21 - Kathleen
Maeve returned with me at the house. Despite her condition, she proved adept at peeling the potatoes, shredding cheese for the lasagna, cutting celery stalks, mashing the same potatoes once boiled to put on top of the pie. I managed the salmon and the paste, then slid the platter in the oven.
I didn’t want Ziad Salim to eat out this evening.
The idea of his undergoing another aggression made my hands tremble and I almost cut myself as I worked the pasta. And today’s soured experience had washed any yearning to get one step inside any restaurant.
No, I must be honest: I had jumped on this occasion to be with the doctor, in a non-professional, casual congress. His father had been disappointed when his elder son had chosen to open a clinic in a small village instead of assoc
