Page 145 of Never Invite a Vampire to Dinner

“How?”

“Eat it while it’s hot.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you are getting until you’ve finished the soup.”

I narrow my eyes at him. He unfolds his napkin across his lap, which is ridiculous because he is not eating anything, and I eat the soup.

The next thing comes in a white oval casserole dish with a chip out of the rim. I know it before he puts it down, not because I’ve seen the dish but because I’ve smelled what’s inside it. Chicken and rice. Crushed crackers and butter over the top, browned a little too much at the edges.

Something inside me stops.

Nine years ago there were seven casseroles on Gran’s counter in four days. I don’t remember who brought most of them. I barely remember the days at all. My parents were dead on a road north of Lincolnville and people kept coming to the house and putting food in front of me because nobody knew what else to do. I couldn’t eat any of it.

Then someone put the seventh casserole in front of me and I ate. That night I stood in Gran’s dark kitchen at eleven o’clock and ate a plateful cold out of the dish. I heated the rest and ate that too, and then I sat down on the floor and cried for an hour.

I’ve never known whose casserole it was.

I look at Julian. “Where did you get this?”

“Harriet’s sister-in-law, Dot. She’s eighty-six and has apparently made that dish for every funeral in three towns since 1974.”

“Harriet knew?”

“Harriet has known for nine years.”

“Why didn’t she ever tell me?”

“Because she didn’t want you to think you owed anyone a thank-you note.”

My eyes fill, but Julian doesn’t move. He doesn’t come around the table or tell me not to cry. He sits across from me with his hands folded and lets me have this moment.

“She remembered?”

“Harriet remembered the dish. Dot remembered making it. She remembers most of them.”

“And you made this.”

“Four times.”

Despite everything, I laugh. “Four?”

“The first was bad.”

“How bad?”

“Dot said well.”

I wait, but he doesn’t add anything. “That was all?”

“That was sufficient. She has a way of saying it.”

I laugh again, wetly. “The second?”

“Also bad. The third was apparently close. She corrected the cracker and sent me home.”

“You drove casseroles to Dot’s house?”