Salt

Betty shakes herself out of her reverie and sprinkles a bit more salt on Frank's meatloaf. Over the last few weeks, usually when she's in the kitchen, her mind wanders to Florida. Betty loves Florida, loves the retirement community where her sister Esther lives.

She pours heavy cream and drops a chunk of butter into the boiled potatoes. She mashes them without thinking, still in Boca Raton.
 
They have bingo games in the complex four nights a week, she couldn't  believe it.  When she and Frank went to visit last month, Betty won three different games. One was a blackout, a game she'd never won before in her life, and it paid out $209. She'd never won that much before.

Betty hears Frank cough. She takes a beer out of the fridge, opens it, and carries it out to him. "I should help you," he says. "No, no, you just stay there. In fact, I'll set up the TV trays."

She thinks about Frank's offhand dismissal of the idea of moving to Palm Sunsets as she adds a dollop of butter on top of his potatoes.

Esther's condo is right by the swimming pool. Well, they all are, each set of four buildings shares a common area with a pool. Betty made a point of lying in the sun a little each day. She wasn't a bit self-conscious, in fact most of the women were fatter than she was. She came home with a tan that her friends all envy, although she noticed this morning how it is beginning to fade.

She places a large slab of the meatloaf on the plate, sprinkles a little more salt on it, and then spoons cream gravy over everything. Her own plate contains a large salad, light dressing.

"You going to eat rabbit food again tonight?" Frank asks her as she sets the heavy plate and another beer next to him on the tray. She doesn't answer, but  thinks about how much better she'll look in a bathing suit if she keeps eating like this. For when she goes back.