As Imogene roared into the drive, Ingrid could almost hear the sabers rattle. Ingrid had the most childish urge to take to her heels and leg it before Imogene struggled out of her safety belt and launched her initial assault. Instead she calmly perused her wildflower beds, seemingly unaware of her dear friend’s rather explosive greeting.

“Well! Wasn’t that a pretty picture! Here I am trying to get you to help that poor woman see reason and there you are egging them on toward disaster! As I live and breathe Ingrid Delaney, you are enough to try the patience of a saint! A saint! Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Imogene, lovely to see you! Won’t you come in? I’ve got some delicious lemon meringue pie on hand.”

“Don’t think pie is going to get you out of this one Ingrid… Is it fresh?”

“As fresh as Marie Callendar’s can make them- I picked it up this morning. You know I’ve never been able to make pies like yours.”

Imogene’s wrath could always be turned away by a soft answer coupled with good food. Especially pie.

“Oh all right. It would be rude to lecture you at your own table though, so before we go in, I demand to know just what that scallywag was doing in Edith Baker’s Cadillac.

“He was getting a ride home. Eddie dropped him off here earlier, and I suspect Crispin was hoping to spend time with Edith and introduce her to his grandchildren. She’s never had any you know.”

Ingrid stooped to pluck a few brightly hued blossoms for the kitchen table, and Imogene stomped her foot impatiently as she demanded to know just why Ingrid had allowed such an undesirable arrangement to occur in the first place.

“Honestly dear, I had nothing to do with it. He showed up this morning while I was hanging pictures in Anne’s room and informed me that Edith was coming to watch us at work on his memoirs.”

‘You’re writing his memoirs?” sneered Imogene in iron souled unbelief.
“Of course not, but he managed to convince Edith that I was.”
“I should hope you disabused her of that notion.”

“It’s really none of my business Imogene. Let’s have some pie, shall we?”
“Oh, that reminds me- I’ve brought you some groceries for when the girls arrive- nothing perishable mind you, but your pantry could certainly use a good stocking up. I imagine you’ll finally have to start cooking a few meals. I also brought you a set of cookbooks.”

She walked back to her car, opened the trunk and pulled out an enormous cardboard box,. It was packed with dry goods, staples, spices, and canned foods of all varieties. Ingrid followed her into the house and through to the kitchen. Imogene, in her late sixties yet still stout and robust, hardly broke a sweat as she heaved the box onto the nearest available counter space and began flinging open the cupboards to discern their contents.

“Shameful!” she pronounced, gazing with censorious eye upon the boxes of Rice-a-Roni, Instant Pudding, Instant Mashed Potatoes, and breakfast cereal. When she came to the cabinet just over the sink she let out something of a shriek.

“Ingrid! What are all these for?” she pointed at the tidy rows of pill bottles that lined the shelves. “Are you very ill?”

Ingrid laughed and explained that they were vitamins and dietary supplements. “I’ve never been much of a cook you know, and I have to get my nutrients somehow. I made something of a study of it years ago. You’d be amazed at what a healthy lifestyle I actually lead. The only difference between me and the next conscientious consumer is that I prefer to dine out rather than prepare my own meals.”

Imogene stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted a third arm. “Oh. I see. Well, you know what Julia Childs said about diet foods- the only time one should eat them is when one is waiting for the steaks to cook. Anyone who saw this cabinet would think you were the world’s greatest hypochondriac. But of course you’re in remarkably good health, so I suppose you manage fairly well. How interesting! I never would have taken you for being so health conscious.”

“I never was until Ellen…” Ingrid trailed off and let the sentence hang where it might.

“Of course dear. I understand. And it’s just as well, for now you’re healthy and strong and can look after Alice and her little girl. Now; look at these. You’ll have to cook your own meals some time. Eating every meal out with three people will bankrupt you. It’s time you learnt a thing or two about cooking.”

She returned to the box on the counter and hauled out three large books with energetic colors and designs running rampant on the covers. Ingrid thought the pattern on one was about to crawl off the cover and wrap itself around her wrist. In order to distract herself, she began reading the titles aloud. “Cooking for the Clueless, 20 Minute Meals for Morons and Baking for Boneheads.”

“They are just at your level Ingrid. You shouldn’t have any trouble working meals out from these. They’re all fully illustrated. Nothing could be simpler. Look- Cooking for the Clueless even has lists of what the well dressed kitchen is wearing.” Noticing Ingrid’s look of perplexed wonder she added “In layman’s terms dear, what every kitchen should be stocked with.” She glanced around at the gaping cupboards and grimaced. “I’ve brought most of what’s on the staples list. But I see that it’s only a small beginning. We’ve got to do more grocery shopping before they arrive.”

Ingrid didn’t know whether to feel grateful or insulted. She decided to take the high road and admit to herself that it was true. Her cooking skills were moronic at best. She smiled and thanked Imogene sincerely for all the trouble she was going to.

“I certainly appreciate the help, Imogene. Have a seat and I’ll put things away and serve the pie.”

“Oh no you don’t Ingrid. Goodness, is that all you can think about? You’ve got to put the things away in good order. We’re turning over a new leaf in your life- a kitchen ought to be organized. Now, spices and staples go near the oven where they’ll be in reach- That’s right.”

"What if I don't want to turn over a new leaf? What if I enjoy my negligible cooking skills? Can't you just love me as I am? You're always trying to change me." whined Ingrid, helplessly.
"Stuff and nonsense. That dying possum act doesn't fool me. It never hurt any woman to try and better herself. Now, start putting these away and line them up alphabetically while you're at it."

The next half hour was spent arranging Ingrid’s rather haphazard kitchen into a state of pristine functionality. Ingrid, who loved orderliness, was quite satisfied. “Now that we’ve got everything packed in there properly, I’m almost looking forward to this cooking thing you speak of.”

“How are the girls’ rooms coming on?”

Ingrid sighed. "I don't think I'll ever get the blue room cleared out in time. I've let it go to wrack and ruin for years now. Perhaps you could take a look and help me decide what to do with it all."

Up the stairs the decision maker marched, and Ingrid trudged after her, knowing exactly what her friend would say to the disorderly piles of clutter she’d allowed to amass over time.

The green room was in good shape. Until lately it had been Ingrid’s bedroom, and so had been kept in decent order. Imogene poked her inquisitive nose through that door first, and nodded approvingly. A double bed with a curving headboard upholstered in cream colored fabric occupied one wall. Over the bed hung a large Impressionist water color in shades of green, pink, and lavender. These colors were echoed in the pale green walls, the pink floral coverlet, and the lavender throw pillows.

A delicate cream colored slipper chair nestled in one corner, while a cream painted dresser occupied another. Long curtains of dotted swiss draped the windows. “Very pleasant Ingrid. It hasn’t changed since the fifties, but really it’s still quite nice. This was Alice’s old room, was it not?”

“Yes indeed. I thought she might like to have it back, although all of her things are still packed away in the attic. Annie will be just across the hall in Ellen’s room.”

Imogene tromped over to Ellen’s old room and shoved open the door. “Gracious Sakes! I can’t believe you let things pile up so Ingrid! It’s just not like you!”

“Well I do try to spring clean every year and get all the old things I’ve no use for out of the house. But the past few years it’s just been so much easier to throw them in here and hope that if I ignore them along enough they'll go away, or I’ll die and not have to deal with it. Not the most successful plan, as you can see.”

Imogene stepped back and glared at her friend narrowly.“That is a rather morbid statement Ingrid. Are you getting anemic? Never mind… you just leave this mess to me. I’ll take care of it. It’s no wonder you haven’t done much about it. Just gets so intimidating after awhile. Go on in and pick out anything you’d like to keep. It’ll be gone in a few hours. Now, where’s my purse?”

“Downstairs by the box you brought in.”

“Right! Of course! Let’s go down and have some of that pie you can’t stop mentioning. I’ve got to call my boy Billy.”

Wondering at the connection between the two actions, Ingrid followed her back down the stairs and into the kitchen. While Imogene began plumbing the depths of her mammoth handbag, Ingrid served the greatly anticipated pie.

“Here it is. Dratted thing is too small! Just gets lost in shuffle. Now… to turn it on I…”

She fiddled with the buttons on her cellular phone uncertainly for a moment. “These blasted buttons need to be bigger. Someone ought to do something about that. Oh- it’s dialing… hope that’s Billy’s number... Hello? Is this Bill? Billy this is your mother… YOUR MOTHER… YES… I’M CALLING YOU ON MY CELL PHONE!” she thundered. “WHAT? OH. Oh. Sorry dear. You just sounded so far away I thought…”

Ingrid watched bemusedly as Imogene turned her tiny cell phone right side up. “You’re right! You do sound much clearer this way. Now Billy, I have a job for you. Yes, and I want you to do it just as soon as ever you can. Is Miguel working for you today? Good. Put him in charge for a few hours, get Jose and Nate and come over to Ingrid Delaney’s place- you know where she is don’t you? Drive the two pick-ups. Yes, I realize that dear, but it’s your father’s business too you know. He hasn’t really retired yet. With the three of you it should only take an hour at the most. How soon can you be here? Well I’m sure Miguel knows all about that- he’s been in the business just as long as you have. Construction isn’t rocket science dear. The framing will still be there when you get back! Now, no more lip! Get over to Miss Delaney’s ASAP. Yes dear… I love you too.”

She withdrew the phone from her ear and poked at it a few more times before she was certain it was turned off.

“Now, wasn’t that sweet of him? I’ve always been so thankful that he chose to go into construction with his father. It’s a hard life, but a good life. Oh Ingrid, that pie looks scrumptious!”

She settled down across the breakfast nook table, and began to savor the lemon meringue one bite at a time. As they ate, Imogene chatted gaily about Billy and his children, who were the apples of her maternal eye. Bill Burke was a grown man of 48, but his mother still treated him as though he were a child. He was blessed with his father’s patient, forbearing nature however, and never seemed to mind her dictatorial manner. His wife was another story.

“Jackie was over the other day with little William. Why she insists on calling him William instead of Billy or Will is beyond me. Billy was good enough for me with my son. But girls these days just weren’t brought up the way we were is all I can say. Oh well. William is just the cutest little mite you ever did see. Looks just like his father did at that age. Aren’t toddlers just sweet? Jackie is finally allowing him to eat regular food- except it has to be organic. Did you ever hear the like? She didn’t do that with Brian and Kayla. But Billy says she’s got the whole family eating organic foods now. Waste of money if you ask me. Ingrid, if these health folks are to be believed, it’s a miracle any of us lived to adulthood. The way Jackie acts you’d think William was some kind of invalid who needed a special diet. Well, she was Billy’s choice, not mine. Although I will say she’s made him a fine wife. Yes, in spite of all her odd ways, she’s really made Billy happy and so I love her anyway. We don’t see eye to eye on much, but we get along all right after a fashion. I just have to remember to love her as a Christian even if she drives me batty as a daughter in law. Course, it’s a good thing Billy found someone with the gumption to stand up to me. Someone has to do it, I suppose or I’d just run that family like it was my own. Even I can admit that’s not how God intended it.”

They chatted on for about fifteen minutes, until two enormous pick-up trucks conspicuously labeled “Burke Construction” lumbered into the driveway, bearing Billy and two of his employees.

Imogene trundled out to greet and brief them. “Now, take off your boots and come in. You’re going to take everything but the furniture out of the blue room upstairs. Load it into your trucks and take it to the Salvation Army… or put it in a dumpster at one of the sites. I don’t care. It’s just got to go!”

The men set to work with great dispatch, and in spite of having to work in stocking feet, managed to make good time. In 30 minutes or less the room was devoid of all clutter. Ingrid invited them to sit down for some coffee and pie, and they agreed. After a fifteen minute coffee break, Imogene decided that it was time they were all on their way.

“Time is money, you know Billy. Ingrid, it’s been lovely visiting with you, but I really must be going. Oh- there’s your cat… Yes, I think I really must be going.” She repeated nervously, edging toward her handbag. Imogene hated cats, and she had an especially antagonistic relationship with Melchoir. He’d declared a sort of guerilla war on her ankles, and loved to hide behind corners lying in wait for them.

Ingrid grabbed Melchoir by the scruff of his furry grey neck, and scooped him into her arms. She suspected he was up to no good, and after all the help Imogene had been this afternoon it would be too bad to allow Melchoir the pleasure of assassinating her ankles.

“Thank you for all your help Imogene! And you boys too! I could never have done it without you!”

“Oh don’t thank me dear! I know I’m a meddlesome, bossy, cantankerous old woman. You’re sweet to put up with me. Billy and his boys are a wonderful set though. If you must thank someone, thank them.”

They dutifully assured Ingrid that they were only too glad to help, and after goodbyes had been said all round, the trucks rumbled away with Imogene’s Buick close behind.

Ingrid dropped Melchoir and wobbled over to the hammock that was tucked invitingly into a corner of the garden. Though Imogene and her crew had done most of the work, Ingrid was utterly spent. However, preparations for Alice and Anne were nearly complete, and as she swayed gently in the fading evening sunshine a smile of anticipation mixed itself in with her gaping yawns.