“Still on the kosher kick, huh?” said Moe. “Ready to convert?”

“If the sausages are an indicator, maybe I should look into it.” She straightened her braid, peered out the kitchen window at her palm garden, offering a profile to Moe. He saw new wrinkles, loosening around the jaw.

Time did its thing, no matter what.

She said, “No, darling, as you well know, nothing organized is for me, including religion. I've decided the most tactful approach is to embrace everyone's deity but not too seriously-think of it as constructive idolatry.”

“Last time you called it theologic diversity.”

“That, too, Mosey.” She sniffed the pot. “Ah, the sausages. Talk about something to pray for.”

Maddy, ever at war with conventional wisdom, lost no time telling anyone who listened how deeply she adored L.A. (“Time to stick it to all those pasty-faced New Yorkers who bash us for a hobby”) As if proving her point, she'd set out, last year, to visit every ethnic enclave in the county, sampling food, dry goods, religious gewgaws, DVDs and CDs. Over a twenty-month period, she worked her way through Little Tokyo, Little Saigon, Little India, the Cuban enclave on Venice Boulevard in Culver City, Armenian outposts in East Hollywood and Glen-dale, the heart of the Orthodox Jewish community in Pico-Robertson. It was on Pico that queues of people trailing to the sidewalk led her to the kosher sausage place. Spontaneous discussion with a yeshiva student waiting for a veal brat comprised her Semitic education.

“Boys, did you know that kosher basically means legit? Not only does the animal need to be killed quickly-we're long past the vegan thing, right?-but a qualified rabbi needs to inspect the lungs. Which in these days of global warming and smutty air seems pretty darn appropriate to me.”

The religiously sanctioned wursts quickly became “those sausages you and your brother like so much, Mosey.” Even though Maddy generally devoured three at a sitting and neither brother had ever expressed an opinion, one way or the other. The sausages were tasty enough, but at this point in Moe's life, food wasn't important.

He got up, peered into the pot. A dozen links simmered.

“Planning a banquet?”

Maddy blinked. “Just in case you're hungry. You do look a bit thin. Are you eating right, darling?”

“I've actually gained a couple of pounds and I'm fine.”

“All muscle, I'm sure. What's your approach? Three squares, or fast all day and feast at night-like the Muslims do on Ramadan.”

“There's no pattern, Mom. I try to be moderate.”

Maddy beamed up at him. “My gorgeous husky little one. So. Tell me about your life.”

“Not much to tell. I'm working.”

“Like a demon, I'm sure.”

“Just doing the job, Mom.”

“Mosey,” she said. “You'd never be satisfied with just doing anything. From first grade on, you were a little waterwheel, churning away. I've never told you about the time your preschool teacher called me in… that church school, the one I sent you to because they gave scholarships, what was the teacher's name… Mrs… whatever. Anyway, the class had just learned about the Israelites slaving away in Egypt and Mrs… whatever, thought you looked confused so she talked to you afterward and asked you if you were okay and you gave her the gravest look and said, ‘ I could be a good slave. I like to work hard.’”

Maddy touched his cheek again. “So adorably earnest. Mrs… Southwick, that's it… Helen Southwick was concerned that you were ‘overly mature.’ Whatever the heck that means.”

Moe had heard the story a hundred times, minimum. He smiled.

Maddy said, “Tell me about your life.”

♦

They sat at the table where Moe finished his Evian and Maddy sipped from an oversized mug of Postum gooped with honey.

“Everything's really routine, Mom.”

“What cases are you working on?”

“Nothing special.”

“Hush-hush confidential?” said Maddy. “Even for close blood relatives?”

“Naw, just nothing special.”

“Oh, well, I suppose it all boils down to one person killing another. Do you think you'll stick with Homicide?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“People change, darling. People yearn for change.”

“I'm fine.”

Several moments passed. Maddy looked at her watch. Generally, time meant nothing to her.

Moe said, “Got something scheduled?”

“I just want to make sure those sausages don't get too puckery.”

Springing up, she returned to the stove. “A few more minutes. Another Evian, darling?”

Before Moe could answer, the thud of a door closing echoed from the front of the manse.

Footsteps grew louder. No surprise on Mom's face. She forked a sausage. Hummed.

Before Moe could speak, Aaron was in the kitchen.

Maddy's older son received the same kisses, hugs, and praise she'd bestowed on Moe.

Unlike Moe, Aaron turned the love-fest into a duet.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, Mom. Hair's great that way, you should keep it long, you've got the mien for that-cool necklace, look at that stone. Arizona turquoise, right? Great specimen, looks like a… cat in the natural grain.”

“Exactly. What an eye.”

“Hopi?”

“Tewa.”

“Outstanding.” Aaron peered into the pot. “Mosaic wursts, let's hear it for cultural diversity. Any Cajun in there?” “Two,” said Maddy. “Just like you asked for.” Moe left the kitchen.

Aaron caught up with him at the fountain. “C'mon, you can't be that touchy.”

Moe race-walked to his car.

Aaron kept pace. “You're that much of a diva that you're willing to hurt her because you're feeling all pissy? After all she's been through?”

“What's she been through?”

“Life.” Aaron touched Moe's sleeve. Moe grabbed his brother's hand and flung it off, hard enough to throw Aaron off balance. Aaron stumbled back, caught himself. Brushed nonexistent dirt off his gray silk trousers. “Fine, be an asshole.”

“I learned from the best.”

“You learned nothing from me, that's your problem.”

Moe felt his face turn to oak. “Didn't. Know. I. Had. A. Problem.”

Aaron mimed a bell-press. “Mr. Reed? FedEx delivery. Carton full of insight being delivered to your door.”

Moe groped for his car key.

“You are an utter and complete baby,” said Aaron. “Talk about arrested development and dogmatic dysfunctional syndrome.”

“Now you're a shrink?”

“Don't have to be to know your rigidity is getting in the way of the job. I called you four times today, what else could I-”

“So you collude with Mom?”

“I didn't collude, I-”

“Boys!”

Both men swiveled to see Maddy, standing in the doorway, holding two plates heaped with sausage.

“Dinner's served! Come and get it!”

“Moe's not hungry,” said Aaron. “I'll stay.”

Moe muttered, “Oh, sure, and make me the bad guy-fuck off. One second, Mom, I just had to get something from the car.”

“Look, let's forget the personal shit. I'm here because of the job. As in, I might have a lead for you.”

Maddy called out, “Hurry, boys! I bought ice cream for dessert.”

“What kind of lead?” said Moe.

“Later,” said Aaron. “And for the record, I didn't collude. Mom called me and suggested we all get together soon. It made her happy to think about. She said it's been two months since she's seen you, so I figured-”

“When's the last time you were here?”

Aaron didn't answer.

“Need a calendar?” said Moe.

“Boys?” Maddy walked toward them, balancing the plates with aplomb. All those hard-times waitress shifts at Du-par's not wasted.

“The food's getting cold, boys. The rabbis wouldn't approve.”

Dinner was brief, but seemed long. Maddy faked ebullience-or maybe she really was that self-centered-doling out affection to each son with obsessive equality.

As if love, like any other medicine, could be calibrated in doses.