With the Nuts over Nuts application properly marked Paid, she returned to the kitchen in a somber mood.
With one glance at her face, Miss Ernie’s round blue eyes softened. “You’re doing the right thing.”
Alison dropped the check in the cash box. “I know. That doesn’t make it easier.” With a sigh, she slumped into a kitchen chair. “What if I hate it? I won’t be able to just hop in the car and come home. I might not be home for a long time. Things might”—she cast a doleful look across the table at the dear woman—“change while I’m gone.”
“Of course things will change. Change is inevitable. That’s where progress comes from.” Miss Ernie swept the mess of empty envelopes into a trash receptacle resting beside the table. Chair legs scraped across linoleum as she stood. She picked up the can and returned it to its customary place in the corner. “If a person tries to keep things the same, their future will pass right by them. And you, my girl, have a bright future.”
Alison couldn’t suppress a grin and a jab. “This from the woman who has lived in the same town, the same house even, for over sixty years? Who doesn’t own a telephone without a rotary dial?” She warmed to her topic. “Who still percolates coffee on the stove and refuses to use the microwave her son bought her more than a decade ago?”
The old woman folded her arms and pointed a still-pert nose upward. “Cooking with energy waves is unnatural, dear. And perking takes fewer beans, so it’s more efficient. Besides, perked coffee tastes better than the colored water people pass off as coffee these days.”
A point that Alison could not dispute, since Miss Ernie’s coffee really was better than anyone else’s. She ought to know, having drunk gallons of it while helping with the festival over the past few months. She lifted her mug and drained the last of the fragrant liquid. Yes, definitely better.
“Besides,” the lady went on, patting Alison’s hand, “if anyone should be upset by your announcement, it’s me. I hoped to turn this over to you next year.” She waved a hand to indicate the clutter on the table.
“Oh, Miss Ernie, the town will never let you stop being the Festival Coordinator. You’ve done it for so long nobody else could begin to fill your shoes.”
“Well, they’d better call in Prince Charming and have him get busy.” She lifted her pants legs to display a sensible pair of high-top Nikes. “These glass slippers are retiring.”
Laughing, Alison left her chair and set her empty mug in the sink. “I hope you get to dance at the ball past midnight. You deserve it.”
“Darlin’, I haven’t seen midnight in five decades.” The twinkles in her eyes faded. “You really are doing the right thing, but I’ll miss you. I’ll miss our talks, and the way you tell me all your secrets.”
“And I’ll miss the way you always bail me out of trouble.” Alison put her arms around the woman, feeling the sharp bones beneath slightly stooped shoulders. “There’s always the telephone. And if you’d learn how to use e-mail we could talk every day.”
A chuckle rumbled inside the fragile body. “I just might do that.” She straightened and stepped away. “Go on and skedaddle now. You’ve got a chore ahead of you tonight.”
Over the past hour helping Miss Ernie with her festival duties, Alison had managed to put tonight’s discussion with her parents out of her mind. Now the anxiety she’d banished returned as a pulsing dread in her stomach. Mom would receive the news okay, after the initial shock had worn off. But Daddy?
“Wish me luck.” She brushed a goodbye kiss against one wrinkled cheek.
“I don’t put much stock in luck.” The reply came with a smile. “But I’ll say a prayer, and that’s better.”
Miss Ernie’s Cinnamon Roasted Pecans
1 egg white
1½ Tbsp melted Brown Butter (Miss Ernie’s secret ingredient—recipe follows)
2½ cups pecan halves
½ cup white sugar
¼ tsp salt
1½ tsp cinnamon
Preheat oven to 225 degrees. Spray a rimmed cookie sheet with cooking spray. Whisk egg white until frothy, and then continue whisking as you drizzle in brown butter. Add pecans and mix until evenly coated. In a container with a lid, combine sugar, salt, and cinnamon. Add coated pecans, close the lid, and shake gently until they are evenly coated with sugar mixture. Spread nuts in a single layer on the prepared cookie sheet. Bake for 1 hour, stirring every 15 minutes. Make sure they stay in a single layer. Cool on the cookie sheet.
Brown Butter
In a light colored pan (not dark coated nonstick), melt one stick of butter over low heat. Stir with a spatula while butter comes to a simmer. Continue stirring constantly while butter bubbles and reduces in volume. Butter will begin to brown suddenly. Do not stop stirring. When butter turns a light golden brown, remove from heat and immediately pour into a cool dish to stop the cooking process. Butter will continue to brown slightly as it cools. Store up to two weeks in a sealed container in the refrigerator. Brown butter has a concentrated, delicious, nutty flavor that is the perfect ingredient for many baked treats.
Chapter Two
Fragrant steam rose from the simmering pot to fill Millie’s kitchen with the perfectly blended scents of fresh green beans and sweet onions. Planning the menu for this dinner had required a lot of mental energy. Maternal and matrimonial emotions waged an equally strong battle. Alison’s manner over breakfast—the worry lines in her normally clear forehead, the way her gaze flickered everywhere except at her mother’s face—gnawed at Millie’s motherly instincts and practically demanded chicken and rice, Alison’s favorite comfort food. On the other hand, the grumble in Albert’s voice on the phone this morning and his peevish hope that their daughter’s request for a family meeting would include the announcement of a job, stirred Millie’s deep-seated peacekeeping instincts. Pot roast with mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans would go far in soothing his bearish tendencies. But roast beef and chicken?
Well, and why not? Anything was permissible in the interest of family harmony.
The kitchen timer beeped at six-fifteen. Millie pulled on a pair of oven mitts and opened the door, leaning back to escape a wave of beef-scented heat that erupted from inside. As she extracted the perfectly browned roast, Alison entered the kitchen.
“Mmm, that smells awesome, Mom.” She came to stand behind Millie, rested a hand on her shoulder, and inhaled deeply. “What else are we having?”
Without waiting for an answer, she began lifting lids. When she uncovered the creamy chicken and rice, a smile erupted on her face. “You are the greatest, you know that?”
Millie warmed under her daughter’s praise. Mission accomplished. “I try. Would you mash the potatoes while I make the gravy? Your daddy called when he left the office. He should be here in five minutes.”
At the mention of her father, the lines returned to Alison’s brow and she averted her gaze. “Sure.”
Few things could affect Millie like conflict among those she loved. And truly, there had not been many instances in the Richardson household to threaten the peace that ought to exist between family members. Oh, the usual adolescent pranks, of course. A few incidents of teenage angst when the twins were in high school. The worst was when the boys announced their college decisions—David chose to attend the University of Kentucky and Doug, Georgetown. Albert had reacted badly that neither of his sons even considered his beloved Purdue. He prowled around the house for weeks, grumbling like a cranky old dog. The whole thing was ridiculous, in Millie’s opinion. Children had their own lives to live.
Still, she had been relieved, and Albert overjoyed, when Alison announced that she would attend her father’s alma mater. He hadn’t even complained about the high out-of-state tuition, especially when the scholarships began rolling in.
Millie glanced at her daughter rummaging in the refrigerator. “Your father is a little concerned about this discussion.”
Alison emerged with cream and butter, kicked the door shut, and headed for the coun
ter. “Is he?”
“I hope whatever you’re going to tell us won’t upset him too much. He’s been having a lot of acid lately. I’m worried about his stomach.”
The girl avoided her eyes.
“It’s going to upset him, isn’t it?”
“It might.” A sideways glance flickered toward Millie. “It will probably upset both of you.” She picked up the potato masher and applied it with force, crushing potatoes like she had a personal vendetta against them.
Millie watched her a moment. It would be best if she heard the disturbing news before Albert. If she weren’t taken by surprise maybe she could temper the blow a bit, ease some of the stress. She opened her mouth, prepared to apply whatever pressure was necessary to pry the news out of her daughter.
At the whirr of the garage door motor, her opportunity for foreknowledge slipped away. Albert entered moments later, his jowls sagging with a heavy scowl. To be honest, her husband’s jowls habitually drooped—had since their early twenties. It was a matter of genetics more than anything. His father had worn a constant scowl as well. For the first five years of their marriage Millie was convinced the man hated her. She’d gradually come to realize his stern expression was merely the natural arrangement of a square jaw and heavy features, a trait his son inherited. Unless he was actively smiling, Albert scowled.
His gaze fell on Alison, who did not turn from her work. He glanced at Millie, one eyebrow arched with a question. She answered with a shrug and crossed the floor to give him a proper welcome with a kiss and a firm embrace.
“How was your day?” She asked the same question every day, but routines were important. They provided comfort and a framework for normalcy within which a family could relax.
The answer was always the same. A kiss on her upturned cheek, a quick smile that softened the stern expression, and, “Better now.”
Alison finished her attack on the potatoes and, looking only a bit hesitant, turned toward her father. Wiping her hands on a towel as she crossed the room, she kissed his cheek. “Welcome home, Daddy.”
The habitual scowl softened with a look that belonged exclusively to their daughter.
Millie gave him a gentle shove. “Go wash up. Supper in five minutes.”
By the time he returned, her afternoon’s efforts crowded the kitchen table. Her next-door neighbor, Violet, always shook her head over Millie’s insistence that they sit at a properly set table for meals. No trays in front of the television, no paper plates or plastic utensils, no servings dished from pans on the stove. Meals were family times, even if most of the family had moved on to families of their own.
Albert surveyed the abundance of food, his eyebrows arched. “It’s not Sunday, is it? Can’t remember the last time we had roast and gravy on a weeknight.”
Millie settled in the chair her husband slid out for her and smiled her thanks up at him. “Since we’re to hear a special announcement tonight, I figured the meal should be special too.”
Alison flashed her a grateful smile.
They took their seats and Millie asked, “Whose turn is it?”
“Mine.” Alison bowed her head, hands folded in her lap. “Dear Lord, thank You for this awesome meal, and for Mom and Daddy who worked so hard to put it on the table.” A short pause, during which the girl gulped. “Please keep our hearts and minds open while we talk, and help us to control our tempers. Amen.”
Oh dear. Millie opened her eyes and caught Albert’s gaze across the table.
His lips pursed as he smoothed his napkin on his lap. “An interesting way to begin a family meal.”
Alison scooped a large helping of chicken and rice onto her plate and flashed a jittery look at each of them in turn. “It seems appropriate tonight.”
Millie cleared her throat as she picked up the platter and offered the roast to her husband. “Then perhaps we should wait for the announcement until after we eat. Let’s enjoy our meal.”
At first she thought Alison would disagree. She bit her lower lip as though trying to hold back an explosion. Finally, she gave a quick nod. “Okay. I guess.”
For the next several minutes, the only sounds at the table were the scraping of silverware across plates and the clinking of ice in glasses. Alison fidgeted in her seat, her movements jerky. Not worried, really, but she looked agitated. Jumpy, even. The silence that settled between them felt charged with energy. Why hadn’t Millie thought to put on the radio? A little background music would provide a welcome distraction from the thoughts flying around her brain. In fact, maybe she’d do it now. She rested her fork on the edge of her plate and started to stand.
Alison stabbed a piece of chicken, lifted her fork toward her mouth, and then stopped. “I can’t hold it in any longer.” She set her fork down with a clatter and literally bounced in her chair, grinning. “I’m getting married!”
The pronouncement exploded through her lips like a bomb and sent shock waves around the table. Millie’s jaw went slack and she gaped at her daughter, dumbstruck. If Alison told them that she had signed up for a mission to the moon she would not have been more shocked.
“But—but—” She closed her mouth and tried to find a cohesive question amid the chaos in her mind. “But you don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Yes I do.” Alison nodded with energy. “His name is Nicholas Ricardo Provenzano IV and he’s the most amazing man I’ve ever known. And oh, he’s so handsome! I met him in Florida.” Her eyes shone with a sparkle that had not been there a moment before.
Millie stared at her daughter. She had a boyfriend, and didn’t tell her mother?
Albert recovered his voice. “Mozzarello? What kind of name is that?”
“Provenzano,” Alison corrected. “It’s a family name, and he’s already told me we have to promise to name our son Nicholas Ricardo Provenzano V. But that’s okay, because I love that name, and we can do so much with it. He goes by Nick, so we can call our baby Nicky, or even Ricky after his middle name.” Now that her news was out, Alison seemed to have lost her hesitation. She picked up her fork and continued eating through an endless stream of chatter. “And I know we’ll have a boy, because there are only boys in his family for, like, five generations and…”
Millie’s mind struggled with a suspicion. Alison had gone to Florida in June, three months ago. The trip with friends from college had been a celebration of receiving her bachelor’s degree in English Literature at Purdue. Since her return she’d told Millie many things about the trip, all the sites she’d seen, the sailing excursions she’d taken, and how she’d learned to scuba dive. Not once had she mentioned meeting a boy.
Three months. And they were discussing baby names? Could it be?
Albert put his fork down and leaned across the table to look her straight in the eye. “Are you pregnant?”
Trust her straightforward husband to get right to the point.
“Daddy!” Alison stiffened, clearly outraged. “Of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?”
“It’s the obvious conclusion when you just announced that you’re marrying a man your parents have never even heard of, much less met. And you’ve already decided on a name for your baby.”
She straightened in the chair, her expression settling into the stubborn one that Millie knew presaged an argument.
Before the girl could reply, Millie spoke in a voice calmer than she felt. “Your father’s right, dear. It’s unlike you to keep secrets at all, much less about something as important as meeting a man you intend to marry. Why haven’t you mentioned Nicholas before?”
Alison didn’t reply immediately. She drew a deep breath, her gaze fixed on her plate, while a struggle showed plainly on her face. “Because there are a couple of things you won’t like, and I couldn’t bear to have you try to talk me out of this.”
“Things we won’t like?” Beneath the table Millie slipped off her shoe and extended her foot to rest against Albert’s leg. Somehow touching him enabled her to draw on his strength. “Things about hi
m, or your plans?”
“Both.” She cleared her throat and then looked directly at her father. “Daddy, Nick is from Colombia.”
Albert’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. What else?”
“He joined the army, and he’s being assigned overseas.” She bit her lip and rushed on. “It’s a good thing, because we’ll be near his extended family, some distant cousins and uncles he’s never met.”
Millie’s heart stuttered as her attention snagged on a word. “We?” she managed to choke.
Alison gave a hesitant nod. “We’re going to be married before he leaves so I can go with him.” A pause, during which she bit down on her lower lip and winced. “In three weeks.”
It took a few seconds for the news to register. Even then, Millie thought she must be numb from the shock of learning that her daughter had met a man three months ago and kept their relationship a secret. The news that they planned to marry in three weeks and then leave the country didn’t strike her nearly as forcefully as it would have five minutes ago.
“I…see.”
Albert’s face jerked toward her. “You see? Is that all you have to say?” He looked back at Alison. “Do you want to hear what I have to say? No. Absolutely not. I refuse to allow you to marry some guy I’ve never met and flee the country.”
“I knew you’d say that.” Alison tossed her napkin on her plate with a savage gesture. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“I’m surprised you bothered.” His voice rose, and a flush suffused his face. “Apparently you’ve made a decision without us. You don’t want to face the facts you knew we’d bring up, didn’t want to have an adult discussion to consider your options, so you kept it a secret. Why not continue the deception? Why not elope? Leave us a note?”
“I thought about it,” Alison snapped. “But I decided you might want to come to my wedding. Maybe I was wrong.”
Dr. Horatio vs. the Six-Toed Cat Page 2
