Once the table was clear, I returned to the fridge. Izzy stood by, holding a Hefty bag open with two hands.
The first thing I pulled out was a foil-wrapped, thick, semi-gelatinous brown blob. “Bad.” I dropped it in the bag.
Izzy looked in the bag. “Bad.”
Next I pulled out a saucer that had a shimmery slab of what might have originally been a meat but was now covered with a mossy green fuzz. “Bad.”
“Bad,” Izzy repeated.
I jumped to the vegetable bin, as it was a smaller space and would sooner give me a sense of accomplishment. There were several loose onions, half the skin gone, with divots of black and crumbs and dirt embedded in the exposed flesh.
“Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.”
“Badbadbadbadbad,” Izzy said.
With my thumb and forefinger I removed three different bags of half-deteriorated mushy lettuce. “Bad. Bad. Bad.”
“Baaaaad,” Izzy brayed.
The oranges were as soft as Silly Putty. The apples had wrinkled skin. And there was a bagged, flowering, multidimensional green entity that could not be identified.
When nothing remained in the bin, I returned to the shelves. I pulled out an oily glass jar that appeared to have detached gray toes floating in murky brownish water.
“What is that?” Izzy asked.
“If we don’t know what it is, it’s bad.” I handed the jar to Izzy so she could examine it further.
“It looks like thumbs.”
“Ah! I thought it looked like big toes. But I think you’re right.”
“Do you think the witch put the thumbs here?”
“No.”
“I think the witch put it here.” Izzy placed the jar in the bag.
“Bad.” An opened chocolate bar that was chalky white.
“Bad.” A brick of cheddar cheese that was green except for the corner farthest from the gaping-open clear wrap.
“Bad.” Carrots （they should have been in the vegetable bin） that were as loose and droopy as overcooked spaghetti noodles.
“Good.” I held up a jar of Grey Poupon and handed it to Izzy.
“HURRAH!” Izzy put down the Hefty bag and ran the mustard to the table.
“Bad.” Empty orange juice carton.
“Bad.” Unopened Knudsen yogurt that had expired three months ago.
“Bad.” A half-eaten taco half wrapped in tinfoil, with white cauliflower-looking mold erupting in spots.
“Good.” I held up a jar of maraschino cherries.
“What is it?”
“Maraschino cherries. They’re really sweet.”
“Can I taste one?”
“Yes.” I opened the jar and pulled one out. “You know, maybe the witch put the cherries in the fridge. Maybe she’s a good witch.”
“Are there good witches?”
“Yes.” I placed the cherry in Izzy’s open mouth. She chewed thoughtfully.
“I like the cherry.”
“It’s definitely a good witch food. Good witches eat lots of maraschino cherries.”
“How do you know?”
“I read about it in a book.”
“Can I have one more?”
“Last one.” I dropped another cherry in her mouth and then stuck the jar on the table.
Back at the fridge, I pulled out three deli containers of wet mush in colors varying in shade from green to brown. The Eddie’s price stickers on top were smeared out by oil and time. “Bad, bad, bad.”
Izzy opened one container and sniffed. She jerked her head back and then sniffed again.
“Close that,” I said. “The stink is filling the kitchen.” It was the smell of fishy garbage in summer, magnified.
Izzy sniffed once more, her eyes crinkled up as if in pain. “Mary Jane! It’s so bad, I CAN’T STOP!”
I understood the urge. The twins and I often dared each other to smell their mother’s limburger cheese, which was usually stocked in their fridge. Still, I took the container from Izzy, snapped the lid shut, and dropped the container in the Hefty bag.
It wasn’t long before the Hefty bag was nearly full and the refrigerator was nearly empty.
I had bought cleaning supplies and gloves earlier in the week. My mother wore gloves to protect her manicure. I didn’t have a manicure, and neither did Izzy, but it seemed like fun to wear gloves anyway. We scrubbed the cleared shelves and drawer until the inside of the refrigerator looked almost brand-new. And then we stood back, the door open, and stared in admiration.
Mrs. Cone and Sheba walked into the kitchen. Sheba was wearing a short blond wig and giant sunglasses. Her body looked both slim and curvy in a tight floral jumpsuit. I’d never seen anyone dressed like that in Baltimore. If she was trying to go out unnoticed, she was failing.