Free Francesca's Kitchen by Peter Pezzelli

shook off her coat and went into the kitchen to warm up.
    Francesca looked over the newspaper while she sat at the kitchen table, eating her soup. As she often did, she gave the front page only a cursory examination before going directly to the obituaries. Perhaps it might seem odd that someone who was feeling so gloomy would be so anxious to read the death notices. In truth, though Francesca read them with dread, praying that she would not find the name of anyone she knew, it seemed like wakes and funerals were the only time she saw her old friends anymore. In an odd sort of way, they were something to look forward to. Besides, when Francesca was feeling glum, as she did at this particular moment, the fact that she did not find her own name listed there was something of a consolation.
    Relieved to find that none of her acquaintances had chosen to leave this world, Francesca turned her attention back to the front page and looked over the headlines of the day. As she leafed through the rest of the paper, she found little that held her interest among the usual accounts of scandal and calamity. She set the paper down for a moment and gave a sigh; she just wasn’t in the mood for it all. Francesca often wondered why they called it the news when it seemed like nothing truly new ever happened. With each turn of the page, she always hoped to find some newsworthy item that would spark her imagination, something that would inspire her and snap her out of the doldrums. As she stared blankly across the room, her gaze fell on the clock above the stove, and suddenly she became acutely aware of the passage of time. It was then that Francesca realized that what had been troubling her most that day was the feeling that she had grown weary of reading about what other people were doing, of watching them on television, and of hearing of their exploits, as if her time had passed and now she was only a spectator and not a participant in life. She was sick of the feeling that she was just sitting on the sidelines, watching it all go by. She longed to get back in the game—for however long God would allow her to play.
    Francesca looked down at the newspaper. She was just about ready to fold it all up and toss it into the recycling bin when she noticed the classified section peeking out from the bottom. Not sure of exactly what she was looking for, she pulled out the section and opened it to the help-wanted ads. Her gloom turned to dismay when she beheld the columns of employment opportunities. As she scanned the page, she found nothing for which she was even remotely qualified. Francesca was good with numbers, but she was certainly no accountant. She was as good a cook as any restaurant could hope for, but she had no formal training or license. She possessed no bachelor’s degree in any subject, nor did she have any computer skills. She would have loved to offer her services to the local school district as a substitute teacher, for she was certain that there was a lot she could teach the kids, but even those temporary positions required a degree and certification from the state.
    Francesca sighed and put the paper down again. She had just made up her mind to forget about the whole thing and toss the paper out when her eye spied a very small help-wanted ad near the bottom of the page. Her first inclination was to skip over it, but then she leaned closer and gave it a quick read. Then she read it again more carefully. Somewhere inside the back of her mind the light of a new idea suddenly flickered to life. At first, she tried to dismiss the notion, but try as she might, it only seemed to glow that much brighter. Francesca sat there for a time, wondering what she should do. It would help to talk to someone. She needed to talk to someone, but who? Rosie and Alice were sure to have a conniption if they found out what she was contemplating, and Joey was off to the other side of the world. She stayed there, turning the matter over and over