None of us went down there, no laundry had been done and our mother had to hand-wash her stuff in the sink. She now stood in the kitchen in her pantyhose and mink, cursing, as she waved the blow drier over her fancy black bra while Franz waited for her in the living room. “Find that stink!” she yelled suddenly, chasing my little sisters around the dining room table. “Or I’ll throw all of you out.” “Good!” Daffodil yelled. She was nine. “I’ll go live at Shoshanna’s. They don’t have to eat roast beef every single night!” “Shoshanna’s, my ass. Here, you want some variety? How about an eyeround?” Mom opened the refrigerator and tossed a package of beef that landed next to Daffodil’s foot. Feeling hungry, I picked up the piece of meat. “Hey Mom, 300 degrees for an hour?” I asked. “350. 45 minutes.” “We should hire someone to go down the cellar and find the stink,” Dorrie shrieked. “Like the boy who cleaned the rain gutters.” Dorrie was eleven and geeky with long, jagged teeth that didn’t fit right in her mouth.
