Free Little Sister by Patricia MacDonald Page B

although it was hard to think of what it might be since Francie would not even admit which foods she liked. She thought of going to a movie. There was a theater right in the shopping center, and it would delay the inevitable return to the gloom of the house. But they had all these groceries in tow. Then she had a sudden idea. Company, any company, might make the evening less dreary.
    “Look,” she said, “why don’t you ask Andrew to come to dinner tonight?”
    Francie looked at her warily. “Do you want him to come?”
    Beth summoned up the necessary enthusiasm in her face and voice. “Sure. I think it would be nice.”
    Francie’s face cleared. “Okay,” she said. “I think he’ll come.”
    Beth pointed the cart back up the meat and poultry aisle. “All right,” she said, pleased with the effect of her suggestion. “What do you think he would like to have?”
    Francie frowned thoughtfully and then picked up some chopped meat off the shelf. “He likes hamburgers,” she said.
    “Okay,” said Beth. “Hamburgers and what else?” More purposefully this time the sisters began to retrace their route through the store.
    With the aid of a rubber spatula Francie swirled the instant pudding filling around in the ready-made crust and then stepped back to admire her creation.
    Beth searched through the cupboards and finally turned to Francie. “Where do you keep the seasonings?” she asked.
    Francie tore her gaze from the pie and licked the spatula. “What seasonings?”
    “You know, spices. Oregano, basil, garlic. All that stuff.”
    Francie picked up the pie and deposited it on the refrigerator shelf. “There,” she said with satisfaction. “I don’t think we have that Stuff. There’s salt and pepper on the table.”
    Beth nodded and closed the cupboard door. “Do you want to put some onion or bread crumbs in these hamburgers?”
    “No. Why would you do that?”
    “I don’t know. Just to jazz them up a little.”
    “We like them plain,” said Francie. “What’s wrong with having them plain?” There was an edge in her voice.
    “Plain is fine,” said Beth, reminding herself that it was Francie’s company.
    For a few moments there was silence in the kitchen as Beth set the table for three and Francie formed the meat into patties. Then Francie said, “Do you use lots of spices in Philadelphia?”
    Beth stifled a smile at the way the question was put. “Well, I have my own business there, so lots of nights I don’t bother to cook. I’m just too tired.”
    “I know what you mean,” Francie said in agreement. She frowned in concentration as she molded the meat.
    There was another silence between them, and then Francie said, “It must be weird living in the city.”
    Beth laid down the fork and napkin in her hand. “I’ve been very happy there. It’s been a good place to live.”
    “I guess you must miss it already,” said Francie, carefully placing the meat on the broiler rack in readiness for cooking.
    “Not too much,” said Beth. “Not yet.” As she said it, though, she thought of Mike. He had seemed so far away on the phone yesterday. He had been very solicitous of her, but she had felt, as they were talking, as if it had been months, rather than days, since she had seen him. She felt a sudden desire to be home, to be normal, that was like a little ache inside her.
    Maybe I should call him again, Beth thought as she began to tear lettuce leaves into a green Pyrex bowl. Francie had said that they didn’t need salad, but Beth had insisted that it was no trouble to make. No, she thought, don’t bug him. You’ve got plenty to do around here. Get it done, and you can be home again. That’s what you really should do.
    Beth finished the salad and pushed it back on the counter. “What time did you tell Andrew to come?”
    “Six.”
    “Six? Lord, isn’t that a little early?”
    “That’s when we eat,” said Francie.
    “Fine,” said Beth. “Six it is. I forgot how things are done