When Kathleen arrived at her daughter’s house that evening, she found Roy and the girls in the kitchen, eating stew he had made in the slow cooker.
“Want some?” he asked.
“That would be nice,” she said, thinking she should taste it before committing to a whole bowl. “Don’t get up, I’ll get it.” She opened the lid to the pot and ladled a small amount into a bowl. There were some buns in a box from the local bakery sitting on the counter, so she took one of those too and joined them at the table.
She took a tiny bite of the stew, aware that Roy was watching her. It was a bit bland and could have used more seasoning. She reached for the saltshaker and added some to the bowl, stirring it in and tasting it again. Now it was passable. She smiled up at him, trying to keep her face as neutral a
