“I just don’t think we need to keep it on the dining room table, that’s all,” Rita is telling Mom and Mary Beth a couple days later.
I don’t think so either, but I keep quiet. The ‘it’ is the silver urn holding Nana Belle’s ashes smack in the middle of the big table where we eat. Mary Beth had sneaked it onto the table while Rita and Uncle Stephen were busy fixing supper. It had been Rita’s day to fix dinner. Since she doesn’t know much about cooking, she told Stephen to grill burgers while she sliced tomatoes, lettuce, and onions. The day before yesterday had been Mary Beth’s turn to cook and she had also made burgers, chips, and opened a can of baked beans. Fine by me, since grilled burgers and chips are my favorite food next to fried chicken and potatoes with white gravy. Not so for ev
