“Okay. This is an old family recipe. My grandmother was from Pennsylvania and she used to make these cookies so my grandfather could dunk them in his coffee. As a kid, my grandfather would make me some—mostly warm milk with a drop or two of coffee—so I could join him. My grandmother always made these before Christmas and, when we went to visit them on Christmas morning, my grandfather and I would have our dunkers together.” Juliet stops. Her eyes are shellacked with moisture. “Our Christmases weren’t very plentiful. Clothes. Maybe one or two toys. And the dunkers. And the dunking ceremony was the only thing I really shared with my grandfather. It’s absolutely my only memory of him.” Her arms are crossed and her voice is even. “Every time I make these cookies, I dip the first one in coffee and think about my grandma’s kitchen with the pattern worn off the linoleum in the spots where she stood and the kitty-cat salt and pepper shakers on the dinette table. The smell of my grandfather mixed with coffee and cookies. And of course the taste of the cookie. I don’t know if it’s the memory or if they’re really so delicious. You guys tell me.”

She stops again. Usually this is enough of a story about the origin of a cookie, but Juliet wets her lips. She blinks her eyes and swivels away from us and then turns back as though announcing that we’re going to meet a different Juliet. “Now.” Her voice has lowered and gathers a husky whisper. She sips on her wine and raises one finger. “You have to get to know your cookie. And my cookies have nuts in them. Be sure you have the exact amount.” She raises her eyebrows. “And be tender with the nuts.” Her gravelly voice tells us we’re in a new arena and this is not about tree nuts at all. “Gentle because they’re easily bruised. In this case I rock the knife when I chop. Rock it gently so the nuts split apart and are not smashed.” She slides her hand, fingers pressed together, back and forth and sways her hips with the motion.

“Roast them slowly. At just”—she pauses and whispers—“the right temperature.” She turns her head sideways and glances from the corners of her eyes. “Make sure they don’t get too hot before you’re ready to use them.” She shakes her head slowly and whispers, “You definitely don’t want them too hot.”

Jeannie laughs loudly.

Laurie’s eyes are fastened on Juliet.