The Recipe Box

by Sandra Lee

  “I have to go back to LA. Emma will be staying with her grandmother.” Hopefully, that would work out.

  “Grace, can you help us over here for a minute?” Ken called out, motioning her to the back. “The coffeemaker seems to be—stuck.” He pulled her into the kitchenette. “Missed opportunity, Grace.” Ken wagged his finger at her scoldingly.

  “Ken,” she whispered. “I am not interested in dating. I can’t even think about it.”

  “Who said anything about dating? How about tutoring? You need this guy. Tim says he’s great with kids. He’s supposed to be an even better teacher than carpenter. Or fireman. And look at this guy. How hard would it be to look at him for an hour?”

  “OK, OK, I’ll meet with him.” For some reason, Grace found herself smoothing her hair before she went back over to the couch. Not that this would be a date.

  For the non-date the next day, Grace suggested the coffee shop a couple of blocks away, overlooking the river. She couldn’t help but notice that even before they sat down, several kids came over and said hi to “Mr. Lund.” They seemed to like him as well as respect him. That was a good sign.

  “You didn’t grow up here, did you?” Grace asked. “I’d remember you from high school.”

  “No, we’re from Sister Bay; my family is all over Door County.”

  “It’s beautiful there,” Grace said. She soon learned that Mike had ended up in New London after the University of Illinois, where he played football. Now he coached the middle school team in addition to teaching English, and he was a volunteer fireman. He wasn’t married, had had one broken long engagement with his college sweetheart. Grace didn’t probe—after all, this was a non-date, and heaven knows she had enough issues of her own to deal with. Instead, they talked about Emma. Mike was easy to talk with, and she had to admit he had a great smile.

  “Let’s start with what she’s interested in. What books did her class read this year?” Mike asked.

  “Um… I’m not sure.” Grace squirmed. This was pathetic. What kind of mother was she? She could not recall a single book that had been assigned reading for Emma’s class. Between work and Leeza, she’d been too busy and preoccupied to be able to monitor Emma’s homework that closely. “The thing is, I know it’s important for her to finish the year, but I’m so worried about what will happen if she does go back.” She found herself opening up about Emma’s accident, and her bad-influence friends. And then, to her astonishment, Grace found herself crying, right in the middle of the café. She was crying for Emma, for Leeza, for herself—she’d had to hold it together for so long, and now the dam had a crack. A gap, actually.

  Mike quickly gathered their jackets and walked her outside. “The psychologists say, don’t make any major decisions when you’re under stress,” he said. “The death of a good friend is extremely stressful. Emma will be fine here, with your mother. You go back, do what you have to do, and then come back for her. I organized a high school tutoring squad. I’ve found kids respond better to other kids. She’ll enjoy them; that makes a big difference. And she’ll make new friends.”

  That all sounded promising to Grace. She’d certainly tried everything else. They were at the end of the plank in LA. This had to work. She nodded as she blew her nose. She didn’t want to think about how she must look—no makeup, wild hair, red eyes, and now a nose to match. Thank God this was a non-date.

  Talking to Lorraine, after Mike had dropped her off, was not so easy. Grace hadn’t wanted to admit to her mother how badly things were going in LA. But now she had no choice. “She has some issues involving school,” Grace began tentatively. She told her mother about the suspension, about the exams coming up, and, finally, about the older kids Emma was hanging around with. Telling her about the accident was especially hard. Every sentence made her feel like she’d failed as a mother. “So, can you take her? Just for two weeks?” They were sitting in the kitchen, at the same table that always brought back memories Grace would rather forget.

  Lorraine sighed. “Of course I will. She’s my granddaughter.”

  Grace expected her mother to be judgmental, but instead, Lorraine smiled. “Do you know who she reminds me of?”

  “Who?”

  “Me. She reminds me of me. And of you. We’re alike, whether we like it or not, Grace, and whether or not you want to admit it to yourself. We’re mother, daughter, and granddaughter. We’re strong women, all of us. Sometimes that gets us into trouble. But that’s also why we straighten ourselves out in the end. Why we can handle so much.” She offered Grace a piece of pie and, in a natural reflex, Grace took it and began taking bites. Her mother’s strawberry pie, once a rite of spring in their house. These were the same dishes she’d eaten off of while she was growing up, the turquoise Fiestaware that was Lorraine’s pride, displayed on a wooden rack flanking the door. Grace recognized this very plate, an old friend with a chip on the underside of the rim. She even remembered when she had caused the chip, accidentally banging the plate on the rim of the sink, and the chagrin she’d felt, because she knew her mother was so proud of this set, a rare garage sale find. She could remember how the chip had felt, and how she’d tried but failed to glue the piece back on again. Now the chip was smooth, like those rocks on the shore of Lake Michigan, once sharp, but softened over time. She could practically see the card for strawberry pie in her mind’s eye. She couldn’t help wondering, where was the recipe box now?

  “It will be good for us to spend some time together,” Lorraine said.

  Grace wished she could believe what her mother was saying, but she wasn’t so sure, so instead she focused on the practicalities. “I’ve arranged for a tutor.” Grace told Lorraine about Mike. Amazingly, Lorraine already knew him.

  “Mike’s a teacher? He fixed the porch steps last summer. And he put in a birdhouse. Let me show you.” She walked Grace outside. The birdhouse was adorable, a little turquoise and yellow construction perched on the outside of one of the porch columns. “There are finches nesting in it already,” Lorraine said. “Emma will like that.”

  “Stay here? You’ve got to be kidding. I’m going back to LA with you,” Emma stated, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

  “Emma, please,” said Grace. “I’ll be back in two weeks.”

  “I am not staying in this place.”

  “It’s all arranged. You can take your exams here.”

  “I’ll flunk.”

  STRAWBERRY PIE

  FOR THE CRUST:

  2½ cups flour

  2 tablespoons sugar

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  1 cup cold butter

  6 to 8 tablespoons ice water

  FOR THE FILLING:

  3 tablespoons flour

  3 teaspoons cornstarch

  ½ cup sugar

  4 egg yolks

  1½ cups milk

  2 teaspoons vanilla

  2 quarts small strawberries

  Sugar, optional

  1 pint strawberry jam, optional

  Powdered sugar, optional

  FOR THE CRUST: Whisk together the flour, sugar, and salt. Cut in the butter with a pastry cutter or two knives until it is the size of small peas in the flour. Add the ice water a tablespoon at a time until the dough just holds together. Turn it out onto a board and separate it into 2 pieces. Form each piece into a disk and cover with plastic wrap. Put one in the refrigerator for a half hour; put the other into the freezer for another use.

  When ready to bake, preheat the oven to 450°F. Remove the crust from the refrigerator and put it onto a well-floured board. Roll it out about 2 inches larger than a 9-inch pie pan. Put the crust into the pan, fold over the excess, and crimp the edge. Prick some holes with a fork in the bottom of the crust. Line the crust with foil and fill with beans. Bake in the oven for 15 minutes. Remove the beans and bake for another 5 minutes or until the crust is golden brown. Cool.

  FOR THE FILLING: Whisk together flour and cornstarch. In a medium bowl, whisk together sugar and egg yolks until th
e mixture has lightened. Whisk in the flour mixture, working out any lumps. In a medium pan, heat the milk until hot but not boiling. Slowly whisk the milk into the egg mixture. Pour the egg mixture into the pan and return to the heat. Bring to a simmer, stirring constantly. Let it simmer for at least one minute or until thickened. Turn off heat and stir in the vanilla. Pour through a sieve into a clean bowl. Put plastic wrap or wax paper directly on the surface, let cool a bit, and refrigerate.

  TO MAKE THE PIE: Spread the filling evenly into the pie shell. Taste your strawberries and gently stir in a little sugar if they are not sweet enough. Mound the berries on top of the filling. You can serve this immediately as is.

  You can make a glaze by warming the strawberry jam and straining it through a sieve. Gently brush over the strawberries. Or you can just sprinkle with a little powdered sugar.

  NOTE: This pie could also be made with raspberries, blueberries, or blackberries. Or any mix of the berries.

  “No you won’t. There’s a great tutor here. You’ll have a lot of help.”

  “What about Halo? Halo needs me!”

  “Halo is fine, he’s home with Roberto, you know he loves going on vacation.”

  “Dad says I should stay with him,” Emma countered defiantly. “He’d let me bring Halo.”

  Brian had visitation rights, but Grace did not want to give him any more leeway with Emma. She knew that he was already unhappy about the situation in LA, and she did not want to add any more fuel to the fire. The last thing Grace needed right now was for Brian to think she didn’t have things with Emma under control. She had to stand firm. “Emma, do you understand that this is your last chance? If you don’t pass those exams, you’re repeating the year. You won’t graduate middle school with the rest of your class.”

  Emma looked around the kitchen in a panic, then stomped over to the counter, grabbed a bag of chips, and started stuffing them into her mouth.

  “And you know what? There’s a paid summer internship available at the Book Nook. Tim says he needs help with all the kids who come in over the summer. “

  Did Grace detect a flicker of interest at the word “paid”?

  Lorraine walked over and put her arm around Emma. “Once you’re settled in, we can bring Halo. It will be wonderful to have you,” she said. “I’ve been lonely, you know. I don’t get much chance to be with my granddaughter.”

  Emma said nothing.

  “I know you love birds… there are so many beautiful wild birds here in New London, and…”

  “They’re not Halo.” Emma stomped back to the table, snatched up her iPad, and stormed out. “I’ve got to Skype my friends and tell them I’m being held prisoner.”

  Lorraine and Grace sighed.

  Maybe Halo would help. Ken was commuting back and forth, finding an increasing number of “important” design decisions for the Book Nook that translated to an increasing number of reasons to be with Tim. He could bring Halo on his next trip. But that was just a temporary Band-Aid. Grace could not imagine how she was going to keep things together. Once again, she was leaving her daughter, just when she needed her, but she had to get back to LA and straighten out her own life, her job. Grace was a single mother now, so she couldn’t afford to lose her job. If she didn’t work for Ken, she’d probably have been fired by now. Grace knew that her job skills were tenuous. Being a stay-at-home mom was the toughest job in the world, but all those years devoted to raising Emma did not translate in a tough job market. Working with Ken had given her a foundation, and he’d trained her well, but Grace knew this was a transition period. She had to think about the future. She needed to protect her current job and also think about her next steps. Ken could only cover for her for so long, and she would never want to let him down.

  Then there was the school issue. Grace had to meet with Emma’s school and tell them her daughter was at risk if she came back. She had to convince them to let Emma take her exams in New London, and she had to make sure Emma passed.

  “Malibu is the cure-all for everything,” Ken announced as he waved a bunch of fresh mint at Grace. “And what Malibu can’t cure, my Mojito will. The secret is to bruise the mint leaves.”

  Grace was enjoying the sunset. After the tough talk with the vice principal, who finally agreed to let Emma take her exams in Wisconsin “in exchange for my left arm,” as Grace told Ken, plus a full schedule of work during the top-rated Werewolf Week, Grace was exhausted. Ken hadn’t had to argue to get her to agree to stay at his house above Zuma Beach for the weekend. He drove them up the beautiful Pacific Coast Highway overlooking the surf, in his 1970 280 Mercedes SL convertible with Halo perched in the back in his “Wingabago” acrylic car cage. As he drove, Ken chewed her ear off about Tim and the Book Nook. She couldn’t remember Ken ever being so excited about someone. It sounded like Ken wasn’t just helping Tim with a few display tips; they were really starting to become close. From the moment she spotted Ken’s house, an ultra-white, modernist wood structure jutting out from the top of a moss-covered cliff above the beach like the prow of a ship, Grace felt the tension start to drain away. Spring in LA could be foggy along the coast, but this evening was beautiful.

  The velvety ocean air settled over Grace and Ken as they hauled the grocery bags through the front door and walked straight toward an unbelievable view of the Pacific. Deep blue-gray water and sky as far as the eye could see. The view was nothing less than breathtaking.

  The house itself had every modern convenience, but Ken preferred overhead fans to air-conditioning. “The ocean is nature’s AC, baby,” he liked to say. The décor was all Ken. It looked simple, but there was a backstory to every piece. No treasure escaped him. There was a wall of framed, autographed black-and-white movie star photos from the fifties and sixties that Ken had unearthed in an album he got for a song. Ken liked to say that Clark Gable, Marilyn Monroe, and Elizabeth Taylor were his “house guests in residence.” And he had scored big-time with the twig table in the living room. It looked like something that might have been thrown out in a yard sale, but Ken had immediately recognized it for what it was: a masterpiece of Adirondack crafts, which had once graced Topridge, one of the legendary camps in upstate New York in the early 1900s.

  They unpacked the fresh vegetables that they’d picked up at Gelson’s and fell into their well-practiced teamwork, slicing the vegetables and throwing them onto the patio grill. Grace manned the tongs, but she could barely focus on the food, the sunset tonight was so spectacular. Within minutes, Ken arranged the vegetables over a bed of greens on a board, and, with a drizzle of dressing, a sprinkling of crumbled organic goat cheese, and a handful of pine nuts, dinner was ready. Ken could always make the simplest setting look photo shoot–ready. “This salad is guaranteed to pull you out of that pity party. It’s so fresh and good for you, you can eat it without any guilt whatsoever.” “Good thing,” Grace thought—she had enough guilt already.

  “So—what do you hear from that hunk, Mike the tutor?”

  “So far, so good. Emma seems to like him. She did the study group three times this week. That’s a record.” Grace sipped her Mojito as the sun dipped below the surface of the ocean, just as a large school of dolphins emerged on their travels to Santa Catalina, an island off the Southern California coast.

  “That’s it?”

  “What did you expect? He’s the tutor.”

  “Well, he could be more. Tim says he’s a really nice guy.”

  “Just what I need. A virtual romance, to go with my virtual daughter and, unfortunately, nonvirtual ex-husband.”

  “And let’s not forget the virtual ex-boyfriend with the very real yacht. Just keeping score! Besides, I’m getting reports from Tim that Mike seems to enjoy your talks.”

  Ken was bringing up Tim quite a lot in conversation, “Ah, Tim. Things seem to be heating up between you two.”

  “As much as things can heat up across half of the continent.” Ken made a face. “Leave it to me to move across the country and find love on
my childhood doorstep. Go figure.”

  “Not that I’m one to give relationship advice,” Grace said, “but Tim seems like a keeper.”

  MALIBU MOJITO

  Makes one drink

  4 mint leaves, plus one for garnish

  2 chunks fresh pineapple, plus a spear for garnish

  2 lime wedges, plus more for garnish

  1 teaspoon sugar, or more to taste

  2 ounces white rum, such as Captain Morgan Silver

  Club soda

  Put the 4 mint leaves, pineapple chunks, 2 lime wedges, and sugar into the bottom of a bar glass. Muddle everything using a muddler or a wooden spoon. Add rum and fill with ice. Cover and shake 10 to 12 times. Pour into a clean tall glass. Top with a splash of club soda and garnish with a lime wedge, pineapple spear, and mint leaf.

  NOTE:

  • For a darker flavor, substitute the Captain Morgan Silver with Captain Morgan Original Spice Rum.

  • Add a splash of Ciroc Coconut Vodka along with the club soda to give the mojito a little something-something.

  Ken nodded and his usual curtain of sarcasm dropped. “You know, this is the first time I’ve felt this way about anybody, Grace. At first I was just helping him out a little with the store, but the more we’ve talked, I’ve really fallen for him. We each fill in what the other doesn’t have. He’s about words, I’m about visuals; he’s academic, I’m artistic. With Tim, I don’t have to be somebody I’m not. So I’m learning how to have a relationship. I don’t want to screw that up with a bunch of Hollywood crap. I want to keep it real. So, actually, I was thinking of going back for a few days next weekend myself. I’m thinking of becoming Tim’s business partner; he needs some help.”

  It didn’t surprise Grace at all that Ken would offer to help Tim, as he’d done for her, but she was delighted to hear there might be more. Ken deserved a nice guy in his life.