Chapter 5

She'd made the soup particularly for Celeste. While for Zoey, taste and touch were simultaneous sensations - as natural together as pulse and breath - Celeste's tastes were more a matter of tolerance. For many years, Aunt Flory had found it challenging to find foods that satisfied her sensitive palate. Through trial and error, she had eventually assembled a reliable list of dishes that Celeste ate without complaint.

Flavor wasn't the only consideration for Celeste. Texture and temperature were more important than taste and, more often than not, the reason she refused to eat particular foods. Dishes that were too soft, such as mashed potatoes, made Celeste gag, while vegetables not cooked to a precise consistency were left untouched on her plate. Everything was served at room temperature. The only exception to these rules was vanilla ice cream. 'Not chocolate, or strawberry, or popsicles, for that matter. Only vanilla ice cream.'

"More, please," Celeste said, draining the last spoonful from the bottom of her soup bowl.

Aunt Flory beamed with satisfaction. When she was young, any pressure on Celeste to eat ended with broken dishes and tantrums. The different textures found in many soups, particularly the thick consistency of creamed soups, repulsed Celeste, and she rigidly refused them. Her early diet consisted of little more than steamed broccoli and carrots, shredded chicken, and vanilla ice cream. As a baby, she refused pureed baby foods and cereals of all types and survived on formula alone until her teeth appeared. At that point, Aunt Flory began the long and arduous trial-and-error process of identifying her preferences. It was immediately apparent that soup was not one of them, which distressed Aunt Flory since it was an easy way to provide a lot of nutrition in a small bowl, an attractive quality for someone on a limited budget. However, having learned the hard way that arguing with Celeste's taste buds was a losing proposition, she quickly gave up the battle.

It was only by accident that when Celeste was five, Zoey convinced her to try Aunt Flory's chicken soup, sparking an appetite for the dish that hadn't since wavered. Aunt Flory said it was a perfect example of how looking at problems from different angles could produce unexpected solutions.

It all started on a long-ago summer day. The triplets had spent the morning helping Mr. Nelson assemble a frog pond in his backyard. Mrs. Nelson loved the sound of frogs calling at night, so he dug it below the bedroom window where they would sing her to sleep. In preparation, he transported several items from the marsh to the new pond.

"What's that?" Zoey asked, looking at the wet plastic bag beside the hole.

"Weeds," Ruby answered importantly, peering into the bag.

"I didn't ask you," Zoey said with annoyance. 'She liked to hear Mr. Nelson's explanations of things.'

"Ruby's right," Mr. Nelson said, dumping the bag into the hole. "Water lilies are essentially pond weeds. They add nutrients to the water." Ruby made an "I-told-you-so" face at Zoey as they watched him pour a large barrel of water on top of them.

"Did you know frogs absorb water through their skin, so they don't need to drink?" Celeste said. It was more of a statement than a question.

"That's right," Mr. Nelson said. "That's why I collected this rainwater over the last few weeks. It's healthier for the frogs than well or tap water."

"Do you think they'll mind that you moved them away from the park?" Celeste asked, keeping her eyes on the horizon.

"I bet they won't even notice once I get everything set up," he answered. "I chose the thickest lilies and lined the pond with rocks and logs, just the way they like it. But you know what will make them feel at home the most?" He pulled a glass bottle out of the bottom of the bag that was half full of water, the surface covered in a black crust. "These bugs!" he announced. "Creepy, crawly bugs." He playfully threatened to pour the jar over Ruby and Zoey. The girls giggled and recoiled in feigned horror.

Celeste blinked. "He wouldn't really do it," she said in her usual factual manner. Not one for horseplay, she reached into the jar and removed a handful of bugs to deposit in the pond. They quickly swam away to hide among the weeds.

"Bugs, weeds, and water," Celeste announced. "Those are the ingredients for a frog pond."

"It's the perfect recipe," Mr. Nelson said. "Now, don't you go telling your aunt, or she'll steal it from me." Zoey and Ruby giggled again.

"Aunt Flory doesn't like frogs," Celeste said matter-of-factly. "She won't steal it."

Later, over a hurried lunch, Celeste told Aunt Flory all about the frog pond. The girls were anxious to get back to the Nelsons' yard so they could release the frogs they'd caught in the park. Mr. Nelson had them stored in a plastic bucket with a plank on top. They were afraid that if the frogs jumped hard enough, they might loosen the lid and escape. As usual, Celeste was dawdling with her food, refusing the peanut butter sandwich Aunt Flory was coaxing into her. Zoey and Ruby had slurped down most of their chicken noodle soup but knew Aunt Flory wouldn't excuse them until Celeste had finished eating too.

"It's rude to leave her sitting at the table by herself," Aunt Flory had scolded them on more than one occasion when they tried to leave. "It's common courtesy to wait for others to finish. Everyone." Zoey and Ruby were usually compliant, but sometimes their impatience got the better of them.

The day they built the frog pond was one of those occasions. It was also the day that the girls forever dubbed Aunt Flory's chicken soup "bugs, weeds, and water." Waiting for Celeste to take a bite of her sandwich, Zoey sighed into her bowl, absent-mindedly stirring her leftover soup. She let the spoon slide through her fingers, the taste of the metal tickling her tongue. When she looked up, she saw Celeste watching her.

"That soup looks like Mr. Nelson's pond," Celeste announced.

"What are you talking about?" Zoey asked. 'Why couldn't she just hurry up and eat'?

"The ingredients for a frog pond. Bugs, weeds, and water," Celeste explained, squinting into the bowl.

Zoey quickly seized the opportunity. "Show me," she encouraged her.

Celeste pointed over the brim of the bowl. "Right there." She pointed to specks of parsley floating on the surface, declaring them "bugs."

Smiling, Zoey stabbed at a noodle.

"Weeds," Zoey said, waiting for Celeste.

"The broth is water," Celeste added with satisfaction.

"Well, I guess we need a frog to eat it then. I'm already full. Do you want to try some?"

Celeste looked doubtful, but Zoey persisted. "Won't Mr. Nelson be surprised when we tell him we made our own frog pond at lunch?"

Celeste considered it for a moment, then miraculously dipped her spoon into the bowl and tried a taste. Aunt Flory, washing dishes at the sink, clamped a sudsy hand over her mouth.