Читать книгу The French Quarter - Ken J.D. Mask - Страница 4

Abelard French and his wife Helen would bake buttermilk cornbread for lunch in an old black skillet, using a flip plate. They often baked cakes and pies close to midnight, letting them cool and having slices with milk for breakfast the next day. They would always leave quite a bit on each pan and give it to the birds. The baked goods never made it past 24 hours.

They were in love after their first handholding on the pier, by the lake near the gym. The gym is where they said they would meet after they met at the department store. The department store was closing and they were being checked out at the same time in the same line. They met 33 years ago today.

Thirty-two years ago today, he made her breakfast-in-sofa. They had fallen asleep after a bon voyage party at a friend’s house. Because she said she was hungry at 4 a.m., he fixed her scrambled eggs with mushrooms and cheese on a piece of cornbread sandwich and served it to her on the sofa. She drank half a cup of orange juice and fell asleep.

It was the cornbread that did it.