REBECCA
"Okay, little one—time to make dinner," I said to Jim as I got up from the bed ... only to get dizzy in the process. I sat back down, waited it out, and then headed to the kitchen with James. Reiner and Violet were still upstairs, and since they’d been up there for a good half hour, I figured they’d be coming down soon.
Reiner had marinated some chicken that morning, using my mom's recipe. I was Jim and Violet's age when my parents died, but I could still vividly remember the taste of that chicken, how often my mom made it, and how much my dad and I loved it.
Her cookbook was one of my most cherished treasures — and I only had it thanks to Reiner, who had saved it, taking it with him when he'd left the pack house along with a photo album from my first year of life.
They'd bee
