Loretta’s Kitchen had been registered with the Ohio Secretary of State on March 3rd. Six weeks before Easter.
The registered agent was Britney Whitcomb.
The principal place of business, typed into the little box on the form, was 41 Marigold Court.
My address.
The Brand Hive contract was signed by both Britney and Loretta. It promised to “develop and launch a heritage food brand centered on the authentic family kitchen.” The budget for content production was $18,000.
Two lines down, it listed what Brand Hive would deliver.
Hero shoot: Easter Dinner. Location: Client’s family home (see attached).
The attached sheet was a photograph of my kitchen.
I looked at it for a long time in Priya’s little office with the radiator ticking.
It was a good photograph. Somebody had taken it in daylight, in March. My canisters had been moved. My cupboard doors stood open so you could see my mother’s dishes. In one corner, half out of the frame, you could see Ray’s old bakery calendar, still pinned to the wall where he left it.
“They came into my house,” I said. “While I was out.”
“Does Garrett have a key?”
“He has one. For emergencies.”
“When were you out?”
I thought back. “March eighteenth. A Tuesday. My book club meets at the library on the third Tuesday of every month.”
Priya didn’t say anything.
“And Easter wasn’t a dinner at all,” I said slowly. “It was a shoot. Garrett told me a couple of people. Britney told me nothing. That ring light was a crew.”
“And the ham?”
“The ham,” I said, “was the hero.”
That evening, I called my son.
I hadn’t really spoken to him in three weeks. After Easter, I’d sent him a single text. “I’m well. I need time.”
He’d answered with a little yellow thumbs-up.
I’ve thought about it a lot since then. That thumbs-up may be one of the worst things my son has ever done.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Mom.”
“Garrett. I’d like you to come to the house tomorrow. At ten. Bring Britney.”
“Mom, is everything okay? Britney said there was some kind of health inspection, and…”
“Ten o’clock,” I said. “I’ll make coffee.”
“Mom, we really need to talk about Easter. I’ve been wanting to say…”
“Tomorrow.”
I hung up. I set the receiver gently in its cradle.
I didn’t feel triumphant. I felt like a woman setting a table.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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