CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
MELINDA'S POV
I started with the onions, cutting them into pieces that were supposed to be uniform but came out in varying sizes. My eyes watered from the fumes. I wiped at them with the back of my hand, probably smearing tears and onion juice across my face.
"Smaller pieces," Bertha suggested. "They need to cook evenly."
I tried again, concentrating so hard on getting the size right that I nearly cut myself. The knife slipped, the blade coming within millimeters of my finger before I jerked my hand back.
"Careful!" Bertha moved closer. "Curl your fingers like this, keep them away from the blade."
She demonstrated the proper technique, her movements smooth and confident. I copied her as best I could but everything felt wrong, my hands too slow, my cuts too uneve
