and put it on the edge of the plate. I watched along with her as the turtle moved toward the little ball of beef, taking a surprisingly large bite, but then I thought of something my mother always said when we’d visit my aunt Ceil in Sea Gate, where all I wanted to do was stay in the water all day long.
    “Do you think turtles are supposed to wait an hour after eating before they swim?” I asked Madison.
    She looked up at me, her face blank. I could see a distorted image of myself in her oversize dark glasses, nothing more.
    Maybe mothers didn’t tell that to their kids nowadays. Maybe they did, but no one had bothered to tell Madison.
    “We need to make Dashiell’s dinner now,” I announced. And when she didn’t respond right away, perhaps waiting for me to take out a bag of kibble or a can of Alpo, I went back to the kitchen, pulled out the cutting board, set it on the counter and asked her if she’d rather grind or chop.
    I didn’t get the impression that Madison had to do anything at home, not set the table or help with the dinner, such as it was, or fold the laundry, anything that might make her feel she was helping to keep the family afloat. I knew dogs needed work and I thought kids did, too, for some of the same reasons. Doing something constructive was a great way to use your mind and your energy. And being a useful part of the pack is what made one feel secure, no matter what species the pack was. Besides that, I was out of homemade food for Dashiell, and if he was going to spend the evening seducing Madison, he’d need a hearty meal.
    Madison came into my tiny kitchen and picked up the sharp knife I had put on the cutting board along with the carrot tops that needed chopping. Holding the knife, she looked up at me, perhaps wondering what on earth I could be thinking.
    “Do you know how to chop greens?” I asked. “I can show you.”
    Madison put the knife back, picking up a carrot, studying the grinder, a little hand one I’d had forever. Then she held the carrot so that it would slide behind the cone and began to crank the handle. She did the sweet potato and the zucchini, too, and when the cone kept falling off, she looked at it carefully, figuring out how to get it back on so that she could continue, watching the colorful gratings pile up in the big bowl I’d put under the cone, orange, green and then the pale flesh of the sweet potato on top.
    After she finished, I dumped the rest of the beef into the bowl and handed her the wooden spoon. Madison mixed, stopping each time I had something else to add. When I asked if she wanted to put in the raw egg yolks, she took the eggs from my hand, cracking one on the side of the counter, spilling half the white and the yolk onto the floor. For a moment, she froze. I expected her arms to start shaking, one cheek to jump and flicker.
    “Not to worry,” I said, whistling for Dashiell and pointing to the egg. Madison watched as he licked up the spill. Had she never cracked a raw egg before?
    I pointed to the rim of the bowl and she cracked the second egg there. I mimed pouring the egg back and forth between each half of the shell and then held a glass under her hands to catch the white, praising her success when she plopped the yoke on top of the mixture, then smashed it with the wooden spoon. When we finished the food, stowing most of it in plastic containers and giving Dash his portion in the mixing bowl, I asked her what she wanted for dinner. I didn’t know how Leon did this. How do you find out what a kid might want to eat if the kid won’t tell you? Had I thought tonight would be any different, I would have been disappointed. Madison acted as if she hadn’t even heard me.
    I decided to order pizza. Madison was sitting with Dashiell on the living room floor and