Dune rolled Mama Vivian off the bed and stood her grandmother up, wiping her down with a cloth dipped in warm water and baby soap, drying her by patting her with a t-shirt, rubbing lotion into Mama’s delicate skin. The wrinkled folds gathered under her grandmother’s chin, where her ass met the top of her thigh, at her thumbs. Dune was gentle, lowering Mama into a soft chair. She stripped the used bed pads, checked the sheets, and then layered new pads on top. Once she got Mama back on the bed, as a reward for the hard work, Dune held the straw of a very strong screwdriver up to her grandmother’s mouth and waited until the cup was empty.

“Moms knew all these things. I shoulda paid attention.”

A connection clicked in Dune’s head as she set down the cup, so clear that she started a bit. She checked to see if Mama Vivian had spoken the suggestion, but her grandmother was looking out the window again. Dune left her to the blurred stupor without a goodbye.

Dune had barely come in the living room since Mama Vivian had relegated herself up to the bedroom. She rushed into it now, heading for what Kama had called the “library,” a nook of built-in bookshelves at the back end of the living room. Scanning the walls of books, Dune was impressed by Kama’s self-directed PhD-level courses, organized alphabetically by topic, shelf after shelf.

What she sought was on the end wall—two sagging shelves of books on cooking. Brendon had teased Kama for these books, “Really Comet? Who needs a book on sauces? A pamphlet on strawberry jam?” He believed cooking was learned by being in the kitchen with a cook. But Kama had grown up in a household where the kitchen was more of a danger zone than a classroom, so, like everything else, she’d taught herself.

The Ball Blue Book of Canning.

The Joy of Pickling.

Saving the Season.

The Art of Fermentation.

Preserving Memories.

Kama and Brendon had been information-driven—they both loved to speak in facts, making cases to each other by referencing history and statistics. Dune knew this wasn’t the kind of person she was. Kama had read all these books, known all these facts, these ways of doing things right. Brendon had loved comparing texts, and Mama Vivian had done philosophical translation.

Dune had avoided things that relied on book learning, considered herself a student of lived experiences.

Now she pulled The Ball book off the shelf. There was no one left to guide her through this experience. Dune had no choice but to do things differently than she’d ever done them before.