“That sure sounds better than pizza,” Archie said, with a smile so honest and beautiful, it almost made me gasp.

“I hope so,” I said.

Tyler and Hunter began rubbing their stomachs and licking their lips while making yum-yum grunts.

“Mmmm! Mashed potatoes!” Hunter said.

“Are you sure it’s not an inconvenience?” Archie said. “You do so much for us. I don’t want to impose.”

“You couldn’t impose if you wanted to! Not even one tiny little bit!” I said. “See y’all in about an hour?”

“That sounds fine. Thank you!” Archie said and then turned to his boys. “Gentlemen? Synchronize your watches! We depart at eighteen hundred hours!”

“We don’t have watches, Daddy,” Tyler said with his toothless lisp. “We’re still too little. Remember?”

Maybe I’d buy both boys watches for Christmas. Batman or Mickey Mouse watches?

“Great! See you soon!” I said and left.

I took the bags of groceries from the trunk of my car and hurried inside to get supper started. This wasn’t going to be a romantic dinner with candles, but I put on my favorite Tony Bennett album of George Gershwin’s music anyway. I just wanted to see how motherhood and marriage might feel. You know, just try it on, like a sweater. Oh, sure, I had made dozens of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the boys after school or on the weekends when Archie had an errand to do, even before they lost Carin. I was sure the boys looked at me like an adopted aunt of sorts, because I got plenty of hugs from them. And I had also wiped away buckets of tears when they felt blue or angry or frustrated. In the first days after we buried Carin, I’d taken them casseroles and cake, just like all the other women on the island. It was our tradition, and a nice one, I thought. But this would be the first time I cooked for Archie and the boys in my own house with them all there.

When Momma wasn’t ranting and raving, she occasionally delivered some wisdom. One of her favorite sayings had to do with the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach. I’d dazzle him with my special chicken dish. I wasn’t a gourmet or anything close to it, but I had a way with chicken, thanks to a recipe I’d cut out of Southern Living magazine ages ago.