Texas Dad (Fatherhood) (4 page)

Erma handed Mack the now-warm ice pack. “I’m really wobbly. I doubt Zoey has the strength to steady me and help me undress or dress. And that’s definitely not a chore for you or Benny.”

“I don’t mind lending Erma a hand,” Jill said.

Scowling at her, Mack said, “So, Benny, what’s the verdict on your cousin? Can she get here right away?” Turning the wheelchair, he pulled Erma backward up the ramp and onto the porch.

“Sonja wants this job, but she can’t get here till after next week. She’s in Galveston taking care of her grandchildren while her oldest daughter and husband are on vacation. They left yesterday on one of those eight-day cruises to Mexico.”

“Well that’s a problem.” Continuing to frown, Mack reached back to open the screen door.

Erma glanced over her shoulder at Mack. “Why’s that? Seems to me we’ve got a solution. If Jill is taking pictures at the ranch, it makes sense for her to stay here instead of driving back and forth to town. I need a woman to assist me with private matters, like helping me in and out of the shower. I’m not a stork, you know. Can’t stand on my one good leg.”

“I’m pretty sure nursemaid isn’t on Jill’s professional résumé,” Mack said. “Benny, I wish you’d phoned me about your cousin while I was still in town. I need to sign a contract with Leitha Davidson to find us someone even short-term.” Mack’s frustration couldn’t be more obvious.

“Leitha won’t go to all the work of hiring until Benny’s cousin arrives,” Erma stated firmly. “Jill’s here. She said she’s willing to help. Besides, I’m dying to hear all about Paris and where all else her work’s taken her since she left Texas.”

Zoey burst out, “J.J., you’ve been to Paris? That’s so cool! Wait till I tell Brandy. Where else have you been?”

Mack bristled and interrupted before Jill could answer.

“Zoey, the eggs! You don’t have time to hear how Jill gallivanted off to Paris and London and Rio and Tokyo...” He broke off, seeing Jill’s eyes glitter, clearly curious about how he knew where she’d traveled. “I get the college alumni newsletter,” he said. “They’ve mentioned you.”

Jill nodded, but Erma didn’t let up. “This house has four empty bedrooms, Mackenzie.”

“Listen,” Jill jumped in, spreading her hands. “I’m fine staying in town. I don’t want to cause a family feud. If it’s okay with you, Mack, I’ll help Zoey gather the eggs, then settle Erma in. I’ll come back tomorrow to begin our interview and take more photos.”

Erma said something to Mack that J.J. couldn’t hear. It served to make him duck his head and rub the lines creasing his forehead. A few seconds ticked by before he cleared his throat. “Erma’s got a valid point. It’s not like me to be inhospitable. I appreciate your willingness to help us out of a jam, Jill.” Raising his head, he gazed squarely into her startled eyes. “Truly,” he added. “My main concern should be doing what’s best for Erma.” He opened the door. “If you’re okay with it, let’s call a truce.”

“Of c-course,” J.J. stammered. “I’ll just go put my camera bag away.” She pointed to her SUV.

“Bring it in,” Erma said. “Mackenzie means you should pick a bedroom and stay as long as you want. You and Zoey go collect the eggs while I take my pills. After you get me settled for a nap, you can check out of your motel. I wouldn’t mind your help fixing meals for a few days.”

Although she felt trapped, J.J. nodded. She wanted to bolt then and there—Mack couldn’t have made clearer that he’d rather walk over spikes barefoot than have her stay at the ranch. Erma had to have twisted his arm, and who in their right mind would volunteer to be an unwanted houseguest?

“Awesome!” Zoey shouted. She dashed over to throw her arms around J.J.

From the porch, Mack watched Jill smile at Zoey and smooth her hands down the girl’s braids. The simple, caring gesture hit him hard, chipping away some of the ice he’d built around his heart against Jill Walker. Her ready smile used to be something he loved. He vividly recalled the sweet taste of her lips, and unexpected heat moved through his groin. “So now that that’s arranged,” he muttered, “let’s get this show on the road.”

Benny said, “Don’t forget, boss—we’re planning to move the cattle to Monument Draw tomorrow. The summer range will make prettier pictures with the trees and all, but the herd’s bound to kick up a passel of dust on the drive up there.”

“Damn.” With everything that had happened, Mack had forgotten. “Trailing the herd can mean a couple of days before any of us get back to the ranch.”

“I have some extra days built in for this shoot,” J.J. said. After all, Donna had urged her to spend an extra week visiting her mother. “I’ll take a few pictures before you head out. Readers will like seeing you on a horse with a sea of steers as a backdrop.”

“That would be a good plan except that we’ll be leaving before daylight. It’s a dry, hot drive between Turkey Creek and the next available water. The farther we get before sunrise, the better.”

“Well, do whatever is necessary. I don’t want to interfere. I’ll keep Erma and Zoey company.”

“I suppose we could delay the drive.” Mack wasn’t keen on the notion of leaving Zoey and an incapacitated Erma with Jill. The last time she was in his life, she hadn’t thought twice about abandoning him. She probably wouldn’t do that now, but she also didn’t have any reason to stay. “There’ll be time to figure this out at supper, which we won’t have if we keep talking all day.” He eased the wheels of Erma’s chair over the threshold and disappeared inside.

J.J. worried her lower lip with her teeth as she followed Zoey to a row of chicken coops set away from the house in the shade of scrub oak. They were on a good-size plot, encompassed by a sturdy wire enclosure. “You have a lot of chickens,” she said, pausing to latch the gate behind her.

“Erma uses a lot of eggs. Wait until you see how many Benny and Eldon eat at breakfast.” Zoey unhooked one of the coop doors and exposed two shelves of nests, empty of chickens.

“So Erma cooks meals for the ranch hands as well as for your family?”

“We all eat together.” Zoey reached into a nest and began placing eggs in one of her baskets. J.J. picked up a second basket and scooped the eggs out of the higher nests. They collected about twenty eggs, closed the coop and moved to the next. Hens were sitting on the nests in this one. One screeched and flew straight at J.J., pecking her arm.

“Ow!” She jumped back and dabbed at a trail of blood, trying to keep from dropping her basket.

Zoey unhooked a long-handled whisk broom off the inside wall of the coop and swatted the squawking hens. “Shoo.” She flapped her arms at birds dive-bombing their legs. “We need to hurry and grab the eggs. The hens get braver the longer we stay.”

J.J. filled her basket and topped off Zoey’s while the girl used the broom to keep the two most determined hens away.

“Phew, that was a new experience for me,” J.J. said as they dashed from the pen.

“You never kept chickens?” Zoey fastened the gate and took her full basket back from J.J.

“I went to college with a few ranch kids, but I lived on campus. And most of my friends lived in town. My stepdad was a math professor.”

“You had a stepfather?” Zoey hesitated. “Was that okay?”

J.J. thought about how to answer. “It was fine. Unlike in your case, Zoey, my mom married Rex when I was a toddler. I never knew any other father.”

Zoey hung her head. “I guess you read my essay, huh? I kind of hinted about wanting a mom.”

J.J. wrinkled her nose and laughed. “That was more than hinting, Zoey. I’m guessing that’s why you and Brandy didn’t want your dad to read your contest entry at the library?”

“Yeah.” She kicked a clod of dirt off the path. “I almost didn’t mail it in. I figured anybody who read it would think I was nuts.”

“Nope. The committee members were touched by what you wrote, but I should tell you, Zoey, if I’d been on the committee I would have voted no.”

“Because you and my dad went to college together?”

“No, because matchmaking is difficult to pull off. A one-time evening out... Well, I’m trying to say—don’t get your hopes up, Zoey.”

“Brandy’s mom said I can’t shop for a mother...” They reached the back door and Zoey trailed off. Mack threw the screen open and stepped out onto the porch.

“Good, you’re back. Erma’s had her pills and she’s already woozy.” J.J. tried to sweep past him into the kitchen, but he grabbed her arm. “You’re bleeding. What did you do?”

“A hen got her,” Zoey announced matter-of-factly.

Mack pulled back his hand. “Wash that wound out. I’ll grab the first aid kit. Chickens peck through all kinds of barnyard crap. I don’t need your magazine suing me if you get blood poisoning.”

J.J. rolled her eyes. “Your concern for my welfare is touching.”

“I...” He sounded half rueful, half apologetic.

“Never mind,” J.J. said, waving him off as she put her basket on the counter. She stuck her arm under the kitchen faucet and was drying it with a paper towel when Mack came back in. He was holding antibiotic cream and a plastic bandage. J.J.’s heartbeat quickened as he dabbed the cream onto her skin. Old feelings crowded in. Good and not so good, since this was the same kitchen where she’d stumbled upon him wiping away Faith’s tears. Faith, who subsequently became his wife and Zoey’s mother. Unwilling to deal with memories that still hurt, J.J. yanked back her arm. “That’s good. Which way do I go to find Erma’s room?”

Mack looked shaken by her hasty withdrawal. “Her room is where it’s always been.” He jerked his thumb toward the hall. J.J. did remember, now that she thought about it.

“Erma?” she called softly into the dark, silent room.

“Thank goodness,” Erma said, sounding groggy. “I told Mackenzie to wheel me in here and go on about his business. But I desperately need to use the facilities. I tried to stand up but I got dizzy and fell back. Hurts even more now.”

J.J.’s heart went out to the injured woman who’d always made her feel welcome here. Mack’s father, too, had welcomed her. Jacob Bannerman had opened up to J.J., made her feel part of the family. He once admitted that his heart had broken permanently when his wife died. Another time he confided in her that the Bannermans were one-woman men. It was just as well that he didn’t live to see his son make a liar out of him.

After she rolled Erma’s wheelchair into the bathroom, J.J. slipped an arm around her and slowly lifted her. “Slide your left foot across the tile. Then if you can balance against the sink a moment, we’ll get your jeans off.”

“It’s those danged pills making my whole body feel like limp spaghetti.”

Indeed, J.J. felt as though she was grappling with wet noodles. It was a minor miracle that the two of them finally succeeded in getting the housekeeper out of her clothes. “Yikes, Erma! Your right side from your waist to your knee is a rainbow.”

Erma barely nodded, but tensed as J.J. eased a nightgown over her head. Pain was etched on her face.

Giving Erma time alone, J.J. went out and fluffed the pillows. A few minutes later she helped her into bed.

“It’s a good thing I sleep on my left side.” Yawning, Erma sighed and her eyes drifted shut.

“Erma, I’m going to town to get my suitcases and check out of the motel. I won’t be more than half an hour. Don’t attempt to get out of bed on your own. Zoey can stay nearby and find her father if you need anything.”

“I’ll be up to fix supper,” Erma managed to say sleepily. “Mack and the men come in at six-thirty and expect to eat as soon as they sit down.”

“So, what time do we have to start preparations?” J.J. asked, trying to read her watch in the darkened room. Silence greeted her query—Erma was already asleep. J.J. tiptoed out of the room.

Zoey was still at the kitchen counter brushing eggs and placing them in a covered container. “You were gone a long time. Is Erma okay?”

J.J. massaged a crick in her neck. “Her medicine really wiped her out. It was a challenge getting her into a nightgown.” Then J.J. explained that Zoey had to listen in case Erma called out for help.

“What bedroom do you want, J.J.? My dad said to open it up and air it out. He said to check the bathroom for towels. We don’t have many guests. The room next to mine upstairs is empty,” Zoey offered.

Zoey clearly wanted J.J. to choose that one, but she said, “Is there a bedroom down here? Close enough so I’d hear if Erma needs help during the night?”

“There’s one straight across the patio from her room. If you both left your doors open, I guess you could hear her through the screens.”

“That’s probably a better idea. I’ll try to make it to town and back in half an hour. Erma fell asleep before I could find out what time we need to start supper. Poor Erma. Her side is so bruised I figure she’ll need a lot of rest and help from us.”

“I’ve never cooked anything,” Zoey said. “Have you?” She sounded seriously concerned.

“We’ll figure it out. We’re capable of cooking, right, Zoey?”

“Oh, good. I heard my dad tell Benny there’s no way someone who spends half her life hanging out with skinny models has the first idea of how to cook for a ranch crew.”

That stung, but Mack hadn’t been far off. Collecting her purse, she dug out her car keys. “There’s some truth to your dad’s statement, Zoey. I don’t spend much time at home. If I host an occasional dinner party, I have it catered. All in all it’s lucky Benny’s cousin will be here soon.” She winked at Zoey and left via the back door.

Chapter Four

Back in her motel room, J.J. repacked her bags. It was still early enough for her to phone her mother before she returned to the ranch. She hadn’t yet gotten in touch with her mom, and she wanted to arrange a time to meet for lunch or dinner prior to her flight back to New York. Bonnie Walker’s cell phone rang five times before she answered, sounding harried.

“Mom, it’s J.J. I’m in Texas on a job.”

“How nice, dear. But I can’t talk now, I’m in my ceramics class.”

“No worries. I’ll be here for several days. Why don’t I touch base tomorrow to set a time when we can do lunch or something?”

“All right, but my tai chi class starts at eight, then I have yoga until eleven. Oh, and my bridge group meets at my condo in the afternoon. Honey... I have to go. My vase is drying out.”

“Uh—” Her cell went dead before she could say goodbye. She plopped down on the bed, not sure whether to be amused or irritated. It was typical of her mother, who was totally self-absorbed. And yet, four months earlier, her mom had acted depressed, convinced her life was in the toilet. The move to an assisted-living complex had obviously been good for her, worth every penny J.J. paid. A large part of Bonnie’s concerns centered on money. J.J.’s stepdad’s protracted illness had drained their savings. They’d borrowed against their home and when the market tanked the house was worth less than Bonnie owed, forcing her into a short sale. With her barely sixty and not eligible for social security, J.J. had stepped up to help financially, even though it meant delaying her dream of leaving her current job to freelance. She wanted to go after meatier stories, like poverty in American cities or the changing agricultural landscape.

J.J. felt weighed down and alone. Her life spun along a fast track in a business where it was difficult to make and keep friends, who often sped in opposite directions. What would it be like to settle down? She shouldn’t envy women with loving husbands, who carpooled their kids around suburbia or lived in small towns like this one where the pace was way slower. But she did envy them.

Shaking herself out of her doldrums, J.J. pocketed her phone, rose and, out of habit, straightened the bedspread. She had to face hard truths when it came to her life. She didn’t stay in one place long enough to develop a romantic relationship, and her ability to have children wouldn’t last forever.

She went to the lobby and checked out, then stowed her bags in the SUV. She still wasn’t sure bunking at Turkey Creek Ranch was a good idea. Her history with Mack left her on edge. Earlier when she’d driven down the ranch road for the first time in over thirteen years, she’d been assailed by memories. She’d once dreamed of becoming his wife. She’d thought they would be partners in every way. They’d made plans, ones that evaporated in the blink of an eye that horrible evening she found out Mack had betrayed her—by getting his former girlfriend pregnant. In fact, the blow had nearly crushed J.J. Her mother had urged her to put Mack behind her, insisting she focus on her future.

Now, retracing the route to the ranch, she couldn’t stop wondering if he had made similar plans with Faith. Mack had always said he wanted three children. Meeting Zoey was maybe what hurt the most. J.J. had imagined having Mack’s children. All at once she found herself gripping the steering wheel too hard.

Relaxing her fingers, she forced her attention back to the road. Covering old ground was pointless and unhealthy. She should get rid of those old feelings. So what if her life hadn’t ended up the way she’d envisioned at twenty? She’d traveled to places others longed to visit and met many interesting people. She made an above-average living. She’d dated handsome, well-connected men. Lamentably none ever measured up to the high bar she had set for a husband.
Only Mackenzie Bannerman had reached that bar, and then he crashed into it.

Darn! There he was, screwing with her mind again. And he’d made it clear that he wasn’t happy to see her. She deliberately turned her thoughts away from him to his daughter, and Zoey’s poignant wish for her dad to meet a woman and get married.

As if that thought was going to drag her out of the dumps.

If she was honest, she’d admit that the very idea of playing any part in helping find Mack a wife was painful. She absolutely could not come back here in August to photograph him on his date with the magazine reader. She had to make Donna understand that.

The ranch house came into sight. J.J. reclaimed her spot between the house and barn. And she made herself a promise. She would get on with this assignment, treating it no differently than any of the others she’d handled over the years. Mack would be her job and nothing more.

Resolute, she hauled her suitcases up the makeshift ramp. She knocked, pushed open the door and called out. There had been a time she’d entered the house as if she belonged. This time she hesitated inside the foyer and called again, “Zoey? It’s J.J. I’m back.”

The girl bounded out of the kitchen. “Yay! Erma’s still sleeping, but she usually fixes supper around now. What are we gonna do?”

“If you’ll show me to my room, I’ll drop my bags and go wake Erma.”

“Okay.” Zoey stepped through the archway. “This is the room I told you is directly across the patio from Erma’s.”

The room had white antique furniture, and the generous bed was covered with a dark blue spread. The thick pile carpet was gray. She had expected the same hardwood floors she remembered. The hardwood was still in Erma’s room, thankfully, which made rolling her wheelchair easier.

“I wonder if Erma’s doctor said anything to your dad about getting her a walker. She can’t bear weight on her right leg, but in a few days she might be able to navigate better with a walker. They have front wheels that lock down. Erma could brace herself against the bathroom or kitchen cabinets, and probably wouldn’t feel as helpless as she does relying on a wheelchair.”

Zoey shrugged. “Dunno. But Benny and my dad fixed the back step while you were gone. Benny feels awful that he didn’t do it the day Erma told him it was loose.”

“I could tell he felt responsible. Zoey, can you set the table while I wake Erma and help her dress?”

Nodding, Zoey went to a freestanding buffet and hutch. J.J. entered Erma’s room through the alcove and snapped on a lamp. The room flooded with light, but the woman on the bed didn’t stir.

J.J. touched her shoulder. “Erma, I’m back.” Erma’s eyes flickered opened, but barely.

“We need to find you something comfortable to wear. Oh, a robe will work,” J.J. said, spotting a cotton one looped over one bedpost.

Erma gazed vacantly at J.J., then closed her eyes again. J.J. tried a second time, but no luck. However much painkiller the doctor had prescribed, Erma seemed down for the immediate future.

Leaving the room, she propped the door ajar so they could hear Erma if she awakened.

“Where’s Erma?” Zoey asked, rushing up to J.J.

“I’m afraid we’re on our own fixing supper. Those pills zonked Erma out.”

“Hoo boy!”

“Do you have any idea what she planned to cook this evening?”

“We bought stuff for a salad from Brandy’s mom. My dad put it in the fridge. Oh, I remember Erma said she thawed hamburger to make meat loaf. Do you know what else goes in meat loaf?”

“No, but I can read a cookbook.” She would normally look recipes up on her smartphone, but her data coverage was spotty in La Mesa.

Zoey nodded. “Erma has a whole shelf full of cookbooks.” She pointed to a row of books standing upright between bookends made from horseshoes.

J.J. smiled at that as she did a quick reconnaissance of the kitchen. She realized she’d been wrong earlier. Mack’s kitchen
had
been renovated. The cabinets were the same, but the appliances were new, stainless steel and big. The stove had six burners with a huge griddle in the center. The burners sat above double ovens. The refrigerator also looked industrial-size. It had side-by-side doors with a deep drawer at the bottom. An equally big upright freezer flanked the fridge on the other side.

“My dad loves chocolate cake,” Zoey announced as she dogged J.J.’s footsteps. “He told Erma one time he’d be happy to eat cattle feed if he had chocolate cake for dessert.”

“Then by all means, let’s bake a cake. Uh, I hope Erma has cake mixes and doesn’t whip hers up from scratch.”

Zoey laughed and led J.J. across the room to a pantry that could pass for a mom-and-pop grocery store in New York City. Everything was lined up in order. J.J. selected a chocolate-chocolate cake mix, and a box of powdered sugar and dark cocoa for frosting.

“I’ll get bowls,” Zoey said, and ran to another cupboard. She pulled out two bowls and two round cake tins.

“Great, I’ll mix this and put it in to bake if you’ll set out salad stuff. And we need to find a meat loaf recipe.” J.J. figured out how to preheat both ovens before she retrieved eggs from the fridge. She and Zoey worked in companionable silence for a while.

“Coffee,” Zoey blurted as J.J. slid two cake pans into the oven. “My dad and the men drink gallons of coffee at every meal.”

“No problem. I’ll start coffee brewing and then tackle the meat loaf if you rinse the vegetables.” She pulled carrots out of the fridge and a red onion. “We’ll add these and our salad will be complete.”

Zoey took the veggies to the sink. “Erma also does mashed potatoes and gravy whenever we have meat loaf.”

J.J. closed her eyes and pressed the heel of one hand against her forehead. “That’s a lot of food, but I suppose the men burn tons of calories chasing cows or whatever they do on the ranch. I think good gravy is an art.”

Zoey didn’t say anything.

“I know. I’ll bake potatoes in the oven with the meat loaf. Will you scrub a dozen potatoes while I mix the meat loaf?”

“Sure. Cooking is hard, isn’t it, J.J.? Erma makes it seem easy.”

“It’s probably like any job, Zoey. If you do something often enough it becomes second nature.” J.J. cracked a few eggs over the ground beef. The oven timer dinged. She rinsed her hands, found mitts and removed two perfect-looking pans of chocolate cake—if she did say so herself. Sighing with relief she set them aside to cool.

“Oh, no! Zoey, you opened two cookbooks to meat loaf recipes but they’re not alike at all. One calls for cracker crumbs, the other oatmeal. One uses tomato soup, the other tomato sauce. Any idea which Erma prefers?”

“I dunno.” Zoey shook her head.

“I saw oatmeal in the pantry.” J.J. hurried across the room. From the depths of the pantry she called, “I see canned tomatoes and salsa, but no tomato sauce or soup.”

“Erma puts salsa on our enchiladas, and Benny pours it over his breakfast eggs. Soup isn’t in the pantry. It’s in the top cupboard next to the stove.”

J.J. brought out oatmeal and the other ingredients. She lined them up on the counter, and took the time to look in on Erma again.

After she came back into the kitchen and unloaded the dishwasher, she dried her hands and said, “I think the cake is cool enough to turn out and frost. I’ll do that now and finish the salad while the meat loaf cooks. By the way, the table looks perfect. But do you ever put candles on the table for ambience?”

“Erma has mason jars of candles we burn if we lose power and my dad is out with the cattle. When he gets home he starts the generator. What’s ambience?” Zoey leaned her elbows on the counter.

J.J. laughed as she stirred up frosting from powdered sugar, cocoa and butter, and spread it over the bottom cake layer she’d turned onto a crystal platter she’d found in the hutch. “Ambience is creating a pleasant mood. If we put the men in a good mood they won’t notice a few imperfections with the meal.”

“That’s smart. I’ll get the candles. The potatoes are scrubbed.”

Giving the top layer of the cake a final swipe with the spatula, J.J. smiled with satisfaction and rinsed the empty frosting bowl. She poked holes in the potatoes before putting them in to bake, a trick she learned from her mom. She actually hummed while she measured dry ingredients to mix with the hamburger. “Where did you say I’d find tomato soup, Zoey?”

“The upper cupboard to the left of the stove.”

J.J. pulled open the door and a can fell out. She grabbed for it, but missed. “Oh, no! No, no!” she yelped. “I can’t believe it. My cake!”

Zoey ran out of the dining room. “What happened?”

“A can of chicken noodle soup fell out of the cupboard and made a huge crater in my beautiful cake.” Gingerly, J.J. tugged out the buried can. The bottom was covered in frosting and cake crumbs. “I should have moved the cake to the center island.”

“What a mess,” Zoey said. It was obvious she was holding back a laugh. “Can you fix it?”

J.J. rinsed the can and set it on a paper towel. “I’m not sure.” She moved the cake before another teetering can could fall and do more damage.

“You could fill the hole with frosting,” Zoey suggested, rising on tiptoe to inspect the damage.

“That would be a sickening amount of chocolate even for a chocolate lover. I need to finish the meat loaf and get it in to cook, then toss the salad so at least the main meal will be done by the time your dad and the others come in. I’ll try to repair the cake after.”

“I’m sorry, J.J.” Zoey gave her an impulsive hug.

“Thanks. I hope Erma feels well enough to supervise tomorrow. I’m out of my element, and I wanted this meal to be good to show your dad I’m not helpless.” For a moment she rested her cheek atop Zoey’s hair.

“You’re great, J.J. I put four jar candles down the center of the table. Maybe I’ll take away two. If it’s darker in the dining room and if you cut the cake in here, I bet no one will notice. It’ll still taste yummy.”

J.J. laughed. “That’s an excellent suggestion, kiddo. Just keep your fingers crossed that nothing else goes wrong.”

Zoey grinned back. “I can’t tear lettuce with my fingers crossed.”

“Me, neither—I need two hands to work the soup and oatmeal into the hamburger.”

“I liked meat loaf better before I found out what goes into it,” Zoey said as they both returned to their chores.

A few minutes later, J.J. looked up. “This recipe calls for a whole can of tomato soup. I’ve poured in half a can and the mixture seems really juicy. I wonder how much hamburger Erma thawed. Maybe it wasn’t as much as this recipe calls for. It says it serves a dozen.”