Finding A Family

“Me?”

“You remember that time you got stuck in the hay barn?” Carl asked, a grin on his face.

“And a snake almost bit you!” Tim added, obviously too excited by the story to remember his fear of Hank.

“That’s why Tim, here, shouldn’t go climb the hay in the barn,” Carl said. “Right, Timmy?”

“Right.” The boy nodded his head several times.

“I see.” When he’d left his dad last week, he would’ve sworn that his father couldn’t have remembered his name, much less anecdotes about his son’s childhood. Having the woman and the boy around had worked wonders for his father. “I’m glad you’re feeling so much better, Dad,” he said with a gusty sigh.

Carl narrowed his eyes. “You wonderin’ why I didn’t respond to all your attempts to make me change my ways?”

“I’m not the cook or housekeeper Maggie is, though I tried.”

“It’s not your fault son,” the older man said. “You were out working all day. You needed your meals prepared for you, not having to prepare them yourself. I didn’t blame you. Well, maybe occasionally when you burned everything to a crisp.” He smiled.

Hank stared at his father. He was actually smiling. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know that. No one would want that awful mess to eat.”

Larry decided to pitch in. “Remember when he tried to make a cake, only he didn’t follow the instructions? It was half-cooked and runny in the middle?”

Both Carl and Larry laughed at that story.

Tim tugged on Carl’s sleeve. “What’s runny?”

“Well, it means it wasn’t cooked.” When the little boy just stared at him, Carl tried again. “It was like water instead of cake.”

Maggie opened the door and Tim ran to her. “Mommy, Hank made a water cake. It ran away!”

“I see…. Well, dinner is ready, if anyone’s hungry.”

All three men stood. Hank said, “I have to go clean up first.”

“Don’t be slow, boy, or I’ll eat your share.”

“There’s plenty of food, Mr. Brownlee. Your father was just teasing.” She moved back into the kitchen as they all followed her in.

“Do you call my father Mr. Brownlee?”

“No. He’s asked me to call him Carl.”

“Then you’d better call me Hank.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He went quickly to wash his hands so that he wouldn’t miss the meal.

When Hank returned to the table, he was determined, despite the aroma he could smell all the way down the hall, to find fault with Maggie and her cooking.

Impossible.

He blamed that impossibility on the fact that he’d been eating round-up grub for too long. He’d been starving when he’d arrived home and been confronted with the widow mix-up, meaning Maggie. To make up for all the trouble she’d put him through he had helped himself to a double helping of the mashed potatoes with cream gravy on top, the sweet potatoes with marshmallows, the green beans and the T-bone steaks grilled to perfection. Not to mention the hot rolls.

Of course, that was the reason.

Then she brought out dessert.

Carl nodded in approval. “It looks just like Linda’s carrot cake, Maggie. It’s perfect.”

Maggie smiled at such lavish praise. “Shouldn’t you wait until you taste it, Carl?”

Hank wanted to refuse the cake. He didn’t want to know that this woman could bake as well as his mother had. Somehow praising Maggie’s prowess in the kitchen felt like a betrayal of his mother’s memory.

“Your cake couldn’t possibly be the same as the ones my mother used to bake. How would you—I mean, there are different recipes,” Hank finally managed to get out.

“Yes, of course there are. But we found your mother’s recipe book. It’s wonderful, just full of great recipes she’d collected over the years. Your father has let me use it to make his favorite dishes, just like she did.”

Looking around the table at the pleased expressions on his father, Larry and the little boy’s faces, Hank decided to bide his time. He could air his differences with her later. For now Hank simply accepted a piece of cake and picked up his fork. The first bite stopped him in his tracks. It was the same cake his mother had always made. He couldn’t deny it.

“This is wonderful, Maggie. I didn’t think I’d ever taste a carrot cake as good as Linda’s,” Carl said.

“You still haven’t, Carl,” Maggie said with a smile. “This is Linda’s cake. I made it, but it’s her recipe.”

“That’s true. Thank you, Maggie.”

Hank ground his teeth. He almost put down his fork. Almost.

“It sure is good,” Larry added, smiling at Maggie.

Hank practically growled out loud. Was Larry flirting with his housekeeper?

“Yeah, Mommy, it’s good.”

Okay, he didn’t mind if Timmy praised his mom. That was to be expected, but Hank did mind that Carl and Larry seemed to be complimenting Maggie to the heavens.

Looking up, he discovered everyone but Maggie was staring at him. “What?” he asked, frowning.

“Don’t you like Mommy’s cake?” Timmy asked, sounding as timid as before.

“Uh, yeah, it’s good.” He even smiled at the little boy, remembering Maggie’s warning.

“I think you should take his cake away from him,” Carl said to Maggie.

Astounded by his father’s betrayal, Hank grabbed hold of his plate and glared at Carl. “Why would she do that?”

“Because that milk-toast compliment doesn’t even begin to do this cake justice and you know it,” Carl told him.

Hank knew his father was asking for a more…more high-falutin’ compliment, but he was clean out of big words. “I like it, okay? You’re right. It reminds me of Mom’s cake.”

To his surprise, it was Maggie who rescued him. “I’m more than happy with his praise, Carl. I couldn’t ask for more.” She smiled at his dad…but not at him.