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JJ tried her best not to run down the stairs like a crazy woman. Because that must be what she was. Crazy. They were all f*****g crazy.
She’d spent a fair amount of time in Iris’s kitchen over the years, and most things were kept where JJ would have expected. She didn’t dare use Iris’s last onion, but she found plenty of potatoes and set a few on the counter. The milk in the fridge smelled okay, and there were even a few stalks of celery in the crisper that hadn’t gone spongy. Plenty of butter, and the flour didn’t have bugs. Potato soup it is.
JJ started a pot of water on the stove and dropped in a couple of rock-hard bouillon cubes that might have been left over from the Cold War. She quickly scrubbed lime and dirt from the potatoes, found a serviceable knife, and placed the first,
