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became of Chandra.
    Monica will work as she always has. Volunteer work can turn into a career—she wouldn’t be the first to use the Red Cross as a stepping stone to teaching or law or even politics. She’ll be in the news again because she needs to explain herself to protect her future, to show people she’s just like them before she disappears for a time. She might be seen occasionally, perhaps on
the street with a boyfriend, laughing, licking an ice cream, her tongue circling around it to catch melted drops of chocolate.
    Sandy, on the other hand, will be someone you see out of the corner of your eye, the girl with the baby, the woman playing football with her ten-year-old or driving to work, a woman so much like you that you’ll never notice her. The group that sat around the table, complete in itself before dividing into separate bedrooms, or leaving to continue rescuing whoever can still be saved, will be gone by morning. Only Sandy, about to be born, to change into someone she would never have planned to be, will stay a few more days before she leaves to become the woman no one will ever find because she is everywhere.

TARA’S STEW
    Michelle Bouché
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    TARA ENJOYED MAKING HER DISPLEASURE known to the entire household. How dare they hire someone else to cook in her kitchen! She banged the shiny pots as she put them away, slammed the smooth metal of the icebox door, and glared fiercely at anyone who paused at the doorway. For the last five years she had owned this kitchen, loved it back to radiant life after the old cook had allowed grime and decay to build up around the edges. She’d nourished the family, too, brought them back to vibrancy after years of bland heavy food had caused their taste buds to surrender.
    She remembered the day back in 1952 when she’d decided she would rule the Beaumonts’ kitchen. Serving dinner in her crisp black-and-white maid’s uniform, she overheard the
Missus announcing her decision to pension off the old cook. Tara spoke up right at the table, surprising everyone—including herself. The Missus agreed hesitantly. Some vague reference was made to a trial period. Tara just smiled and squared her solid shoulders, confident she could engage them in her passion for sumptuous food and flavors. Later, walking home in the light of a full moon, she thanked the spirit that had prompted her to ask for her heart’s delight.
    She threw away the hated black-and-white maid’s uniforms and spent two weeks’ pay on three new, sparkling-white chef outfits with matching linen aprons. Then she proudly marched into the kitchen and conquered it. At first it was reluctant to yield to her fierce and loving care, but within a month the place glowed with new life. Pungent herbs grew in the window boxes; warm fresh bread cooled on the racks, and mysterious concoctions bubbled on the stove. These aromas contrasted sharply with the clean tang of bleach and lemon. The family, never before inclined to linger in this realm of the servants, took to finding excuses to dawdle there, to breathe deeply the now-magnificent air, rich with basil and cilantro, orange zest and seared meat, and sumptuous coffee laden with milk and cinnamon. But her stew was their favorite dish. They always took seconds, not caring if they suffered for their gluttony. Hearty yet tender, the stew was exquisitely delicious. Many a night the women complained that they would have to let out the waists of their dresses.
    Despite their grumblings, they couldn’t help but indulge themselves at her table. Keeping Tara happy became important. They humored her by painting the kitchen a dazzling white and even put in a fan that twirled from the ceiling, diffusing the luscious smells throughout the house. When Mr. Beaumont
rewarded Tara with her own little cabin behind the big house, she smiled and waltzed her rounded figure gracefully through the kitchen,