Rhubarb Pie?!

“Hm. What you need, what you need?” Mama Rizzo wondered, pacing up and down. “Tony, Cara, come here please?”
The two immediately appeared in the doorway. “Si, Mama?” they chorused.
“Ah! Tony, start slicing veggies for soup; Cara, make a pie crust, & tell Franco to go get some stalks. I’ll be in to help you in a minute.”
They nodded and obediently scurried away.
“What are they doing?” I asked, trying not to moan.
“Well, what we do whenever somebody sick, we make chicken soup.”
“But pie crust?”
“Oh! The other thing we make is rhubarb pie.”
Rhubarb pie?!
“Oh, don’t look confused, though it sound, eh, strange. There something in rhubarb that make a person feel better. I think you not feeling well because you feel some shame. Would I be right in guessing?”
I hated to admit it, but she was right. I couldn’t help but feel I’d let a lot of people down in these last few days. I nodded to show she was right.
“Ah! Well, chicken soup to make you strong. And nothing chases shame quite like rhubarb pie!”

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