A Slice of Magic

‘Why does that one box say “frozen peas” on it?’ I asked, pointing.

‘Oh, fiddling fiddlesticks,’ Stan exclaimed. I tried to hide my smile at his very G-rated agitation. ‘I must have grabbed the wrong boxes this morning,’ he explained. ‘I’m going to have to go back to the warehouse to get the right ones.’

He began to stack the boxes back on his two-wheeler. For such a skinny guy, he seemed to be very strong, lifting large boxes as though they were empty.

‘Wait, that one says butter on it,’ I said, pointing at the box he was holding. He flipped it around to read it.

‘Oh, you’re right. I must have gotten some of the right boxes. Hurray!’ He sorted the boxes into two piles. One to return to the warehouse, and one to leave with me. In the end I got the flour, the pumpkin, half the order of strawberries, and one stick of butter. I don’t know how it happened, but the large box labeled butter only had one stick inside. Stan made notes amending the delivery on his sheet, and I signed it. He left after assuring me that he would return with the rest of the order for the pie shop, eventually.

He said he had to get Bob his delivery because ‘you know how Bob can get,’ and then he would swing by the next six stops because they were right on the way back to the warehouse. Somewhere in there he figured he would probably need lunch because when his blood sugar got low he forgot to use his turn signal and apparently Sheriff Buddy had been ticketing people lately for not using their turn signal.

After he left, I grabbed the sack of flour to put it away and fell over because it was so heavy. How did Aunt Erma do this at her age? Mitzy, well-trained in health code regulations, understood that she needed to stay out of the kitchen and sat watching me from the bottom of the stairs where I had left the door open after my less than graceful entrance.

I checked my supplies. I was not going to get through the day without the rest of the delivery, but Stan didn’t inspire a lot of confidence that he would return in a timely fashion. I was going to have to venture out to the grocery store.

At the store, I grabbed a cart and frantically began throwing things inside. Apples, bananas, blueberries, sugar, butter. Anything that looked like it might go into a pie went in my cart. I wondered if the same person who kept cleaning the kitchen would also assemble these ingredients into delicious pies. Like the story, The Elves and the Shoemaker. I could try leaving all the ingredients on the counter tonight and maybe I’d wake up to completely baked pies. I could almost hear Aunt Erma gasp in horror when I grabbed an armload of frozen pie crusts and tossed them in the cart. On a whim, I threw in a frozen pizza for dinner tonight.

‘You seem to be doing a good job on the fruits, but your cart could really use a few more leafy greens.’ I heard a voice say behind me. I turned around and saw a woman in a Basil’s Market apron studying my cart. Her name tag said, ‘Luanne.’ She was an older woman, probably around Aunt Erma’s age, with chin-length gray hair that had a bright blue streak through it. She was thin and looked like someone who had spent a lot of time doing yoga.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘I could grab you some kale, maybe a little romaine. Then you could make a nice salad to go along with your dinner.’ She motioned towards the frozen pizza.

‘Mom, leave her alone.’ Holly appeared from around the corner, also wearing a Basil’s Market apron.

‘Humph.’ The older woman stomped off, grumbling.

‘Sorry about my mother,’ Holly said. ‘She thinks everyone is her child.’

‘No problem,’ I laughed. ‘She’s right. I don’t get enough vegetables.’

‘How are things going at the pie shop?’ she asked.

‘I haven’t burned the place down yet. That’s about the extent of my accomplishments so far,’ I said.

‘You sound like you need a night out. Want to grab drinks with me on Tuesday?’ she asked. ‘Sal’s should be open.’

‘Sounds great,’ I said. We made plans to meet up in a couple of days, and I hurried to finish my shopping.

I dumped all my groceries in the kitchen and ran upstairs. I poured myself a giant mug of coffee, got a quick pep talk from Mitzy and her tail, and rushed back down to get to work.

I lined up all the ingredients for the first pie on the counter. With a deep breath, I tried to channel my inner Aunt Erma. I left the back door unlocked, but not open. I was hoping Henry would stop by. I could use both his company and his baking expertise today.

The pumpkin pie recipe looked easy enough, so I began with that. The only thing I found a little confusing was the evaporated milk. I pulled the gallon of milk I had bought out of the fridge. How in the world do you evaporate milk? After a quick search on the internet I found that I could have just bought cans of something called evaporated milk. I let out a frustrated sigh. I should have been watching the cooking channel more often.

Luckily there were also recipes for turning regular milk into evaporated milk. It didn’t look hard, and I decided it would be easier than heading back to the grocery store. I didn’t want another lecture from Holly’s mother. I measured the milk and put it on the stove to simmer and turned my attention back to the other ingredients. I mixed things together for the pumpkin pie filling. The preparation time listed at the top of the recipe mocked my slowness. At least the pie crusts were already prepared. I thought of the frozen ones in the freezer.

I was daydreaming about being back in my pajamas when I noticed a burning smell. I turned around just in time to see the milk boiling over onto the stove. It happened so fast. Boiled milk spread all across the stove sizzling as it hit the hot burner and filled the shop with a terrible smell.

On a positive note, this could probably be considered one of the regular tests of the smoke detectors that the firefighters advised me to conduct. The ear-piercing beeps filled the shop as I turned off the stove and frantically waved a towel at the ceiling. They turned off quickly, but I called the fire department just to make sure they wouldn’t come out again.

A woman with a raspy voice answered. I explained what had happened. I heard a strange noise. Was she laughing?

‘Hold please,’ she said. She must have just put her hand over the receiver because I could hear her recounting the story I had just told her.

‘She should open an ice cream shop for the safety of everyone in town,’ someone shouted. More roaring laughter.

‘I’m still here,’ I shouted into the phone.

The woman came back on the line and asked me if I was sure there wasn’t any fire anywhere.

‘No, nothing. I’m sorry to bother you,’ I said a little bitterly.

‘Talk to you tomorrow,’ she said and hung up.

I was running out of time before the shop was supposed to open, and all I had was six half-made pumpkin pies. I grabbed my coat off the hook and took off through the back door towards the grocery store. As I ran, people stopped and stared, but I didn’t have time to worry about that now. I rushed through the aisles of the store until I found the evaporated milk. I grabbed an armful of cans and headed to the checkout where Luanne was waiting for me.

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