The Recipe Box

by Sandra Lee

  “Buy one, get one free?” suggested Grace.

  Just then, a woman pushing a stroller came up to the porch. “Wow,” she said, smiling. “I have to tell you how good this smells. What on earth are you cooking in there?”

  “You must mean these cinnamon buns,” Grace said. She offered the plate heaped with the kanebullar. “Please take one.”

  After a single bite, the woman was motioning the other young mothers from the park to come over. Within minutes, several women were milling around on the front porch, cups of coffee in hand, eating cinnamon buns, and five children’s books had been sold.

  Grace was busy helping out at the cash register when she noticed a red fire department car pull up outside. Mike got a warm welcome from the ladies on the front porch.

  “Hey, these are great,” Mike said, demolishing a cinnamon bun. “Can I order some for the firehouse?”

  “Sorry, we don’t have a real bakery,” Grace apologized. “These are just some treats my mom whipped up.”

  “Come back for our Fourth of July Parade Party,” Ken said. “We’re having red, white, and blue cupcakes, and bring some of those cute firemen with you.”

  “Ooh, we’ll come back then for sure,” said one of the young moms.

  Mike blushed, but tried to hide it with a laugh.

  “We’re having a Fourth of July Parade Party?” Grace asked.

  “We are,” Ken announced, firmly. “A Parade Party,” he announced, using his best Music Man voice. “Come one, come all!” He turned to Tim and stage-whispered, “I smell the sweet smell of revenue.”

  “Cupcakes, firemen, and a Parade Party—a way to have fun and hopefully bring in the customers.”

  “Well then, if it’s for the bookstore, I’m sure I could get a few of the guys to come,” Mike said and with that, the Book Nook Cupcake Brigade was born.

  The two weeks running up to the Fourth were an avalanche of sugar, butter, flour, red and blue food coloring, and sign-making. Grace’s hands and fingers were permanently stained purple. Lorraine commandeered every refrigerator, oven, and freezer in the neighborhood to store ingredients and ramp up “the production line,” as she called it. Emma and Ken hit the computer and sourced tiny American flags on toothpick poles.

  Grace was in the middle of frosting yet another batch of cupcakes when Mike knocked. Lorraine and Emma were down the street in a neighbor’s kitchen, so Grace quickly wiped her hands and opened the door. “Hi, Mike! What’s up?” Mike was staring at her.

  “Looks like you’re blue today?” he said.

  Grace didn’t get the joke and shook her head. “What? No. I’m doing great.”

  Mike laughed. “You’ve got frosting just here,” and he brushed a bit of blue frosting from her cheek and licked his finger. The gesture was playful, yet so intimate that Grace blushed and stepped back. Mike was cute and awfully nice, but he was also Emma’s tutor, so Grace didn’t want to blur any lines. Grace touched her cheek where his finger had been and quickly wiped at the frosting. “Oh, I guess I’m a bit of a mess.”

  They were in the homestretch leading up to Emma’s final exams, so Mike had been over more often, making sure everything was going smoothly with Emma’s studies. “Emma’s not here just now,” Grace explained.

  “Actually, I wanted to show you something, Grace.” He gestured for her to come outside while he returned to his van. He unloaded some red-white-and-blue bunting onto the porch, then he went back and pulled a folder out of the glove compartment.

  “Emma’s English paper.” He handed it to Grace with a very serious look on his face.

  Oh, no. She steeled herself.

  “It’s amazing. She put an incredible amount of research into this. It’s one of the best I’ve seen. It shows what she can do when she applies herself.” The paper was marked A+.

  That’s my girl! “I knew it! I knew she could do it.” Grace was so happy she hugged Mike. “What’s the topic?”

  “The Odyssey. She wrote a poem about the Sirens. It’s very impressive. Almost like she was there.”

  “The Odyssey.”

  “Yes, that’s the book we were studying.”

  “She had a—friend of mine—Skyping her from Greece.”

  Mike nodded. “Bringing the story to life, that always makes a difference.”

  Grace decided not to elaborate further on her friend in the Med. Emma had done well, and that was what counted. Maybe sometimes the end justified the means.

  The day they got the news Emma had passed her finals, Mike arrived with champagne and sparkling cider. They called Brian on speakerphone to share the good news, and he let out a big whoop. “Hey, Emma—congrats. You’re a high-schooler now!”

  “This is going to be the best time of your life.” Grace smiled, and she meant it. High school had been, after all, the beginning of everything for her.

  Emma was, for the first time in months, her old happy self. “I can’t believe I got a B-plus in English! I thought I was going to flunk!”

  Mike nodded. “It was the essay on The Odyssey. You’re a very good writer when you put your mind to it, Emma.”

  Emma shot her mother a look. “Maybe I was inspired.”

  Well, maybe she wasn’t completely back to her old self. Maybe she never would be. And maybe that was the point. A lot of things were different now. It was as if Leeza’s death had triggered a chain reaction.

  Tutoring was done for the summer, but Mike seemed to be around more often. He’d help with a carpentry job, sit on the porch and take a break, or go for a stroll through the park at the end of the day. Once after they were closing up the Book Nook, Mike took Grace for pizza. She started to look forward to his visits. But I’m not interested in dating, she told herself. Life was complicated enough.

  It was ironic, Grace thought, that even Claire had heard what they were doing to save the Book Nook, and arrived one afternoon with a carful of window boxes containing red and white geraniums. “Adam is in Tim’s reading group,” Claire said as Grace helped her unload the car. Grace remembered Adam, Leeza’s nephew. He was about Emma’s age. “We love the Book Nook!” In high school Claire and her gang of popular girlfriends had never even talked to Grace. Well, being Leeza’s sister-in-law must have rubbed off, Grace thought, because, she had to admit, Claire was almost a different person. Or maybe Grace herself was. So much had changed in such a short time. It was unrealistic, Grace knew all too well, to expect miracles, but small steps were a beginning. A special grocery store run was in order.

  “I have a really good recipe for German chocolate cupcakes,” she said, bursting in on a frosting assembly line in Lorraine’s kitchen carrying an armful of grocery bags. “Do you think a state fair award-winning recipe might bring in a few extra customers?”

  And just like that three generations of Holm women were baking together. But there was one small problem. It had been so long since Grace had worked with this recipe, she found it hard to get the measurements exactly right when baking in such quantity. She’d overestimated, and now there was enough frosting to feed a small army. What would they do with it all?

  Whack! A glob of frosting splattered onto Grace’s shoulder. Another flew across the table and landed in Emma’s hair. Grace and Emma stared at each other in disbelief. Lorraine, stiff-upper-lip, straight-laced Lorraine was starting a frosting fight! Suddenly, in soft focus, like an old, faded family film, it all came back to Grace—the crazy food fights she, her mother, and her father had had when she was a little girl, right here in this kitchen. Her dad had always been the instigator, and it had become a bit of a tradition. But when he’d died, a light had gone out in the house, and that had ended, along with many other things. Until now. Grace scooped up a wad of frosting and lobbed it at Lorraine. Emma whipped a big spoonful that hit Grace smack in the face. They were laughing hysterically.

  “God Bless America!” squawked Halo, not to be left out of the action.

  “Did somebody call the fire department?” Mike walked into the k
itchen, slipping on sugar and frosting. “Good grief, ladies!” He ducked as a barrage of frosting flew in his direction. “Truce! Truce!” He picked up a white dish towel and waved it. “I surrender!”

  Grace cringed. She’d forgotten—Mike had asked her to dinner and a jazz concert at the high school tonight, and here she was, coated in icing. Well, there was no time for the Miss America routine. Five minutes later, she’d run herself through the shower as if it were a car wash, thrown on a pair of heels with black skinny jeans, and dashed back down the stairs, hair wet, but ready. She didn’t mind not spending too much time on herself—after all, this wasn’t exactly a date. It was just Mike.

  “Your carriage awaits.” He chivalrously opened the door—the door of the bright red, twenty-eight-foot-long fire engine. Grace looked back at the house. Both Emma and her mother were peering through the edge of the curtains.

  “Um—where’s the fire?”

  Mike turned to her and fluttered his hand over his heart. “Heart’s on fire.”

  Grace laughed and climbed up into the cab of the fire engine. There was no graceful way to do this, she realized, especially in heels. No wonder firemen wore those boots. She had just settled somewhat awkwardly into the seat when a ball of black-and-white fur leapt toward her from the floor—a Dalmatian puppy, complete with wet nose and wagging tail.

  “Down, boy.” Mike grabbed the puppy by its collar and settled it into his lap. “This is Spotty,” he said, stroking him. “His mom had puppies at the firehouse. I sort of inherited him. I thought it was better to leave him in the truck, since we don’t know if he’s bird-proofed yet.”

  “Good call. Halo is a real prima donna.” Spotty’s pink tongue flicked in her direction. “This is the world’s cutest puppy.” She reached out and stroked his soft fur.

  “He’s a good guy. We can leave him at the firehouse after dinner while we go to the show. He can visit his mom tonight.”

  People on the block were staring as the huge fire truck lumbered away from the curb. They probably thought Lorraine’s house had been on fire. “You know, I thought this was going to be kind of a low-key evening,” said Grace.

  “What do you mean? This is low-key. I’m not turning on the siren.”

  Sitting there with a squirming puppy on her lap, Grace couldn’t help but smile. She could see why kids liked Mike. Being around him was easy and fun. It had been a long time, Grace thought, since things were easy and fun. Ever since her marriage had fallen apart, she’d taken everything so seriously. For the past two years, she’d felt like she had to prove herself worthy of raising Emma on her own every single day. Like every day was a test for the two of them, one that she rarely felt she passed. No wonder Emma longed to escape. Did it really take a big red fire engine driving into her life to see this?

  Mike drove past the football field, and a bunch of kids waved and called out, “Hi, Coach!” “Hey, Coach!” “Where’s the fire, Coach!”

  He waved and rang the bell. “Why don’t you ring it?” he asked Grace.

  Grace hesitated. Was a civilian allowed to ring the bell?

  “You know,” Mike said, “there’s a story to these fire truck bells. The purpose of the siren was to clear the way and let people know the truck was on its way to an emergency. The bell was rung on the way back, to let the men in the firehouse know the truck was on its way home.” He looked at Grace with a grin. “I’d say that describes the situation, wouldn’t you?”

  Yes, that describes the situation pretty well. Maybe a fire truck was showing her the way home, too, Grace thought. She smiled back and rang the bell. And then they both started laughing, and laughed about anything and everything the entire way back to the station.

  At the firehouse, Spotty was reunited with his mother, while Mike escorted Grace upstairs to the living area. “I was just filling in for Jake today,” he said. “I told him I’d take care of dinner, then he could take over. We’re having my special chili. The guys love it.”

  The firehouse resembled an overgrown fraternity house, Grace thought. There was a workout area with weights, a bench and a stair-climber, a bunk room, a locker room, a TV area, and a small, open kitchen. Two firemen sat in sweats and jeans, playing poker in the living area. The kitchen was empty.

  “What can I do to help?” Grace asked.

  “Nothing. Only trained firemen are allowed in this kitchen.”

  “Ooh,” teased Grace. “The rest of us might burn something and start a fire. How would that look?”

  “It would be a public relations disaster, no question about it,” Mike said as he unloaded the groceries and started chopping onions. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” He tossed Grace a can of kidney beans. “Can opener’s in the drawer by the sink.”

  As the chili simmered, Grace watched Mike as he popped a large sheet pan of corn bread into the oven with a flourish. “I had no idea we had a four-star chef in the firehouse,” she said.

  One of the guys on the couch swiveled his head from the game on TV. “Yeah, he’s a regular Chef Boyardee.”

  “Thanks, Tommy.” Mike flung a wet towel at his buddy’s head.

  FIREHOUSE CHILI

  Serves a firehouse full!

  3 pounds ground chuck

  2 pounds sirloin, cut into small pieces

  2 tablespoons olive oil

  3 large onions, chopped

  4 jalapeno peppers, seeded and chopped

  12 garlic cloves, chopped

  2 tablespoons chili powder, or more to taste

  1 tablespoon dried oregano

  Salt and pepper, to taste

  Tabasco, to taste

  2 (28-ounce) cans crushed tomatoes

  2 (15-ounce) cans kidney beans, drained and rinsed

  2 (15-ounce) cans black beans, drained and rinsed

  5 cups water

  In a large pot, cook the ground chuck until it is no longer pink and has browned a little. Remove from the pot and drain off all but 2 tablespoons of fat. Cook the sirloin until it is lightly browned. Remove from the pot and discard the fat.

  Add the olive oil to the pot and cook the onions until they are soft and translucent, about 8 to 10 minutes. Add the jalapenos and cook for a minute. Add the garlic, chili powder, oregano, salt, pepper, and Tabasco and cook for another minute.

  Pour in the tomatoes, beans, and water and return the meats to the pot. Bring to a boil then reduce the heat. Simmer for at least one hour or until the chili has thickened. (Add more water if it is too thick.) Taste and adjust the seasonings.

  NOTE:

  • Ground turkey or chicken can replace the beef.

  • Serve over rice or tortilla chips.

  • Topping suggestions: sour cream, grated cheddar cheese, chopped scallions, chopped jalapenos, chopped onion, chopped bell peppers, cilantro leaves.

  As Grace rinsed lettuce and tomatoes for the salad, she couldn’t believe how comfortable she felt in this kitchen, with Mike. Then again, maybe she was comfortable with Mike, and they just happened to be in the kitchen. There was no agenda, no pressure, no past. Without a backstory, they were free to start fresh. They ate their chili from firehouse mugs, standing up. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was about as good as it got, Grace thought, as they loaded a gallon into the freezer and another into the refrigerator for the next shift.

  I am on an actual date, Grace suddenly realized, as she climbed onto the back of Mike’s motorcycle, the designated transportation to the concert. Somehow, this non-date had morphed into the actual thing. Or so it seemed. Because Grace’s dates had been so few and far between, she wondered if she would actually recognize one if it hit her in the face. Suddenly, she panicked. She didn’t want the fact that this was a “date” to get in the way of what looked like a promising new friendship. “Mike?” She squeezed his shoulder from behind.

  “Just hold on tight.”

  “No, it’s not that.” She hesitated, hoping he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. “It’s—this isn’t a date, is it? It’s still a non-
date?”

  He laughed and gunned the engine. “Absolutely, this is not a date. This is a non-date if there ever was.”

  “Good,” Grace said firmly. “I’m glad we cleared that up.” Still, she had to admit, leaning into Mike, her arms around him, it didn’t feel totally platonic.

  After the concert, they went for ice cream.

  “How’s it feel to be back home?” Mike asked. The night was warm and quiet. Crickets could be heard even there in the center of town.

  Grace licked butter pecan off her hand and thought for a moment. “Coming back, it’s sort of like stepping into a time capsule. Like the school—so much is still the same. It brings back a lot of memories.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “It’s mostly good, but everything sort of collapsed in on me when I was in high school. A lot of things didn’t turn out to be what I thought they were, so I’m still trying to understand how I feel about them.”

  Mike stopped and looked closely at Grace. He reached out, touched her cheek, and quietly told her, “You are truly beautiful, Grace Holm-D’Angelo.” Then he leaned in and kissed her.

  It was a two-cone kiss. A kiss that lasted long enough for both of their ice cream cones to melt.

  “Well, then,” Mike said finally. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Grace. But I think our non-date just became an official date.”

  “Can’t we just call that a non-kiss?”

  “Let me think.” He paused. “I think we have to count it. Maybe even enter it into the national register of great kisses.”

  Grace had to agree. The kiss had been amazing.

  “Maybe we need to check that national register part out, though,” Mike said, into her hair. “We should conduct a little more research, just to get the facts right.”

  “For verification purposes only,” Grace agreed.

  But before he could kiss her again, she kissed him.

  Flag, cherry, gumdrop.

  Flag, cherry, gumdrop.