Dead family scent

Ryn seized a rolodex full of notecards and spun it, the cards going flickity-flick past her vision until she snapped it to a stop. Plucking one out, she examined the ingredients and recalled the hearty beet aroma rolling from peasant homes at forest’s edge. The script was Russian and by an unfamiliar hand, the cardstock bearing faint impressions of a woman’s scent that was… half Naomi. “This.”
“Borscht? You’ve had borscht?”
“No. But I could smell it in their homes.”
Naomi gave her a worried look, nodded slowly, and examined the card. “I could make it.” She sucked on her lower lip, uncertain.
“This was your mother’s?”
“Uh. Yeah.” She breathed differently—as though air was catching too high in her lungs. “I haven’t had this since… well, not for a while.”


Chapter 12, Page 180