The ficus and jade trees desperately needed larger pots. Baby spider plants begged for freedom from their mother and the sansevieria cried to be divided. Lee Ann carried big planters from the garden shed and sliced open bags of potting soil, donned gardening gloves, and filled the watering can. “There,” she said, after placing the newly potted plants in the mudroom and sweeping up the mess. “If you aren’t happy now, you will be by next week. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” She had learned to cook from assisting Mother and watching Grace. Meat loaf, roasts, and pies from Mother. Mexican food from Grace, who claimed Lee Ann’s flour tortillas looked like maps of Australia. Mexicans, Grace said, had the gene for rolling perfectly round tortillas, estimating how hot the griddle should be to receive them, and knowing the exact moment to flip them to freckle the surface. Manuel and Rudy, the sheriff’s ranch hands who would join Eugene and the boys for roundup, were raised in the Hispanic community of Alba and preferred New Mexican green chile stew, but Eugene and the boys preferred Texas-style chile and that’s what Lee Ann planned to serve for the mid-day meal at tomorrow’s roundup.
