AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’ve resigned myself to the fact that very few of the people I actually like in the world are normal. At this point, just Caro and Dan. And they probably didn’t count as normal because they liked me.
The kitchen timer went off, and I hauled myself to my feet.
“What are you doing, Hart?” Jackson wanted to know. “Can I help?”
“Sure, kiddo. Makingpan de muertos.”
“Oh,yeah! I helped Uncle Mason make ours last year! I can help shape the dough!”
“Great. This is my first time. You can show me how.”
“Okay!”
He chattered happily as I slowly made my way into the kitchen, where I was abruptly faced with an annoyed-looking Doc.
“What are you doing off the couch?”
“He’s baking,” Taavi answered from where he was frying the French toast. “Against my better judgment, but you can try arguing with him if you want.”
“What are you baking?” Doc wanted to know.
“Pan de muertos!” Jackson answered cheerfully. “I’m going to help!”
Doc looked startled. “You know how to makepan de muertos?” he asked me.
Taavi rattled something off in Spanish that made Jackson giggle and Doc snort.
“Great. Gang up on the white guys,” I muttered, winking at Jackson to show I was teasing. I knew Ward didn’t speak Spanish either.
Next to me, the medium laughed softly.
“So learn Spanish,” Doc retorted, scooting over to make room for me at the counter that I had always thought had plenty of space, but really didn’t once you put five people in the kitchen, especially when one of them was Doc-sized and one was in a wheelchair.
“It’ll wreck my German,” I told him.
“You speak German?” Jackson asked, hopping from one foot to the other.
“Ja wohl. Now go grab that bowl under the towel from Taavi.”
He did as requested, bringing it back to where I put flour on the counter again. “Okay, you know how to knead dough?”
“Yeah!”
“Have at it then.” I slid over to lean against the side of the sink, giving the eleven-year-old access to counter space.
* * *
Jackson knewhow to shape thepan de muertos, so he was enormously helpful, although I had to help him a couple times because he wasn’t sure how to make the dough do what he wanted. But between the two of us, we made a passable loaf, then set it to rise again while Taavi shooed us into the main room to eat.
I got to see him bite his lower lip, eyes glistening as he saw theofrenda, candles and glasses of marigolds arranged around the photograph of his parents, petals sprinkled—by Jackson—across the table and toward the doorway. The petals were meant to guide the dead to theofrenda, to show them the way back to their family.
Ward needed to get to the Latinos in Virginia Empowerment Center—I guess he spent every year there, helping people connect with their deceased family members. But he wanted to do the same for Taavi first.
Taavi’s eyes were wide. “You—you what?”
Ward smiled his gentle smile. “If you would like,” he replied, repeating more or less what he’d just said, “I could see if can find your parents.”
Taavi turned to look at me where I sat on the couch.
