Mr. & Mrs. Pete by Susan Tepper

Mr. Pete is cleaning the knife with some kind of strong chemical. You don’t want your meat sliced with this stink on the blade. Yet how can you tell him so without aggravating him? Recently his wife died and Mr. Pete has been near semi-hysterical though it isn’t obvious. Not to the world at large. But you’ve known Mr. Pete since you were a little girl and he never before had a red face that looked combustible. You want to tell Mr. Pete that it’s OK to cry over Mrs. Pete. Her real name was Helga, but you always called them Mr. and Mrs. Pete. A leftover from childhood, and they liked it. When your dad was out of work that long time, Mrs. Pete would sneak an extra chop into the brown paper. Or Mr. Pete would sneak a few extra chicken pieces. Both thought they were sneaking from the other. You were little and could hardly reach past the counter but you saw, and your mother used to get teary when she’d open the meat and see the extras in there. Now Mrs. Pete is gone and he is alone with the knives and no one to sneak from.

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