“Go wash your hands, Mark, right down the hall there. Kids nowadays don’t wash their hands enough. Go along.” Mark crammed the last bite of bread into his mouth and followed Axle to the bathroom.
When he returned, Reggie was seated at the table, flipping through a stack of mail. The bread basket had been replenished. Momma Love opened the oven and pulled out a deep dish covered with aluminum foil. “It’s lasagna,” Reggie said to him with a trace of anticipation.
Momma Love launched into a brief history of the dish while she cut it into sections and dug out great hunks with a large spoon. Steam boiled from the pan. “The recipe has been in my family for centuries,” she said, staring at Mark as if he cared about the lasagna’s pedigree. He wanted it on his plate. “Came over from the old country. I could bake it for my daddy when I was ten years old.” Reggie rolled her eyes a bit and winked at Mark. “It has four layers, each with a different cheese.” She covered their plates with perfect squares of it. The four different cheeses ran together and oozed from the thick pasta.
The phone on the countertop rang, and Reggie answered. “Go on and eat, Mark, if you want,” Momma Love said as she majestically set his plate in front of him. She nodded at Reggie’s back. “She might talk forever.” Reggie was listening and talking softly into the phone. It was obvious they were not supposed to hear.
Mark cut a huge bite with his fork, blew on it just enough to knock off the steam, and carefully raised it to his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring the rich meat sauce, the cheeses, and who knew what else. Even the spinach was divine.
Momma Love watched and waited. She’d poured herself a second glass of wine, and held it halfway between the table and her lips as she waited for a response to her great-grandmother’s secret recipe.
“It’s great,” he said, going for the second bite. “Just great.” His only experience with lasagna had been a year or so earlier when his mother had pulled a plastic tray from the microwave and served it for dinner. Swanson’s frozen, or something like that. He remembered a rubbery taste, nothing like this.
“You like it,” Momma Love said, taking a sip of her wine.
He nodded with a mouthful, and this pleased her. She took a small bite.
Reggie hung up and turned to the table. “Gotta run downtown. The cops just picked up Ross Scott for shoplifting again. He’s in jail crying for his mother, but they can’t find her.”
“How long will you be gone?” Mark asked, his fork still.
“Couple of hours. You finish eating and visit with Momma Love. I’ll take you to the hospital later.” She patted his shoulder, and then she was out the door.
Momma Love was silent until she heard Reggie’s car start, then she said, “What on earth did you boys see out there?”
Mark took a bite, chewed forever as she waited, then took a long drink of tea. “Nothing. How do you make this stuff? It’s great.”
“Well, it’s an old recipe.”
She sipped the wine, and rattled on for ten minutes about the sauce. Then the cheeses.
Mark didn’t hear a word.
He finished the peach cobbler and ice cream while she cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. He thanked her again, said it was delicious for the tenth time, and stood with an aching stomach. He’d been sitting for an hour. Dinner at the trailer was usually a ten-minute affair. Most of the time they ate microwave meals on trays in front of the television. Dianne was too tired to cook.
Momma Love admired his empty bowl, and sent him to the den while she finished cleaning. The TV was color, but without remote control. No cable. A large family portrait hung above the sofa. He noticed it, then walked closer. It was an old photograph of the Love family, matted and framed by thick, curly wood. Mr. and Mrs. Love were on a small sofa in some studio with two boys in tight collars standing beside them. Momma Love had dark hair and a beautiful smile. Mr. Love was a foot taller, and sat rigid and unsmiling. The boys were stiff and awkward, obviously not happy to be dressed in ties and starched shirts. Reggie was between her parents, in the center of the portrait. She had a wonderful smirky smile, and it was obvious she was the center of the family’s attention and enjoyed this immensely. She was ten or eleven, about Mark’s age, and the face of this pretty little girl caught his attention and took his breath. He stared at her face and she seemed to laugh at him. She was full of mischief.
“Beautiful children, huh?” It was Momma Love, easing beside him and admiring her family.
“When was this?” Mark asked, still staring.
“Forty years ago,” she said slowly, almost sadly. “We were all so young and happy then.” She stood next to him, their arms touching, shoulder to shoulder.
“Where are the boys?”
“Joey, on the right there, is the oldest. He was a test pilot for the Air Force, and was killed in 1964 in a plane crash. He’s a hero.”
“I’m very sorry,” Mark whispered.
“Bennie, on the left, is a year younger than Joey. He’s a marine biologist in Vancouver. He never comes to see his mother. He was here about two years ago for Christmas, then off again. He’s never married, but I think he’s okay. No grandkids by him either. Reggie’s got the only grandkids.” She was reaching for a framed five by seven next to a lamp on an end table. She handed it to Mark. Two graduation photos with blue caps and gowns. The girl was pretty. The boy had mangy hair, a teenager’s beard, and a look of sheer hatred in his eyes.
“These are Reggie’s kids,” Momma Love explained without the slightest trace of either love or pride. “The boy was in prison last time we heard anything. Selling dope. He was a good boy when he was little, but then his father got him and just ruined him. This was after the divorce. The girl is out in California trying to be an actress or singer or something, or so she says, but she’s had drug problems too and we don’t hear much. She was a sweet child too. I haven’t seen her in almost ten years. Can you believe it? My only granddaughter. It’s so sad.”
Momma Love was now sipping her third glass of wine, and the tongue was loose. If she could talk about her family long enough, then maybe she’d get around to his. And once they’d covered the families, perhaps they might discuss exactly what on earth the boys saw out there.
“Why haven’t you seen her in ten years?” Mark asked, but only because he needed to say something. It was really a dumb question because he knew the answer might take hours. His stomach ached from the feast and he wanted to simply lie on the couch and be left alone.
“Regina, I mean Reggie, lost her when she was about thirteen. They were going through this nightmare of a divorce, he was chasing other women and had girlfriends all over town, they even caught him with a cute little nurse at the hospital, but the divorce was a horrible nightmare and Reggie got to where she couldn’t handle it. Joe, her ex-husband, was a good boy when they got married, but then made a bunch of money and got the doctor’s attitude, you know, and he changed. Money went to his head.” She paused and took a sip. “Awful, just awful. I do miss them, though. They’re my only grandbabies.”
They didn’t look like grandbabies, especially the boy. He was nothing but a punk.
“What happened to him?” Mark asked after a few seconds of silence.
“Well.” She sighed as if she hated to tell, but would do it anyway. “He was sixteen when his father got him, wild and rotten already, I mean, his father was an ob-gyn and never had time for the kids and a boy needs a father, don’t you think; and the boy, Jeff is his name, and he was out of control early. Then his father, who had all the money and all the lawyers, got Regina sent away and took the kids, and when this happened Jeff was pretty much on his own. With his father’s money, of course. He finished high school almost at gunpoint, and within six months got caught with a bunch of drugs.” She stopped suddenly, and Mark thought she was about to cry. She took a sip. “The last time I hugged him was when he graduated from high school. I saw his picture in the newspaper when he got in trouble, but he never called or anything. It’s been ten years, Mark. I know I’ll die without ever seeing them again.” She quickly rubbed her eyes, and Mark looked for a hole to crawl in.