handling that.”
Zach took a sip. “Honey, I suppose. Anyone around here have hives?”
Mom sat back on her chair. “Now that I don’t really know. Somebody may. There are so many things I’ve stopped thinking about.”
He waited, certain that her statement was the prelude to deeper insights. But the only sound was the ticking of the clock over the sink. Domino rolled over, looking for a belly scratch.
Mom’s spoon rattled in her mug. “My parents always had a big garden and raised a few chickens. We had eggs and milk off the farm and our own beef. Mom baked bread every week.”
“It was a lot of work for them.” By the looks of his grandmother, it had worn her right out.
His mom looked surprised. “But they enjoyed it. We didn’t buy much at the grocery store. Flour and yeast, sugar. Some treats here and there.”
Meaning they’d eaten the same thing week after week. Life in general had certainly improved with the advent of Tex-Mex seasoning packets and boxed mac and cheese. Zach nearly lived off the stuff in college. How could he have survived if he’d had to grow his own food or even cook it from scratch?
Mom sighed. “Simpler times, when families worked together and stayed together. There wasn’t this rat race our society has gotten into the past few decades.”
“What would Grandma say now? I’m sure she’s plenty thankful for all the amenities in her old age.” At least if the nutritionist didn’t hassle her too much about little indulgences.
“I guess when you’re her age, those comforts are a help.”
“I bet she doesn’t miss her old wringer washing machine, or hauling buckets of water from the pump. Don’t forget it wasn’t all sunshine and roses.”
“No, you’re right. Some of it was hard.”
He pressed his advantage. “Things have changed. Now city life is the simple way. All a person needs is a good education, a good job. Basically enough money to buy what they want. How much simpler can it be than eating out every night? Not only do I not have to grow my own food, I don’t have to cook it or clean up behind myself.” Zach grinned. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s progress.”
Mom bit her lip. “Easier in some ways.”
“More people live in cities than on farms. You get a bunch of people in one place and the conveniences build up. Cindy’s kids have swimming lessons year round at an indoor pool. We never had that here when I was a kid. Or the museums and concerts and malls.” He eyed his mother. “It’s called culture. What’s wrong with it?”
She traced the design on her mug. “Nothing, when you put it that way. But it doesn’t mean the old way is wrong, either. It’s just different. More connected to nature and the seasons.”
Zach laughed. “And I, for one, don’t miss scraping out sheep pens during winter blizzards.”
“All animals get sick at the worst of times. Cats and dogs, too, not just farm stock.”
“But people keep their pets in nice warm houses. I’m not likely to have to brave the elements to care for an ailing cat, though the city streets can get quite nasty in the winter, too.”
Mom jerked to her feet. “Fine, you win. The city is better than the country. Working with pets is better than farm animals. Junk food is better than fresh vegetables. All I’m asking is that, while you’re here, you prepare the garden patch for me. I’ll take care of it from there.” She dumped the remains of her tea down the drain and rinsed the cup, her shoulders shaking.
Whoa. “Look, Mom. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be contentious. I just wanted to explain.”
She turned to look at him, tears quivering at the corners of her eyes. “You used to love it here as much as I do. I hoped you’d feel the pull again when you were back for a bit. Well, apparently I was wrong.” She swept from the room.
Zach stared after her then dropped his gaze to the puppy at his feet. Domino grinned up at him, tongue hanging out. Zach patted the
Learning to Kill: Stories