The Arrival of Evelyn and Henry
Less than 24 hours after I settled in, Evelyn and Henry Whitmore, an elderly couple who lived next door, appeared at my doorstep. Evelyn’s white hair was pinned neatly in a bun, and her eyes crinkled with what seemed like warmth. Henry, tall and stooped with age, had a gentle smile and kind eyes. Evelyn carried a steaming casserole wrapped in a dishcloth.“Welcome to the neighborhood, dear!” Evelyn exclaimed. “You look far too thin to be living out here all alone.”
I thanked her politely, taking the dish with trembling hands. I should have suspected that my “welcome meal” would be only the first of many culinary disasters.
First Taste of Disaster
Later that evening, I opened the lasagna she had brought. It had collapsed into a strange crater in the middle. The cheese was rubbery, the noodles a weird combination of mushy and burnt, and a mysterious odor wafted up from the dish. One bite was enough to make me realize I was in trouble—but I couldn’t bring myself to offend her.
When she returned the next morning, I lied.
“Oh, it was delicious! Thank you so much, Evelyn!” I said, forcing a smile.
Her face lit up in pure joy, and at that moment, I sealed my fate.
Weeks of Culinary Torture
