Ana

I slosh hot, soapy water around the cast iron pan, scrubbing harder than I should at the bits of crusted, fried eggplant. Jolene waits next to me ready to dry, a damp towel in her hands, always there to help.

I’m terrified for Lucille.

Gratitude. Gratitude. Gratitude. I need to count my blessings.

My strong sons and their loving wives. Beautiful new grandbabies on the way. This safe Haven. My garden. My friend Millie. The Sheriff.

It’s not working.

A stabbing pain between my shoulder blades, muscle strain from constant working, and the weight of my heavy breasts, forces me to hand the pan over to Jolene.

Jolene does not look at me. She can probably sense the rage pulsing inside me. It’s not right to be mad at her, but I can’t help myself.

Her brother stole my daughter. He wants to trade Jolene for Lucille! What an animal he is, a monster!

The tension in the house is palpable. It’s my job to keep everyone fed and happy, and at least the eggplant parm in the oven will satisfy one of those two requirements.

The smell of eggplant and melted mozzarella fills the kitchen. I made the moz myself—JT is smart to keep cows and goats. Having both cheeses available gives us more variety in our textures and flavors.

All the boys are back in the basement, pacing around like caged animals, as frustrated and as enraged as I am.

How dare Roan run off to try and save Lucille alone! What a fool. A stupid, selfish fool!

And Jolene, how can she have a brother like this? Evil, is what he is! Evil!

I’m muttering under my breath as Jolene quickly finishes the pan and turns to wipe the counter. Dante’s adopted son, Paul, who I can’t help calling Paulie, sweeps up.

I should not judge others’ families. Lord knows mine has plenty of sinners in it.

My memory flashes to my brother and sister laughing around the dinner table. I haven’t seen them in decades; we disagree on fundamentals. Perhaps I should say disagreed since they are probably dead. Grief tightens my mouth. We never had a chance to work things out…

“Should we make a dessert, Mama Ana?” Jolene says, forcing a smile. She asked me if she could call me that, and it caught on with my other daughters-in-law too. I stare at her for a moment, unable to answer, not even sure of the question. Circles under her pretty blue eyes and lines around her mouth show her distress.

Such a sweet girl, a truly gentle soul. This must be killing her.

A dessert? “Yes, we can do that.” Cake is Roan’s favorite. He pretends not to like sweets, but he always cleans his plate and goes back for more when no one’s looking. I like feeding him; he’s too skinny and silent, always doubting his welcome.

Anger flickers again. How can Roan put Lucy in even more danger this way?

My girl’s been after him for months. She’s way too forward, certainly not how a young woman would’ve acted in my era. Roan always turned her down, and now suddenly he goes off alone to try to save her. The boy’s a fool on many accounts. He’d be lucky to have her. Any man would.

My throat closes with unshed tears. Maybe a whole lot of men are having her right now. My whole body clenches at the horror. I want to cover my face with my apron and scream.

I have to do something. I whirl around, looking for inspiration, but can only think of Roan’s favorite. “What about cake?”

Jolene winces. Right, nothing so celebratory.

“How about your egg custard with meringue?” Paulie touches my forearm. He’s growing like a weed, getting handsomer every day. He looks down at me now, his eyes warm with understanding.

I nod. It will be good to beat something. “We do have a lot of eggs.”

“I’ll go get them.” Jolene heads towards the kitchen pantry, and the two of us are alone.

“Paulie.”

The boy looks at me, cocking his head. I put my hand over his. “I’m…upset.”

“I understand. I had a sister who died. I’m sorry this is happening, Mama Ana.”

Tears well in my eyes. So much loss. I’ve been lucky to only lose Nando, but perhaps that luck has run out. I pray and I confess and I follow all the rules, but so do lots of others. Lots of others who are long dead.

“It’ll be okay,” Paulie promises me, patting my back. That’s the kind of thing my husband would have said.

And he ended up dead too, his nose cut off, floating in the river.

I turn away from Paulie as rage flickers again. I don’t want the boy to see it.

Jolene returns with the eggs, and begins to crack them, separating the yolks from the whites. Her hands tremble.

Poor thing. And yet, as much as I have sympathy for her I also cannot let it go. It’s her brother doing this to us!

I force myself to take a deep breath, and then murmur out the words of my favorite Bible scriptures, strung together. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for God is with me. Do not be anxious in anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition, present your requests to God…and the peace of God will guard your hearts and minds.”

The egg whites fill the deep copper bowl halfway. Jolene offers it to me along with a whisk. She knows I’m the one who needs to beat the egg whites, that I’m the angry one.

I take the bowl and whisk the thick, globular whites with all my strength.

The peace of God is taking a while to get to me.

I flash back to my youth again: my sister Martina and I making chocolate mousse, taking turns whipping, my grandmother humming as we worked in her small, bright Chicago kitchen. The sun on Martina’s smiling face, the glint in her hazel eyes as she sang along with Nonna Maria’s humming, the smell of chocolate, vanilla, and eggs…

I try to remember the tune, push it up from my memory, make my throat shape it, but no sound comes out.

Anger and hurt block any music inside me.

My Lucy plays piano like an angel. She can sit down at the piano and just play without even practicing. We have the same hands, though mine are older, spotted with age and gnarled by arthritis…will Lucy ever reach my age?

I beat the eggs harder, and soon they are stiff peaks. I keep going until Paulie touches my back. “Let’s not overdo it, Mama Ana.”

Tears burst through.

I put down the bowl and pick up my apron, sobbing into it for my poor sweet baby girl, being held by terrible men. I sob for Jolene, that one of those monsters is her relation. I cry for Paulie and the loss of his family. I sob for myself, for the anger and grief inside me, for my inability to live in God’s grace.

Paulie puts his skinny, strong arms around me. It’s embarrassing to lean on such a young man, just a child. But Paulie has so much strength from all he’s been through. Jolene comes and circles us both with her arms, weeping as well.

The timer dinging pulls me out of it. The eggplant parmesan is done. I hate to burn it.

I’ll pull it from the oven as something to do.

Footsteps coming from the basement turn my head as heat and the sumptuous scents of the dish waft out of the open oven.

Dolf bursts into the room, his dark eyes wild, his neat hair a mess.

“Avital is in labor! Mama, I need you to help.”

This will take my mind off my poor Lucy, and I can still be useful. My grandbabies are on the way! Thank God.