September 2012
Gloria enters her office and smiles; a paper plate covered with pieces of cake sits on top of her desk. It looks like a small breakfast cake, filled with blueberries. She takes a bite and closes her eyes. “Mmm,” she says, smacking the desk.
“What’s wrong with you?” Miriam says, sticking her head in the office door. Gloria has taken another bite but points to the cake. “The food bandit strikes again!” Miriam says, reaching for a piece.
“‘Bandit’ is a horrible word,” Gloria says with her mouth full. “A bandit takes things. This is more like a food Santa!”
Miriam bites into the cake and smacks the desk as well. “Do we know who our secret Santa is yet?”
Gloria shakes her head, finishing the last bite in her hand. “No! I wonder if it’s one of those things like you see in movies—where once you find out who’s doing it, everything stops from that point on.”
Miriam stares at her. “What movie has ever had that story line?”
“The one that I just told you about!”
Miriam sighs, shaking her head. “And we’re sure Betty isn’t dropping these things off? Like maybe she’s trying out new recipes for the bakery?”
“She swore to me it’s not her,” Gloria says, reaching for another piece of cake.
“Well, whoever it is, they need to open a bakery!” Miriam says.
“Miriam!” Gloria mumbles with her mouth full. “What if Betty hears?”
“I didn’t mean here in Grandon,” Miriam says, whispering. “I meant in the next town, which is far enough away from Betty’s, but also close enough for me to drive to.”
Gloria nods. “Candy, muffins, cupcakes, orange cake…”
“And it had just a hint of orange! It wasn’t overpowering, but so delicious!” Miriam says, remembering the moist cake left a few days earlier. She makes a satisfied noise in her mouth as she holds up a piece of breakfast cake. “These blueberries are fresh. And there’s a hint of lemon. Do you taste it?”
“Do I taste it?” Gloria says. “Do you think I’m hard of tasting? Of course I taste it!”
As Dalton and Heddy, Amy, Stacy, and Lauren come in for the day, Gloria waves each of them into her office for a piece of cake. “How are we ever going to thank the person doing this?” Dalton says.
“We can’t thank them,” Gloria says. “That would ruin everything.”
“How?” Heddy asks.
“Well, it would be just like that movie that Gloria saw,” Miriam says, rolling her eyes. “You know, the one about where food was being secretly delivered, but once the person was discovered, then the deliveries stopped.”
“Aha!” Gloria says, pointing at her. “You have seen that movie!”
“There is no such movie!” Miriam says, leaving the office.
Gloria runs to her office door and leans out into the entryway. “You just described the plot, so I know you’ve seen it, Miriam!” She turns around and puts her finger to her lips. “Shh. We don’t want to spoil this.” She puts the rest of the cake she was eating into her mouth. “Let’s just keep our mouths closed so this doesn’t stop and simply say, ‘God bless our secret Santa.’”
THIRTEEN
September 1972
“What are you doing?” John asks, entering the kitchen.
“I’m going to make pumpkin ricotta pancakes with Gigi,” Joan says, pulling butter, eggs, ricotta cheese, and milk from the refrigerator.
John stands in front of the sink, looking at her. “You have surgery today. You can’t eat.”
“But you can eat. And Gigi and Christopher can eat.”
“You don’t have to do this, Joan.”
“I knew you would say that,” she says, pulling a mixing bowl from a cupboard. “I know what I do and don’t have to do, John.” Her voice is cracking and he’s sorry he said anything. “Gigi is old enough that she will have memories. I remember my mom in the kitchen. I can still smell some of the things she made for us when I was growing up. I don’t want Gigi to remember me or you looking scared on the day that I went to the hospital. I want her to remember her mom in the kitchen, making her breakfast.” Her voice cracks and John steps to her, wrapping his arms around her.
“I think she needs to remember her mom and dad in the kitchen making breakfast for her!” He yells over the top of Joan’s head, “Hey, Gigi!” They hear her small voice answering from her bedroom at the top of the stairs. “Come on down! We’re making pancakes for breakfast!” They can hear her feet slap onto the floor and then break out into a run for the stairs.
“You’re helping, too, Daddy,” she says, coming down the stairs and turning the corner into the kitchen.
“I’m helping, too, and no matter what Mommy says, I’m loading the pancakes with chocolate chips!”
Joan laughs and breaks two eggs into the mixing bowl. “If you’re both helping, then you both need to wash your hands.”
John opens a pack of ground sausage he recently bought at the butcher and begins to form patties as Gigi helps Joan pour in the rest of the ingredients to make the batter. “Remember,” John says to Gigi, “it’s all in the stirring. If you don’t use your magic wand then the pancakes are ruined.” Gigi looks at Joan and Joan hands her a whisk. Gigi attempts to put it into the bowl when John stops her. “Nuh-uh! You can’t put that in there without waving it over the bowl and saying the magic words.”
“What magic words?” Gigi says.
“Eatem, eatem! Eatem uppem!”
Joan smiles and Gigi giggles, waving the whisk over the bowl. “Eatem, eatem! Eatem uppem!” she says, thrusting the whisk into the mixture and stirring it as if her life depends on it.
“How many pancakes will you eat?” Gigi asks her dad.
John lifts up his shirt, sticking out his belly so it’s round and firm, like a bowling bowl. He slaps it like a drum and snarls his upper lip, using a funny voice. “I’m thinking eighty is a good number.”
Gigi and Joan both laugh and he keeps his stomach sticking out as they finish cooking. They work together inside the small kitchen and Joan finds herself smiling throughout. If she wanted Gigi to have a memory, then John was going to do whatever he could to make it a lasting one. When the pancakes, sausages, strawberries, and blueberries are on the table and Christopher is in his high chair, Gigi spreads her arms open and says, “Welcome to our feast!”
“It is a feast!” John says. “And I’m extremely grateful for your mommy, who cooked it.” He looks at Joan and her mouth turns up into a sad smile.
“Are you done talking, Daddy?” Gigi asks.
John laughs and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I am, sweetie. Go ahead and eat.”
They would explain again to Gigi that Joan would be going in for surgery today and would be gone for a few days, but for now they ate, and they laughed together, just as Joan had hoped.
July 2012
Lauren pulls a gallon of whole milk from the fridge and sets it on the counter. She picks up the recipe card for Homemade Yogurt and reads through it again.