My summer project was learning how to bake pies. I’d already told everyone about it. How if, come Fall, they had a hankering for a slice, all they’d have to do is call and I’d be pulling one from the oven.
If I had a windowsill, I’d said, they could bet on finding a pie there.
Some nights I wondered why I wanted to make them. Maybe it was some kind of bargain. Oh Lord, I’d never said, but maybe thought, just before falling asleep, if there was one wholesome thing I did, would that make my life less terrible?