Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Scrambled is fine. Can you make some toast too?” Aunt Rose called.
“Sure.”
Abbey bent down and reached for the cabinet to the right of the stove. She already knew what she would find before she opened it because she had memorized the exact content of all the kitchen cabinets. By touch she found the pan rack which had all the frying pans they used stacked in order. Above that was a shelf which held two sauce pots—one large and one small.
Feeling down the line of pans, Abbey chose the middle one which was medium sized and pulled it out. Holding it in one hand, she felt for the bump dots on the stove and pressed the one for the right lower corner burner.
The stove top was black but when the burner began to glow red, Molly was able to distinguish the color change. Carefully, she placed the frying pan down on the burner and turned to the refrigerator.
The inside of the fridge was as meticulously organized as everything else in the house. Abbey found the egg holder and took out two, which she placed in a bowl that she took from the left-hand cabinet beside the stove. Then she found the butter holder and took it out to place on the counter beside the bowl. It was bright pink and was easy to distinguish against the white countertop.
She closed the fridge, opened the drawer to her left, and pulled out a butter knife, her fingertips skating delicately along its serrated edge. She lifted the lid of the butter holder—(Aunt Rose refused to use anything but real butter)—and, measuring with the index finger of her left hand, cut off a chunk that was about half an inch wide.
Lifting the small blob of butter, she dropped it into the frying pan where it began sizzling immediately. Abbey put the butter knife in the left side of the sink—the dirty side—and felt for the roll of paper towels sitting beside it. She tore one off and cleaned the butter off her fingers—cooking as a visually impaired person often meant getting her hands dirty since her fingers were basically her eyes in most instances. Then she turned back to the bowl with the two eggs in it.
Abbey chose one of the eggs and, feeling for the rim of the bowl with her left hand, cracked the shell against it with her right. She was glad again for her color vision as she saw the vague yellow blob fall into the bright blue bowl. Many of their plates and dishes were brightly colored because she relied so much on color contrast. She cracked the second egg and reached back into the silverware drawer, finding a fork by the pricking of its tines against her fingertips.
She whipped the eggs into a froth and then poured them carefully into the pan where they began sizzling as well. Abbey placed the dirty bowl and fork into the sink—clutter was a blind person’s worst enemy, so everything had to go where it belonged immediately. Then she reached for the salt and pepper shakers which she knew were located on the countertop directly to the right of the stovetop.
After seasoning the eggs, she reached for the large round utensil holder which housed the spatulas, wooden spoons, whisks, and other cooking implements. Abbey’s vision was too bad to distinguish one from another but she was able to feel through the utensils until she found the one she wanted. Holding it firmly in her right hand, she used it to stir the eggs, making sure they were cooking evenly.
After placing the spatula on the counter beside her and mentally noting its place, she reached into the dish cabinet again and got out two bright blue dishes.
At that point, Aunt Rose came into the kitchen.
“Mmm—smells good!” she remarked. “Looks almost done, too.”
“Is it?” Abbey picked up the spatula and stirred the eggs again. “Would you mind making the toast? I didn’t get around to it yet.”
“Sure, honey.” Aunt Rose made them both toast and then put butter and a little bit of honey on both pieces—which Abbey didn’t find out until she took a bite after they had sat down together in the breakfast nook.
“Oh, Aunt Rose—you know I’m trying to watch my weight!” she exclaimed, putting down the toast. Some of her jeans had been getting tight lately, despite her best efforts. She had always been a curvy girl, but she didn’t want to get too curvy.
“Live a little,” her aunt advised her. “You’re a beautiful girl—you don’t need to lose weight to catch a husband.”
Abbey stifled a sigh. She wasn’t trying to watch her weight to “catch a husband”—she didn’t ever intend to trust any man again. Not after what had happened in high school—and then again just a year ago.
People said “not all men” but how could you be sure which ones were good and which ones were horrible? Even sighted girls couldn’t tell and Abbey, with her partial blindness, was at even more of a disadvantage. Her disability made her look like easy prey to a certain type of man—which she had found out the hard way, unfortunately.