as she combed through the rosemary patch in her garden under the crisp midmorning sun, marianne took special care to select the freshest, most shapely leaves. richard used to help her harvest the herbs when he was little, she thought as she hummed "scarborough fair" to herself. while her wrinkled fingers mingled with the woodsy scent of her favorite herb, she recalled how his eyes would light up every time she called to him, "richard? could you get some rosemary from the garden?" because he knew that whenever his mama made that request, there would be rosemary chicken for supper that evening.
she dabbed away a tear that had formed unbeknownst to her until now. her richard was a man now--had a pretty thing of a wife, two charming kids in grade school, and a perfect little house in the suburbs where they let her stay now. mostly kentucky bluegrass on the lawn, but of course they let her make a garden out back. he had a nine-to-five job in the city, so he mostly helped her on weekends when the kids didn't have to be driven to parties or soccer tournaments, but even those occasional hours with him seemed to be less and less frequent lately.
now, marianne, don't get so sentimental, she chided herself, sighing. working through the rheumatism in her knee, she slowly stood up and resolutely walked into the house with a smile in her eyes, if not on her lips. she was making the family rosemary chicken tonight.
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