Lazlo shouts “Dog facts!” at the same time I say “Recipes!”
Ms. Zeen’s eye roll is nearly audible.
The Warlock looks between Lazlo and me. “One,youdon’t have a dog. And two,youhave recipes. Surely you’ve found the collection of kitchen grimoires in the library by now.”
Have I. My mood lifts at the mere mention of the sacred place. “Yes, but sometimes the church choir class of 1964 doesn’t have the most current baking tips.”
“You didn’t find the recipe book exclusively devoted to scuppernong pies helpful?”
“You know what a scuppernong is? I’m impressed.”
“And I didn’t even have to Google it.”
I hear it even though I don’t believe it. “Did you just make ajoke?”
His lips twitch. “Perhaps.”
Ms. Zeen blows on her dinnertime cup of tea. “It was quite alarming, sir.”
“I’ll avoid it in the future, Ms. Zeen.”
“Internet,” I try again, “brings you into the modern age. That’s reason enough.”
“You and I didn’t have Wi-Fi as children, so why does Lazlo need it?”
I pause, my fingers gripping my sharp,throwablefork. “How old do you think I am?”
“Don’t answer that, sir,” comes Ms. Zeen’s sigh.
“Wi-Fi will make you more a part of the community,” I press. Then pause. “All right,fine. The church ladies don’t use the internet. But the online world can keep a person young even better than my food can.” I also want Lazlo to have something to keep him busy after I leave.
“Ms. Frost, I gave up trying to be a young man for good reasons,” he says.
“That’s a shame. You’d be good at it.”
Silence. The Warlock opens his mouth to respond, then changes his mind. Even Ms. Zeen actually looks up from her tea.
“Why is it so quiet?” Lazlo whispers.
The Warlock clears his throat. “I’ll consider the Wi-Fi.”
“Thanks, I already bought it,” I blurt, gathering myself.
“You what—”
“And you have a microwave coming.”
“And—are we now the Ritz-Carlton?”
“You know what a Ritz is?”
“The cracker?” Lazlo asks.
“I’m not Jurassic, Ms. Frost. I just don’t havethe internet.”
“Y’all need to stop sayingthe internetlikethe moon.” I aggressively stab an innocent piece of okra. “Microwave. Coming. Eventually. It’s tricky enough getting things delivered in town, much less here.”
The Warlock scoffs. “You’re talking to the postman now?”
