This was dangerous territory, the kind of conversation that could go wrong fast. But the girl was looking at her now with eyes that held too much sadness for someone so young. I bet she was good at it, Evelyn said carefully. I don't remember. I was really little.
Lilly traced a finger through the spilled flour on the counter. Papa doesn't talk about her much. Neither does Mrs. Chen. I think it makes them sad. Sometimes people don't talk about things that hurt.
Do you have a mama? I did. She died last year. Lilly looked up sharply. Does it get easier?
The question hit harder than Evelyn expected. She stopped pretending to measure ingredients and turned to face the girl properly. I don't know yet. Some days are worse than others, but I think I think she'd want me to keep going, to do things that matter. Like cooking?
Like cooking. They finished the batter in silence, and Evelyn poured it into a greased pan before sliding it into the oven. The heat from the stove made the kitchen almost unbearable in the afternoon warmth, but neither of them moved away. "How long until it's done?" Lily asked.
"25 minutes. You want to wait here or come back?" "I'll wait." The girl climbed back onto her stool. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure." "Why did you come here? To the ranch, I mean. Mrs. Chen says most women don't want to work this far from town." Evelyn leaned against the counter, considering how much truth to give an 8-year-old.
"My family needed money. My brother found out about the job and I took it." "Do you like it here?" "The work's hard. The hours are long.
The men can be difficult." Evelyn smiled slightly. "But the kitchen's mine now. Nobody tells me how to run it. That's worth something."
"Papa says you're a good cook, better than Cookie." "Cookie set a pretty low bar from what I understand." Lily giggled, then covered her mouth like she'd done something wrong. It struck Evelyn how carefully controlled this child was, how afraid she seemed of taking up too much space or making too much noise. She recognized it because she'd been the same way after her mother died, trying to be perfect, trying not to be a burden.
The cornbread came out golden and perfect. And when Evelyn drizzled honey over the top while it was still warm, the smell filled the kitchen like a promise. She cut a piece for Lily and watched the girl take her first bite. "It's so good." Lily said, and there was something like wonder in her voice.
"You made it. You should be proud." "We made it." "Fair enough." Evelyn cut herself a small piece.