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“No way that would’ve happened,” Rhett said. “Not with you around to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

Elliot sent bowls of quartered onions and halved lemons around the island. I tried to push a lemon half into our chicken, but it lodged sideways. “My lemon’s too fat. It’s stuck.”

“We should cut it in half again,” Grant said. “Right, Caspian?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Cut it again, then stick the quarter pieces in there,” Caspian said.

Next, Caspian showed us how to tuck the wings beneath the chicken and tie the legs loosely with kitchen twine. We arranged chunks of carrot and celery in the bottom of the roasting pans, set the chickens on top, and poured broth around them.

“The vegetables keep the chicken out of the liquid and flavor the pan juices,” he said. “Breast side up. If the skin gets too dark before the meat’s done, tent it loosely with foil.”

“How loose is loose?” Rhett asked.

“Don’t overthink it,” Elliot said. “Just put the foil over the top and make a tent out of it.”

“A tent. Got it,” Rhett said.

Once all the chickens had been prepared, Caspian and Elliot loaded the heavy roasting pans into one of the commercial ovens, which had been preheated to four hundred twenty-five degrees.

“We’ll start checking them after an hour,” Caspian said. “The thermometer goes into the thickest part of the thigh without touching the bone. We’re looking for at least one hundred sixty-five degrees.”

“And then they rest for fifteen to twenty minutes before carving,” Elliot added. “If you cut into one immediately, all those juices you worked so hard to keep in the meat will end up on the cutting board.”

Caspian closed the oven doors. “Next, potatoes.”

At the other end of the kitchen, Elliot had set out Yukon Gold potatoes, onions, cheese, cream, and milk. She held up a mandolin slicer.

“This will give us even one-eighth-inch slices. It will also take off the end of your finger if you decide the safety guard is optional or refuse to put the heavier gloves on.” She held up a hand. “Ask me how I know.”

“I feel faint,” Grant said.

I looked up at him. He had gone a little pale. “Don’t think about it too closely,” I said.

“There’s a reason I’m not a doctor,” Grant said, taking hold of a pair of the heavy duty gloves.

“I’m not touching that thing.” Rhett put both hands behind his back.

“Me either,” Holly said.

“You may use a knife,” Elliot said. “But they won’t be as even.”

“I can live with that,” Rhett said.

Grant and I took turns on the mandolin, careful. “You need those fingers,” I said to him.

“Yeah, it would be harder to drum without them,” Grant said.

After we were done slicing, we buttered several large baking dishes. Elliot instructed us to overlap a third of the potato slices across the bottom, followed by onion, cheddar, and Parmesan.

At our station, Grant arranged the potatoes in precise rows on the bottom of the pan. I added the onion and cheddar on top.

“This makes me think of my dad,” Grant said.

“Did he cook a lot?” I asked.

“No, but he loves things in neat arrangements. You should hear his instructions for making a bed.”

I caught the hint of sadness in his voice. “It must have been hard, constantly being scrutinized.”