Page 25 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
“Once you get him out of here, would you like to stay for supper? I made stuffed acorn squash. I always make extra, in case of visitors.”
“That sounds great, but I have plans.”
“A date?” she asks with a hint of jealousy.
I sigh, “You know something, Mrs. Black, I’m not sure what it is.” I make it to the branch with the cat and straddle it. “Alright, Bob, we’re gonna?—"
The cat hisses at me, then leaps off the end of the branch. It tumbles down the soft netted side of the chicken coop, then darts into the woods.
Mrs. Black claps and excitedly shouts, “You did it!”
“I guess so.” I smile and carefully climb back down. “I think your chickens are safe for now.”
She frowns. “Your jacket isn’t. I’m so sorry.”
I look down and see the rip. “Damn.”
“What is that, nylon?”
“Yes, ma’am, I believe so.”
“Well, come on inside, take it off, and sit a spell, while I sew you back together.”
I shake my head, “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“No trouble, come on.” She toddles into the house, and I follow her. There’s no refusing Mrs. Black, once she puts her mind to something, so I might as well just do it. But I’m not rubbing Bengay anywhere on her, no matter how nice she is.
Inside, her home is like anyone else’s, except for the scent. Hardwood floors, decorations with kitschy sayings on them. Her rugs are old, but well maintained. Dozens of pictures line the walls, some in color, some black and white. The air smells likesweet and savory heaven. “What did you stuff the acorn squash with, Mrs. Black? That smells incredible.”
“The usual, just rice, shallots, mushrooms. You should try it sometime. Take off your coat.”
I take my coat off and pass it to her. “Well, one day, I’ll have to. No meat? I would have sworn there was sausage in the air.”
“No, I’m a vegetarian,” she smiles, then fetches her sewing kit. “It’s probably the fennel seed. That’s one of the main seasonings in Italian sausage, so I could see how that would smell like meat.”
“Really? I never think of anyone your ag…um,” shit. Never bring up age. “Your type, to be vegetarian.”
“Oh, you mean, us old farts can’t be vegetarians?”
I laugh, “Not exactly.”
“Yes, you did, Jordan. But that’s okay. I’m used to it. My peers give me shit for it, too.”
I smile and faux—scold her, “Mrs. Black! Such language!”
“If I thought you were a blushing schoolgirl, I would have said crap,” she smirks. “I’ve been a vegetarian for some sixty years now, ever since I lived in Haight—Ashbury.”
“That’s in California, right? Some hippie place?”
She nods as she sews. “It surely was.”
“Wow, sixty years, no meat.” I can’t imagine doing that myself. “That seems so limiting. What’s it like?”
“Well, there are more fruits and vegetables in the world than there are kinds of meat people eat, so it’s pretty good.”
“I guess that makes sense. Do you ever miss it?”
“I could lie and say ‘no’, but what would be the point in that? Of course I do. But not enough to eat the stuff again.”
