But Magnolia noticed changes in the boys’ behavior, too. They began lingering by her fence after school, sniffing the scents of her bakes. One even asked, mockingly, “Baking another pie?” She chuckled, one hand patting the tray. “Oh yes, this one’s for the Sunday class,” she said without looking up.
The boys did not have to play detectives about her life; they had no lack of clues. A handwritten recipe card was left half-tucked under a flowerpot. A cooling rack set just slightly out the window, within eye line. She sometimes left her gate unlocked at dusk, creaking wide. They imagined she was getting a bit forgetful with age.