A Slice of Magic. A. Mayes G.
stories about something that had happened on the playground or a dream I’d had the night before. She never interrupted me or told me I wasn’t making any sense. She just let me talk.
Then there was the post-baking snack – a big slice of the fresh pie, which we usually enjoyed as we sat with our legs outstretched on the light green carpet in her living room. She never worried about me spilling pie, though I did more than once. Somehow, she always got the stains out of the carpet.
I stared at the ingredients and drank my coffee. Did I have time to eat some cheese and crackers? I looked at the clock and realized I had to focus. Maybe if I concentrated all my energy, it would somehow magically turn into finished pies. Unfortunately, the power of my mind seemed to be failing me, so I set to work. I added all the ingredients for the crust to the industrial mixer. It was a little daunting to flip the switch to the on position because even though it had a protective guard around the bowl, I was still afraid somehow I would fall in and get mixed to death. I carefully read and re-read the recipe to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. I felt my confidence build as I looked at the giant ball of dough that actually seemed to resemble the pictures of pie crust I had found online. I covered the counter with a layer of flour and plopped the ball of dough in the middle so I could divide it into smaller chunks. Out of the blue, I sneezed right on the pie crust. A cloud of flour surrounded me.
I jumped when I heard a snort behind me. I turned and saw a tall man standing in the doorway. He was a good-looking guy who was probably in his early thirties with wavy dark brown hair, brown eyes, and thick eyebrows. His lips were pursed together as though he was fighting to suppress laughter.
He cleared his throat trying to compose himself. I attempted to brush the flour off me, but there was really no recovering from this.
‘I saw your door propped open, so I stopped to say hi,’ he explained. ‘I’m Henry.’ He looked like he was going to shake my hand but then, as if he remembered that I’d just sneezed, he dropped it back by his side.
‘I’m Susanna,’ I said with a sigh as I grabbed the ball of dough and dumped it in the garbage.
‘You’re the niece,’ he said. ‘I heard some rumblings in town about you.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Something about you loving the musical Annie?’ He raised his eyebrows questioningly at me.
‘That doesn’t sound like me,’ I said, somehow managing to keep a straight, innocent face. ‘You must be confusing me with someone else.’
He looked suspicious. ‘There’s not a lot of new people in town to confuse you with.’
‘So, what do you do, Henry?’ I asked, in what I hoped was a smooth change of subject.
‘I work at the nursing home.’ As he spoke, he walked into the kitchen and washed his hands. ‘The people there are great, but it’s like I have eighteen grandparents always trying to “help” me make my life decisions.’ Without missing a beat, he was over at the sneeze counter, washing it off.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘The shop is supposed to open soon, and…’ He waved his hand over the counter where I had all the ingredients lined up. ‘There are no pies. I thought maybe you could use a hand.’
‘You bake?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes,’ he said with a smile. ‘Erma is one of my many surrogate grandparents.’
Part of me wanted to shoo him away. ‘I can do it myself,’ had been my motto ever since I was a little kid and had read a Sesame Street book by that same title. But I glanced at the clock, and he was right. The shop was supposed to open in a couple hours. I had a feeling the town wouldn’t respond well to me just putting the ingredients in the display case and trying to sell them as a DIY pie kit.
‘Thanks,’ I said, a little reluctantly. I started peeling the apples.
He tossed the ingredients into the mixer, barely glancing at the recipe I had out on the counter. In no time, he had the ball of dough on the counter and was dividing it up.
‘Ah, ah,’ he began as if he was going to sneeze, then dazzled me with a smile. ‘Just kidding.’
I was tempted to throw a handful of flour at him, but I settled with fixing my withering glare towards him. I wasn’t quite ready to laugh at that yet.
‘So, tell me more about life at the nursing home,’ I said, as I slowly peeled my second apple.
‘They’ve all discovered social media,’ he said, darkly.
‘Really?’ I laughed.
‘Yup,’ he nodded. He had all the crusts prepared and had moved on to helping me peel apples. ‘Life used to be easy. I just had to set up bingo games and card tournaments. Now everyone is constantly handing me their phones and asking me to help them take selfies.’
I laughed. He was already on his fourth apple, and I was still struggling with my second. Tomorrow I would be sure to pick recipes that didn’t involve peeling anything. I wondered if with all the genetic engineering out there if you could buy peel-less apples.
‘That’s not even the worst part,’ he said. ‘Betty asked me to explain sexting to her.’ He shivered in horror at the memory.
‘Wow, no wonder you’re hiding out in here,’ I said.
‘I’m not hiding,’ he said, a little indignant. ‘I’m just doing a community service. The town needs their pie.’
He helped me make the apple pies and prepare the crusts for the blueberry pies. Soon the place was smelling like the pie shop it was.
‘I should probably get going.’ Henry headed towards the back door. ‘Remember to reduce the temperature in fifteen minutes.’ He pointed at the timer he’d set. ‘And here’s this just in case.’ He held up a handkerchief and set it on the corner of the desk with a wink before sliding out the back door.
I found myself still smiling after he left. I tried to wipe the smile off my face as I mixed the blueberries and sugar together. Sure, he was cute and he could bake, but I had to focus on the pie shop. Who knew how long I’d be here anyway?
I had a habit of ending up with boyfriends when I was lonely. Usually I chose them without much discretion. My mother disapproved of anyone I dated, so I had learned to accept her disapproval early on. As a result, it often took me longer to recognize when I disapproved.
I was startled out of my daydream by a meow, and to my horror I saw the same silver cat from yesterday sitting on the floor by the pantry. I lunged at it. Why had I left the door open? The cat smoothly sidestepped my grasp. I could hear Mitzy barking from behind the door at the top of the stairs.
Thank goodness I hadn’t unlocked the front door yet. The last thing I needed today was the health inspector stopping by while I chased a stray cat around the kitchen. I followed it as it ran under the kitchen island and around to the front of the shop. I stretched out my arms and felt the fur slip through my fingers. I grunted when I fell on my knees and prayed that Flora wasn’t looking in from her window just then. The cat disappeared under the display case. Out of breath, I dropped to my stomach and peered underneath expecting to see blue eyes staring back at me, but I couldn’t see anything. I ran back and found my phone so I could use the flashlight on it. I shined the light across the dark corners and saw nothing but a few dust bunnies. Mitzy continued to bark her encouragement from upstairs.
‘Here kitty, kitty, kitty.’ I tried to use a soothing voice. ‘I have tuna.’ I felt slightly guilty for lying, but I reassured myself that it was for a good cause. Where did the cat go?
I reached my hand underneath, cringing slightly as I imagined cat teeth taking off a finger. I felt nothing. Did she move when I wasn’t looking? I found that hard to believe, but as I flashed the light back and forth, I couldn’t figure out where she had ended up. I did four more laps around the kitchen dropping to the floor to check