Adagio by Marian Allen

Mamie watched her young lodger stare, slack-jawed, at the television. It was the only time Florence was utterly still.

The click of Mamie's knitting needles never faltered as she divided her attention between the screen, the college student hogging the entire couch, and the occasional car turning into their no-outlet street. She had made headbands, pot holders, dish cloths and place mats promoting the webcam cooking show she did with Florence until she could knit in her sleep.

Not for the first time, she wondered what would happen when Florence graduated in June. The contract she had pretended to let Florence talk her into would keep the younger woman from finding someone else who could cook--and knit. But Mamie neither could nor wanted to do the show by herself. As it was, she did the parts she enjoyed and Florence did the parts Florence enjoyed and they split the income.

And then there was Florence's brother, Benny.

Benvenuto and Florence Adagio were twenty years apart in age, making Benny a very respectable five years younger than Mamie's forty-six. He was funny-looking and he stuttered when he was upset, but he made a good living, which would supplement Mamie's part-time clerical job nicely, especially if Florence felt compelled by family feeling to continue the show after graduation. Assuming, of course, a family connection were made.

Florence was watching a cooking show. She muted the set during a commercial and said, "This is what we need to do next. We can use the web show to advertise the cable show and the cable show to advertise subscription-only web-based extras. And sell ads, of course."

"I'll leave that to you, dear."

Florence hit pause and looked at Mamie, her expression taking on its customary sharpness. "Where's your headband?"

"I took it off. It gives me a headache."

"No, it doesn't. Put it on."

Mamie put it on. It was black, with a golden fork and knife crossed in the center.

Florence beamed at her. "That's cute. You look like one of those poor sad hairless little babies."

Mamie kept her hair short, so she didn't need a headband but, like those poor sad hairless little babies, she found herself forced into one because somebody else thought it was cute. Two somebodys, since Benny seconded everything Florence said.

The sound Mamie had been listening for came.

"Benny's here."

"Let him come." Florence picked up the remote.

By the time Mamie hustled into the kitchen, Benny had managed the lock and the knob and had burst in, paper grocery bags overflowing, red peppers and celery spilling onto the floor like fragrant fireworks.

"Oof!" He landed the bags on the big room's prep island and peered at her over the tops. With his wrinkled pink forehead and mutton-chop sideburns, he looked so much like a monkey she could almost have thought he said, "Ook," instead.

"Bad day at work?"

"Ye-ye-yyyyye--" He blinked.

Florence came in as he gave up and nodded. "That bad?" She clapped her hands and rubbed them together. "Oh, boy! So Benny's been to the grocery. What's Mamie making?"

"P-p-pasta p-p-primavera. With pine cones."

Neither woman corrected him.

Florence danced around the kitchen, picking up whatever Benny had dropped, singing, "Another bad day! Another bad day! Food, food, food, food, food, food, food!"

"Yyyour sympathy touches me deeply." Benny put a hand to his heart and bowed as his sister two-stepped to the sink. Courtliness diminished his stammer.

"It's too hot for pasta," Mamie said. "I'll make a salad."

"Let's have both," Florence said.

Benny unpacked the bags.

"You need to quit that job," Florence announced.

"I do hate it. But what would I do instead?" He looked from one woman to the other with bright brown eyes.

Florence tossed an apple from hand to hand. "Come over to the light side, Young Skywalker. Use your accounting for good, not for evil."

"Join your enterprise? Are the accounting duties so onerous?"

"I like marketing." Florence said the word with the relish most women reserved for chocolate. "When I get out of school, we could take this show to the next level. But we need somebody with mad bean-counter skillz. And you count beans better than anybody. You count 'em and I'll sell 'em."

"And Mamie," Benny said, blinking at the older woman from beneath his shaggy brows, "will cook them."

Florence darted glances between her brother and her landlady while crunching into her apple.

"Oh, Benny wouldn't want to give up his job for a webcam cooking show," Mamie said, doing some bean-counting of her own. They could never afford a full-time salary, let alone benefits.

Bennie said, "I've been toying with the idea of going freelance. The show could be one of my accounts. I think I'd do well."

Florence said, "I plan to get a part-time job when I'm out of school. I could still live here, couldn't I?"

"Well, of course you could, Sweetie!" Mamie cast Benny's sister a doting look.

"Alas for me, though," Benny said. "My rent just went up again." He raised a hand to his head as if struck by a thought. "Mamie, I don't suppose you know of anyone with a room to let? In this neighborhood, preferably?"

"You've been visiting Florence here for four years," Mamie said coyly. "You probably know the neighborhood as well as I do by now. And the size of this house."

Eyes locked with Mamie's, he said, "Florence, hop out to the store and bring back some wine. The grownups have something personal to discuss."

Florence snaked his wallet out of his pocket, extracted a twenty and tossed the wallet onto the table.

Her smile, as she slipped out the door, was smug in the extreme.

So was Benny's, as he bent over to pull out a pot for the pasta.

So was Mamie's, as she reached into the cabinet for the cutting board.

Three such happy people.

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Marian Allen blogs daily and writes fantasies, mysteries, comedies and recipes. She posts an excerpt or short story at her blog every Sunday. You can also find her on Facebook at Marian Allen Author and on Twitter. "Adagio" may or not be a study for a mystery in her Spadena Street series, currently under construction.