Grace Makes It Great

by Mary Casanova

  Grandma tilted her head. “I think we just have to come up with creative ways to keep both parts of the business going. Do you have any big ideas, girls?”

  Ella chewed her lip. “I have a small idea,” she said. “We do have the little bakery cart.”

  “Yes!” I said. “We could still sell from the cart during the summer months. And use it to advertise bigger sales here at the bakery.”

  “And bring it out for taste tests and special events, like the Winter Magic Express train rides,” added Ella.

  Maddy sat on the edge of her chair, wiggling her legs and feet. “Maybe our website could still be called La Petite Pâtisserie,” she said thoughtfully, “so that our customers don’t get confused. But we could use the website and our blog to advertise special events at our storefront—La Grande Pâtisserie—too.”

  “Lots of great ideas, girls,” said Maddy’s mom.

  “Yes,” said Grandpa, the twinkle back in his eyes now. “It looks to me as if everyone agrees we should join forces and work together. Do you want to vote? Those for the idea, raise your hand.”

  Ella, Maddy, and I shot our hands up high.

  “Well, that’s easy!” Grandma declared. “A unanimous decision.”

  I couldn’t help but jump up and do a happy dance.

  My friends got up and danced beside me, too. The last time we’d been this happy was when…well, back when we’d first started to bake in Grandma and Grandpa’s kitchen. Back when we were first dreaming of a trip to Paris together.

  “Hey, wait!” I announced to my friends. I raced back into the kitchen and toward the metal cabinet in the corner. I opened a drawer, found the wholesale catalogue that held images of Paris, and pulled them out and studied them. Every image was just as I’d remembered it: a white-haired man in a beret, sitting on a park bench, feeding pigeons; the Eiffel Tower lit up at night; and the Seine river, glistening beneath Notre Dame Cathedral.

  Grandma found me in the kitchen and saw what I had in my hands. “Well, well. There they are,” she said. “I wondered what happened to those pictures. You could put them back up here again, or we could frame a few and put them out front in the customer area.”

  I smiled at Grandma. She always understands my dreams.

  “I’d love that,” I said, carefully setting down the images and pulling her into a hug.

  Late Thursday afternoon, just before dinner, the phone rang. I was setting the table when I heard Mom say, “Who is this again? The Massachusetts School of Cooking?”

  That’s when my heart started fluttering. Probably, it was nothing. Probably, it was just a phone call telling me they’d received my contest entry, but still…

  Then Mom covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said, “Grace, it’s for you. I think it’s good news!”

  I took the phone, but I could barely understand what the speaker was saying.

  A few words popped out at me:

  “Congratulations…Your Dreams of Paris recipe…thousand dollar check on its way…”

  When I hung up the phone, I screamed and jumped into the air.

  Poor Bonbon scrabbled inside her crate.

  “Mom! Dad! Josh! I won!”

  Over dinner, I hogged the whole conversation. I couldn’t help myself. I was almost too excited to eat.

  I did a quick mental calculation. “Between the money I’ve saved from our baking business, plus what I just won, I have enough to fly to Paris and visit our French family!”

  And then, as soon as the words left my lips, my feelings darkened, as if a heavy drape were pulled across a window. “Oh no. What about Ella and Maddy? We’ve talked about going to Paris someday together. We’re all saving for it. And to make matters worse, they don’t even know that I entered the contest.”

  “Really? Why is that?” Dad asked.

  “Because the last we’d talked about the contest, I said I was too busy to enter it,” I explained. “We were all too busy. Then Maddy and Ella almost quit LPP, and I was down in the dumps. I decided to bake something just to cheer myself up. I didn’t think about the contest until after I made the dessert.”

  “It sounds like you’re torn about telling your friends, Grace,” Mom said. “What’s the best solution?”

  I shook my head. “I just don’t know.”

  That Saturday morning was unusually warm for December, so Josh invited me to go bike riding before I headed to the bakery. “We haven’t ridden together in forever, and this might be our last chance before it snows,” he urged. “Besides, I want to make sure the gears are good to go on a bike I just fixed up.”

  I tucked Bonbon into the bike trailer, and off I pedaled. It felt good to bike along with my brother. I followed him down the towpath, across a short bridge, and onto a bike trail that wound farther out of Bentwick.

  Around us, empty branches seemed to lift up the gray sky. The air—damp and cool—promised snow before long.

  When Josh stopped at a metal truss bridge, we got off our bikes and leaned them against the railing. I wasn’t about to leave Bonbon in her trailer. She’d grow impatient and try to claw free. So I unzipped the mesh door, unhooked the dog-fastener, and snapped a leash onto her collar. Then we followed Josh onto the bridge.

  “Remember when we came here as little kids?” Josh asked, gazing at the river below.

  I nodded. “We had a picnic with Mom and Dad over there.” I pointed to the slope on the right. “Do you remember playing catch with a red rubber ball?”

  “Yeah,” Josh said with a laugh, “until you tossed it in the river, and the water was flowing too fast for us to catch it.”

  “I don’t remember that part,” I said, grinning.

  “I do,” Josh insisted. “I remember watching that ball float farther and farther away, and I remember how badly I wanted to jump in and go after it. But Dad wouldn’t let me.”

  “Parents,” I said, with mock grumpiness.

  “Yeah, they’re always saving us, aren’t they?”

  It felt good to laugh with Josh. And then, as if watching for that ball, he stared off silently into the river for a long time.

  As I watched the river flow between two banks and under the bridge we stood on, I realized something: I am kind of like a bridge, too.

  I’d been a bridge between two cultures, French and American.

  A bridge between my grandparents’ old ways of doing business and new ideas.

  A bridge between my grandparents here and Sylvie back in France.

  And then my decision came to me.

  “Josh, what if I buy a ticket for Sylvie to come here? She gave us so many great ideas for the bakery’s makeover. I could show her everything we’ve done.” The more I talked, the more excited I became. “I know Maddy and Ella would love to meet Sylvie in person. And she could get to know Grandma and Grandpa better, too!”

  Josh smiled. “Makes sense to me,” he said.

  “My friends and I can still save for a trip to Paris someday,” I continued, thinking out loud. “It will be easier to tell them that I won the contest when I tell them that I’m using the prize money to fly Sylvie to the States.”

  In fact, now that the bakery business was good—for Grandma and Grandpa and for my friends and me—I couldn’t think of anything that I wanted more than to have Sylvie here. I bent down and hugged Bonbon. She would be glad to see Sylvie, too!

  s each day passed, I felt lighter—happier than ever. It felt amazingly good to build an even bigger French pâtisserie business in the bakery I loved, with Grandma and Grandpa by my side. Sylvie and Aunt Sophie sent us some of their favorite recipes, and we learned how to create a whole new assortment of French baked goods. And with guidance from Mrs. Eaton, we expanded our website to include an advertising section for La Grande Pâtisserie, too.

  When the second Saturday in December came, things got really busy. As planned, at three-thirty p.m., the Winter Magic Express train ride ended with treats and hot chocolate at La Grande Pâtisserie. Countless kids and their par
ents poured off the train, hustled to the bakery, and fluttered in like a flock of hungry birds, leaving nothing but crumbs behind.

  Grandma and Grandpa served hot chocolate, coffee, and hot apple cider from the counter. Maddy and Ella and I handed out treats from our bakery cart, which we’d decorated with sprigs of holly and silver bells.

  “What just hit us?” Grandma said after the last family left. “I’ve never seen such a commotion!”

  But she was smiling, and my friends and I were, too. Business was good!

  When the next Saturday came, we started getting ready for the Winter Magic Express crowd even earlier, for two reasons. First, we now knew how much work it was. The rush of customers meant “all hands on deck.” We even asked Josh if he could help at the counter that afternoon, too.

  The other reason we prepared early was because today was a doubly special day: Sylvie would arrive this afternoon! Even though we had been video-chatting, I couldn’t wait to see her again. I was so excited to show her La Grande Pâtisserie. Sylvie and I were going to bake together, just like we had in Paris. But this time, our grandparents and my friends would be with us.

  Maddy and Ella and I spent the morning putting the finishing touches on the treats for the kids from the train. Then we stocked the baking cart, which was set up near the entry door. As we worked, my friends kept catching my eye and smiling. I could tell they were excited to finally meet Sylvie in person. They had even forgiven me for entering the online baking contest without them, once they learned that I’d spent the winnings on a plane ticket for Sylvie!

  When everything was ready, I ducked into the bathroom and changed from my jeans into the dress I’d bought just for today. I smoothed the velvet waistband of the pink skirt and adjusted my headband. It had a little fan of pink tulle on it, which I thought looked very French. I hoped Sylvie would think so, too!

  “Grandma and Grandpa,” I said, as Maddy and Ella and I put on our coats. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us to pick up Sylvie?”

  Grandpa shook his head. “Wish we could, Grace, but things are hoppin’ here,” he said, waving his hand at the customers in line and lingering at tables. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

  Then my friends and I piled into my mom’s minivan and headed to Logan International Airport in Boston to meet Sylvie. It was finally time!

  Passengers on international flights have to go through customs and have their passports stamped. I knew from experience that it could take a long time, but that didn’t make waiting any easier.

  Eventually—finally!—a girl with sandy waves of hair appeared, pulling a suitcase with one hand and gripping a small black-and-white stuffed animal to her chest with the other.

  “Sylvie!” I called. “We’re over here!”

  She looked around the crowded lobby and finally spotted the long banner my friends and family held up. It read “Bonjour, Sylvie! Welcome to the USA!”

  A smile filled Sylvie’s face. She squealed and ran toward me, leaving her suitcase behind. “Hello, Grace!”

  I rushed forward to greet her. We hugged, and I kissed her on each cheek, just as she had done to me when I arrived in Paris so many months ago.

  “What’s this?” I asked, pointing to the stuffed dog.

  “C’est ma petite chienne, Bonbon,” she said with a big smile. “It’s my little dog, Bonbon.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman with a stroller rolling Sylvie’s suitcase to her side. “You might need this while you’re visiting.”

  I spun toward the familiar voice.

  “Surprise, Grace!” the woman said.

  “Aunt Sophie!” I gave her a hug and then peered into the stroller. “And you brought Lily!”

  Lily was much bigger now, and she grinned back at me and babbled something, as if she thought I should clearly understand her. “Oh, I’m glad you’re here, too, Lily,” I said, kissing her head. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

  I couldn’t believe my French family had surprised me this way. “Mom, did you know?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said with a grin as she hugged her sister.

  “Grace,” Aunt Sophie explained, “since you so generously used your winnings to buy Sylvie’s ticket, I dipped into savings and bought a ticket so that I could join the fun,” she said. “And Lily flew for free!”

  Ella and Maddy were standing off to the side, as if they didn’t know what to do. I reached for their hands and drew them closer. Then I stepped toward Sylvie so that we made a small circle.

  “We’re all finally together,” I said happily. “These two,” I said, turning to Sylvie, “are my best friends. And this,” I said, putting my arm around Sylvie, “is my cousin.”

  Ella grinned. “Bonjour, Sylvie!”

  “After video-chatting with you, it’s like we’re already friends!” Maddy exclaimed.

  Sylvie dropped her hands. I hoped she wasn’t going to turn super shy and distant, the way she’d acted toward me those first weeks in Paris.

  But instead, she leaned forward and kissed my friends’ cheeks. Then she patted her chest, where her heart sits, and in her French accent said, “We are good friends.”

  From that moment, I knew everyone was going to have a wonderful time together.

  As we made our way to the parking ramp, Sylvie answered Maddy’s and Ella’s questions about the flight. She had to pause a few times and ask Aunt Sophie to translate, but I could see that Sylvie wasn’t as shy as she’d been when I’d visited her in Paris. But that had been last June, before Lily had been born and just after Sylvie had lost her beloved grand-mère. Now, half a year had passed, and so much had happened. I’d grown and changed over that time, and I’d learned a lot. It was clear that Sylvie had, too.

  Growing up.

  Maybe it’s all about becoming who you truly are, a little more every day.

  When we made it back to Bentwick, we stopped at home to drop off the luggage and let Aunt Sophie and Sylvie freshen up. Baby Lily didn’t care. She was sound asleep.

  Bonbon ran up to us the moment we entered the house. Sylvie grinned and sank to her knees right there in the hallway. “Bonbon!” she said, hugging my little dog, who pressed her black nose into Sylvie’s palm.

  Before I’d even met Bonbon, Sylvie had known her as a stray in Paris and had fed her bits of bread. Mom and I had brought Bonbon home with us. Despite the time that had passed, Bonbon remembered Sylvie! She barked happily and covered Sylvie with wet kisses.

  Sylvie stroked Bonbon’s head and spoke to her sweetly in French. I didn’t understand most of what she said, except for the word maison. Home. I knew Sylvie was happy that Bonbon had a home with me.

  Maddy and Ella and I helped Sylvie haul her suitcase upstairs. Sylvie and I were sharing my room, just as we had shared Sylvie’s room in Paris. I’d cleared out a dresser drawer for Sylvie to use, just as she’d cleared one for me. In Paris, Sylvie’s room was covered with pictures of flowers. I’d filled a vase with fresh flowers and put it on my nightstand. It was one more way to let Sylvie know how glad I was that she was here.

  Sylvie noticed the flowers right away, and she oohed and aahed over the photos I’d taken in Paris and tacked up on my bulletin board. “I love your chambre,” Sylvie said as the four of us sat on my bed. Mom had reminded me that Sylvie would be tired from the long plane ride, but after washing her face and changing her clothes, Sylvie was wide awake.

  Perfect. Our plan would work.

  Destiny had given Ella, Maddy, and me free tickets for today’s ride on the Winter Magic Express. When I’d explained that my cousin would be arriving from Paris, Destiny added a fourth free ticket. Mom had said we could all go as long as Sylvie wasn’t too jet-lagged. When we told Sylvie, her eyes danced with excitement.

  “But before that,” I added, “we’re going to the bakery. Grandma and Grandpa can’t wait to see you.”

  Sylvie jumped up from the bed. “We go now?” she asked eagerly.

  The four
of us thundered down the steps and into the living room. Mom, holding a still-sleeping Lily, shushed us and started to give us a quiet scolding. But when Sylvie explained that she wanted to go to the bakery, Aunt Sophie looked excited, too. “I can’t wait to see how you all transformed First Street Family Bakery into La Grande Pâtisserie,” she said. “Allons-y! Let’s go!”

  “All right,” Mom said. “Everyone back in the van! You too, Lily,” she whispered, gently buckling the baby into her car seat.

  The moment Mom pulled up in front of La Grande Pâtisserie, I could tell that Aunt Sophie was impressed. “I never dreamed,” she said. “Grace, the pictures you sent us don’t do it justice.”

  Sylvie admired the window boxes full of holiday greenery. “C’est magnifique!”

  “Oh yes!” I agreed.

  “Oui, oui!” Ella joined in.

  Maddy hopped out and rushed to open the door of the bakery. “Everything about today is magnificent!”

  Inside, the bakery sparkled with new life. Framed images of Paris popped against the freshly painted walls. The glass display cases brimmed with French treats of every size and color—including Dreams of Paris, my winning recipe. There was even French music in the background, except that it wasn’t a CD. Grandma and Grandpa must have hired a musician, because there, in the corner, sitting on a tall stool, playing a red-and-white accordion, was…my brother?

  “Josh?” Aunt Sophie and I said at the same time. Josh grinned from ear to ear as he played a simple melody and pumped the bellows in and out.

  “I knew you were a great pianist,” Aunt Sophie said, ruffling Josh’s hair. “But I didn’t know you could play the accordion.”

  “Me either,” I said. “This day is full of surprises.”

  Josh put down the bulky instrument and gave Aunt Sophie a hug. “The Eatons had an old one in their antique shop, and they’re letting me borrow it,” he explained. “But I need more practice.” Then he turned to Sylvie and grinned. “Welcome to the best French bakery in Bentwick!”

  Sylvie blushed shyly and said a quiet hello, but her words were lost over Grandma’s happy greeting.