Lessons in Chemistry(111)

“This isn’t thinking, Walter, this is marketing.”

“Mr. Pine,” a secretary said, “Mr. Roth is on line two.”

“Do not,” Elizabeth warned, her face still holding the hurt of how she’d been maligned, “take that call.”



* * *



—

“Hello,” Elizabeth said several weeks later, “my name is Elizabeth Zott, and this is Supper at Six.”

She stood behind a cutting board, an array of vegetables set before her in a dazzling pile of color. “Tonight’s dinner features eggplant,” she said, picking up a large purplish vegetable. “Or aubergine, as it’s referred to in other parts of the world. Eggplant is highly nutritious, but it can be bitter due to its phenolic compounds. To remove its bitterness—” She stopped abruptly, turning the vegetable over in her hands as if she wasn’t at all satisfied. “Let me rephrase. To guard against eggplant’s tendency toward bitterness—” She stopped again and exhaled loudly. Then she tossed the eggplant aside.

“Forget it,” she said. “Life is bitter enough.” She turned and opened a cupboard behind her, withdrawing all new ingredients. “New plan,” she said. “We’re making brownies.”

Madeline lay on her stomach in front of the television, her legs crossed in the air behind her. “Looks like we’re having brownies again tonight, Harriet. That’s five days in a row.”

“I make brownies on my bad days,” Elizabeth confessed. “I’m not going to pretend that sucrose is an essential ingredient required for our well-being, but I personally feel better when I eat it. Now let’s get started.”



* * *



—

“Mad,” Harriet said over Elizabeth’s voice as she applied fresh lipstick and fluffed her hair. “I have to run out for a bit, all right? Don’t answer the door or the phone, and don’t leave home. I’ll be back before your mom gets here. Understand? Mad? Do you hear me?”

“What?”

“See you soon.” The door clicked shut behind her.

“Brownies are best when made from either a high-quality cocoa powder or unsweetened baking chocolate,” Elizabeth continued. “I prefer Dutch cocoa. It contains a high level of polyphenols, which, as you know, are reducing agents that protect the body against oxidative…”

Madeline watched the TV closely as her mother combined the cocoa powder with the melted butter and sugar, whipping the wooden spoon around the bowl with such vigor, it seemed likely the bowl would break. When Life hit the stands, she’d been so proud. Her mother—on the cover! But before she could read it, her mother stuffed all of her copies—Harriet’s too—in a garbage bag and tossed the heavy bag to the curb. “You are not to read this pack of lies,” she’d told Madeline. “Do you understand? Under no circumstances.”

Madeline nodded. But the next day she went straight to the library and read without stopping, her finger guiding her eyes down the columns. “No,” she choked. “No, no, no.” Tears spilled all over a photograph of her mother fixing her hair as if that’s what she did all day. “My mom’s a scientist. A chemist.”



* * *



—

She turned her attention back to the television, where her mother was chopping walnuts. “Walnuts contain an unusually high level of vitamin E in the form of gamma-tocopherol,” she said. “Proven to protect the heart.” Although the way she continued to chop, it seemed clear the walnuts weren’t going to make much difference to the damage done to her heart.

From out of nowhere came the doorbell, and Mad jumped. Harriet never let her answer the door anymore, but Harriet wasn’t there. She peeked out the window, expecting to see a stranger, but saw Wakely instead.

“Mad,” Reverend Wakely said as she opened the door. “I’ve been so worried.”



* * *



—

From the television, Elizabeth Zott was explaining how air was being carried along on the rough surfaces of the sugar crystals and then encased by a film of fat, creating a foam. “When I add the eggs,” she said, “their protein will prevent the fat-coated air bubbles from collapsing when heat is applied.” She set down the bowl. “We’ll be back after this station identification.”

“I hope it’s all right that I dropped by,” Wakely said. “I thought I’d be able to find you at home during your mother’s show. Is she really making brownies for dinner?”

“She’s having a bad day.”

“That Life article— I can only imagine. Where’s your sitter?”

“Harriet will be back in a bit.” She hesitated, knowing this was probably the wrong thing to ask. “Wakely. Want to stay for dinner?”

He paused. If bad days dictated dietary menus, he’d be eating brownies at every meal for life. “I would never intrude like that, Mad. I really did just want to make sure you’re okay. I feel terrible that I wasn’t able to help you more with that family tree, although I’m proud of what you did. You’ve defined your family with broad, honest strokes. Family is far more than biology.”

“I know.”