The scoop whuffed a small puff of flour onto her mother’s old cookbook. When she cooked, her mother’s memory was close. She could almost hear her voice.
“Sissy, get all the ingredients together before you start cooking,” it chided. Fine.
Sugar. Eggs. Baking powder. Metal file. Chocolate. Vanilla.
Her son called from the other room. “Mommy, when will Daddy come home?”
“Soon, baby. Real soon.”