Casserole Diplomacy and Other Stories by Various Read Free Book Online Page A

had lived in for most of her sixty years. A little television sat on the counter near the sink. Images whirled by on the screen but the volume was so low Edna’s slightly deaf ears caught only the occasional car crash or gun shot. She preferred it that way, only keeping the TV on for company with Jonno gone and the kids so far away. The kitchen was clean and well kept.
    The walls with their faded orange floral paper and fake wood cupboards were scrubbed and almost shiny. The captain’s wheel clock hung on the wall beside the embroidered Lord’s Prayer Edna had made for her thirtieth wedding anniversary. Cat and mouse ceramic salt and pepper shakers stood on the speckled Formica table beside a book of crossword puzzles. Yellow nylon curtains, closed against the night, hid the array of Florida seashells on the windowsill. The seashells were mementoes of Edna’s only trip in an airplane. The sea in Newfoundland only gave up broken shells and driftwood. Edna liked the creamy pink of the southern conches and would often sit at the table absentmindedly stroking the shells as she did her puzzles.
    She had been cooking all day and was just finishing cleaning up. Tomorrow was the Bonavista Ladies’ Social and she had made her best dishes for the luncheon. Edna was renowned on the peninsula for her cooking. Years ago, her bakeapple pie won first prize three years in a row at the County Festival. That was when there were still bakeapples to be picked in handfuls off the roadside. These days she only ever collected enough for a few pies and a single freezer bag for winter.
    Thinking the knock must be Sherri, her closest neighbour, who lived in an identical house across the highway, Edna yelled, “What are ye knocking fer—it’s open as always, dearie.” Her hands stayed busy in the sink of hot water and dishes. The aliens knocked again. Edna sighed in love and exasperation, pulling her yellow gloved hands out of the sink, and shook off some of the water. She stepped over to the door and opened it. “Sherri, love, what are ye think . . .”
    Edna stopped talking as she saw three aliens crowded onto the back steps. The aliens stared back at her. Edna was so surprised not to see Sherri, not to see a familiar face on the back steps, that she was less surprised at how unfamiliar her visitors were. Strangers were only visible in the tourist months of July and August. Out of season strangers were fantastic enough that being from another planet was only an extra oddity. And it was obvious they were aliens, with smooth yellow faces— kind of like my gloves flitted quickly through Edna’s mind—and awkward white rain slickers that didn’t seem to fit properly. Edna could just make out muddy white jeans at the bottom of each slicker.
    Edna knew about aliens. She had watched the X-Files once at her daughter Katie’s in Halifax. Sometimes she read the National Enquirer , mostly for the Hollywood gossip, but she skimmed the alien abduction stories. Her heart began to beat a little faster. Perhaps they were here to take her away to the stars. No one would believe her story, that was for sure, a widowed woman living alone outside Maberly, Newfoundland. She was just the type they take. There was that farmer from Nebraska who had been experimented on and now could see rings of light around everything electric, but no one believed him. Edna clutched the doorframe. She looked closely at the aliens, struggling between fear and a quiet kind of thrill. She realized they were each holding a container. The containers looked strangely familiar—like grey metal Tupperware. The aliens gestured at her with the containers. Edna realized they had brought food. Why, they’ve just come to visit . Edna was surprised; she had never read anything in the Enquirer about aliens visiting before abducting people. She relaxed her grip on the doorframe. Even though they were yellow-coloured strangers, it was a dark and chilly night for April and they had come