Author: Sandra Lee
Category: Cook books
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/sandra-lee/page,17,434257-the_recipe_box.html
“But don’t we need to know, Mom? Don’t I need to know? Look how you felt, what you told me. And what about Dad?”
“We can have you tested. It’s your right to know, just like it was mine. And your dad’s right to know as well.”
This was a lot for Emma to handle, Grace thought. But there was, she knew from her own experience, no right time. The difference was, Uncle Carl had been an ocean away and she had never even known him. He had died without knowing his daughter or, as far as she knew to this day, caring to know her. Emma not only knew Von, she was communicating with him. They had a relationship. And Brian, unlike the man who raised Grace, the man she thought of as “Dad,” was very much alive. What the two men had in common was they were both fathers who had loved their daughters. Would the fact that Emma might not be Brian’s biological daughter change that? Would the risk of the loss of that love be worth the trade-off of knowing the truth?
Grace moved around the table to sit next to her daughter. “So you see, Em, I’ve been very disturbed by Von’s e-mails to you. And you see why we can’t go on his boat.”
Emma looked confused, and her huge eyes suddenly welled with tears. “But you said he doesn’t know.”
“I think he has suspicions.”
Emma was holding a handful of recipe cards and fingering them. “Were you in love with Von, Mom?” she asked, her head down.
Had I ever really been in love with Von Vasser? “No, it wasn’t love. I see that now. I was in love with a fantasy. Brian was reality. In the end, reality is a better choice, even if it doesn’t always have a fairy-tale ending.”
“Did you have to get married?”
“Actually, no. We chose to. We would have gotten married regardless. Because yes, we were in love. And your dad loves you, Emma, just as mine loved me. We choose our families, in the end. Ken is our family, Leeza was our family, just as much as Grandma L. Or my father. Or yours.”
Emma sat bolt upright. “I don’t want to know!” She announced firmly. “It doesn’t matter to me. Dad is my dad; that’s all I care about. And Von is—Von. He’s a cool guy, but he’ll never be my ‘Dad.’ ” She made quote marks in the air with her sparkly blue-polished nails. “No matter what that test says, I don’t care.” She wiped fiercely at her eyes with a napkin.
“Our sign has arrived!” Ken proclaimed as he tore the protective wrapping paper off a large, rectangular shape. A dust mask was hanging around his neck and a bandanna was tied around his forehead. “It’s twice the size of the old one. You can clearly see it from the park: THE BOOK NOOK BARN.”
A special fixture took pride of place in the corner—Halo’s permanent perch. A set of small chairs was stacked nearby, as this was to become the center of the children’s reading area.
“Check it out!” Tim said to Grace, pointing out the latest find—a bluestone countertop for the communal Wi-Fi table. “Ken scored this from a defunct gardening shop in Appleton.”
“We’re like a woman in her underwear, getting ready for a ball—halfway dressed and waiting for her stylists to make her beautiful!” Ken proclaimed.
Grace had to laugh. “Not everybody has a stylist, Ken.”
“Well, this girl does,” he said, slapping a wall. “And here I am! This place will be a sanctuary, like a spa for the mind, for all ages. Simple, modern, and rustic all at the same time.” He gestured dramatically to a large heap in the center of the room, covered by a tarp. “And now for the pièce de résistance.” He pulled back the tarp, revealing a large crystal chandelier draped over a chair, its crystals dripping and puddling onto the floor.
Grace shook her head. “Barn wood and a crystal chandelier. You’ve outdone yourself. But this must have cost a fortune.”
“It cost nothing. Jonathan donated it. Leeza had it in a crate in their garage. It was her mother’s, from Europe, and she had nowhere to hang it. It’s on loan until Sara might want it someday. If she happens to marry a prince and move into a castle. Mike rewired it. He’s coming by later to hang it and put up the sign.”
“I think it looks like something from Miss Havisham’s wedding banquet,” said Tim, referring to the jilted spinster in Dickens’ Great Expectations who left her opulent wedding banquet intact to gather cobwebs for decades when the groom failed to show up.
“Perfect!” Ken agreed. “We’ll name her Miss Havisham!”
The space was truly going to be stunning. Grace had worried about Ken leaving Hollywood and all its glamour to go back to New London, but it was obvious she could back-burner those concerns. Ken was in his element. Instead of being cannon fodder for a crazy director, under the gun for ratings, he was in charge of his own domain here, and working with people he loved. He was free to create his own world, with nobody to judge him. In a way, Grace realized, it was what Ken had been always looking for.
“Grace, step into my office.” Tim had set up what he called his “office,” a laptop on a folding card table, over in a back corner. Grace picked her way around tarps, equipment, and paint cans. “I was just working on inventory. The books will be loaded in last. But I thought we should go over your ideas for the bake sale.”
“Emma and her friends are going to pass out baked goods on trays in front of the high school the day before the opening,” Grace said excitedly. “And Halo will send out e-mails to all the kids. Emma will set up a reading corner for a sneak peek of her new Halo e-book—and Halo will do a beak signing, or should I say piercing?”
“Dostoyevsky and Faulkner are rolling over in their graves.”
“I’m going to feature recipes from our family recipe box and attach a tag with the name of each recipe author to each baked good,” Grace continued. It felt good to get excited over plans for the opening. “I thought we could put the goodies under glass domes on old cake stands of different heights all the way down the bluestone counter.”
“Love it!” called out Ken.
There was still so much to do. Squinting at the plans, Grace realized they’d forgotten about where people would hang coats in winter. She’d need to source some old barn hooks. What else was missing? Grace was so engrossed in the plans, bent over the table, scribbling notes, that she didn’t notice until she saw the red laces in the Converse sneakers standing next to her that Brian had walked in.
She looked up with a start. “Brian!” Reflexively, she smoothed her hair. Not that she cared how she looked. “What are you doing here? Is Emma OK?”
What was that look on his face? She’d known Brian for twenty years, and she’d never seen that particular look. She threw a glance at Ken, who shrugged.
“Are you going over to see Emma? She’s at show choir practice.”
“Actually, I came to see you. Can you take a break?”
Grace glanced at Ken, who was pretending to be busy but lifted an eyebrow. Ken always had great intuition when something was up.
“I guess so. Is it important? I mean, you didn’t call…”
“It’s important. I thought we’d go for a walk.”
When they were kids, “going for a walk” had always been how they’d talked things out, finding a place where the adults couldn’t overhear their conversations, or see them making out. “Going for a walk” with Brian, who lived inside his head, avoided all outdoor activities, and loved to quote his alignment with Woody Allen as “Nature and I are two,” was code for alone time. In this case, “going for a walk” entailed driving a few miles to the nature center that bordered the river just outside of town, a place Grace loved and didn’t often have time to visit. Lovely as it was, the nature center was not high on Brian’s favorites list. His comment: “There’s a reason they call that place Mosquito Hill.” Which, to Grace, was ridiculous. There was a Butterfly House that was magical, and beautiful trails and flower beds. On a less hectic day, Grace might have really enjoyed a leisurely stroll. But today she felt every minute tick by. Why couldn’t Brian have called? Oh, well. That was Brian—and just another example of their different points of view. Still�
��he did have a funny look on his face. Nervous, almost.
Brian headed straight for the Butterfly House. Lush plantings lined the path, and multicolored butterflies flitted through the air under the glass dome. It was like being inside a butterfly snow globe, Grace thought. Brian took her hand and she was fifteen years old again. “So—what’s the deal? You hate this place, remember?”
Brian laughed. “You’re right, it has the two dreaded F’s—flora and fauna. I always feel like the butterflies can read my mind and they’re on the attack.” He swatted the air. “Butterflies should go back where they belong—onto screen savers.”
They were laughing together now. “Good thing Emma can’t see this,” Grace thought. “She’d be putting us back together again.” Emma always retained that micro-shred of hope.
“We do know each other like nobody else, Grace.”
“The good, the bad, and the ugly.”
“When we were growing up, I couldn’t imagine being with anyone but you.”
“I guess it seemed preordained.”
“I always think about how much we meant to each other, you know? And don’t you—just a little? Even after all we’ve been through?” He was holding her hand.
Grace dropped her head. She was having trouble meeting his eyes. “Sometimes,” she found herself whispering. And it was true. How do you ever forget the feelings you had for your first love? Since the visit to Chicago, Grace had to admit her feelings toward Brian were poking through the armor she’d put up after the divorce; they were like fresh green shoots through the spring thaw after a long, icy winter. She had left in such a fury, literally slamming the door on her feelings, that she had not really given them a chance to sort themselves out. And now, there was Mike. But on the Scales of Relationships, as the Unbiased Panel of Judges would call it, it was hard to balance a decades-long relationship with a co-parent with one that was brand-new.
“Grace, I think it’s amazing what you’ve done with your life, and Emma’s,” Brian said, still holding her hand. “She’s becoming such an incredible girl, and I give all the credit to you for this amazing turnaround.”
“She did it herself,” Grace corrected.
“I know what I see. And I see a girl who’s secure and confident because her mother is. You were always the most wonderful person; you were the only person who didn’t realize it.” He dodged a butterfly. “But I always knew. I was such a fool, and you were absolutely right to leave me. But we all deserve another chance, an act two.”
Oooh, here it comes, Grace thought, stopping as if someone had pulled a plug and cut all power to her body. Two thoughts remained: 1) He wants to get back together! And 2) Now would be the time to tell him about Emma!
“That’s why I want you to be the very first person to know—I’m getting married.”
For a minute, it did not compute. Getting married?
Then, the hammer: “I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
Oh my God, he’s marrying someone else!!
Brian seemed oblivious to Grace’s shock as he strolled along, leading her by the hand. “Heather is a great girl. She’s smart and young. She’s twenty-five and has so much energy. She is so amazing. Our meeting was kind of a whirlwind thing—it’s interesting how we met—so I haven’t been able to introduce her. But Emma’s going to love her.”
Later, all Grace could remember was Brian’s litany of Heather saids.
Heather said she couldn’t wait to meet Emma—and Grace.
Heather said she would be so happy if Emma could live with them.
Heather said they were going to get married right away.
Heather said Emma would be maid of honor and they’d start shopping for a “fierce” bridesmaid dress right away.
Heather said she would never intrude on your role as Emma’s mother.
Heather said she was going to quit work.
Heather said she was pregnant.
Grace found all this impossible to process. The brain must shut down when there was too much information, she thought. Brian pulled out his phone and showed her the screen shot: Heather and her Maltese, Feather. Heather and Feather. The dog was wearing a pink sweater with Chanel double-C logos on it.
All Grace knew now was that she had to get out of there and away from Brian. If there were something she could have thrown at him, she would have. But how do you throw a butterfly? Anyhow, it was better not to react. Don’t show him a shred of emotion! He doesn’t deserve it! Heather and Feather could have him. “Well. Congratulations to you and—Heather. I’m sure Emma will be thrilled to be a maid of honor. And a big sister.”
What did she expect? Grace asked herself. In a way, Brian had done her a big favor. It was time for both of them to move on.
“The wedding’s in a month?” Lorraine was incredulous. “How long has he known her?”
“Long enough to be decorating a nursery,” Grace said. She hoped she didn’t sound bitter, because she really wasn’t. Brian had a right to live his life, to date. What had she been thinking, to imagine he’d be sitting there, indefinitely waiting for her to throw him a bone? She’d clearly been living in a fantasy world. They would always be united by Emma; that would never change. That would have to be enough, for both of them.
Grace and Lorraine were exhausted. Every bowl, spoon, pan, sheet, measuring cup, and mixer had been mustered into service and sat in dripping, batter-spattered heaps on the counters and in the sink. Grace had dried batter in her hair and on her forehead; Lorraine had frosting smeared across her chest—and there hadn’t even been a food fight. The kitchen felt like an inferno. Still, there was no way they’d have a large enough baked goods inventory for the opening. The 3F always brought throngs of people into the town, so the volume they needed was huge. The baked treats were a great supercharger for Book Nook sales, and cookies and cupcakes could be handed out at the festival as bait to get people to divert off Water Street and over to the shop. But at this rate, Grace knew, they’d run out by noon. Now that school had started and there were after-class activities, several of the helpers had bailed, and there were no reinforcements in sight. Grace had to admit that this first 3F since Leeza’s passing was hitting her harder than she imagined, and so she seemed a little slower than usual. On top of everything else, Emma was adjusting to the idea of a new stepmother and, understandably, her focus was splintered.
Learning that her father was remarrying was one thing, but the fact that she would soon have a baby brother or sister was quite another.
“Halo doesn’t want to be with some dog that gets carried around in a purse,” Emma had said scornfully. “And who knows what might happen—that stupid dog might attack him! I can never take Halo there. So I can’t go.”
Grace had tried to talk sensibly to Emma, in spite of her own feelings. “You have to give Dad and Heather a chance, Emma. There are so many blended families these days. And you’ll be a big sister.”
Emma had rolled her eyes, but when Brian had sent her a plane ticket to Chicago last weekend, Grace had felt obligated to let her go, which meant she wasn’t able to help out with the Cupcake Brigade.
Brian had gone all-out, with a trip to the Lincoln Park Zoo, dinner at a glamorous Italian restaurant overlooking Lake Michigan, and Sunday brunch with Grandma M. Emma recounted the story of how Dad had met Heather at the Chicago Historical Society, where she worked in public relations; he’d been brought in to design a new interactive program for tourists. Heather had taken Emma and her Chicago girlfriends for mani-pedis on Oak Street and shopping in Old Town, and showed her the historic town house in the Old Town Triangle where they’d be moving as soon as they rented the loft. Emma was going to have a room there, she was assured. They were planning to be married at the Saddle & Cycle Club, an exclusive enclave near the city.
Grace couldn’t imagine how Brian could afford all this. And he had always disdained clubs. Then it occurred to her. Of course! Heather had money. Brian wasn’t materialistic, but this was a definite lifestyle
upgrade. It was amazing how women seemed to always put their hearts and souls into turning their men around, only to break up and have the next woman reap the benefits. Not that Grace was bitter, but she did feel a twinge.
“What kind are these?” Emma asked about the cupcakes that were cooling in their pans. Halo bobbed on top of her head, surveying his culinary opportunities.
“Almond and cardamom,” said Lorraine. “We adapted a traditional Swedish recipe from the recipe box. I think it came from my father’s side of the family. I remember it growing up.”
Emma grabbed a cupcake and christened them “Nut Case Cupcakes, in honor of all the nuts in this family.”
NUT CASE CUPCAKES
Makes 20 cupcakes
FOR THE CAKE:
½ cup butter
2 cups light brown sugar
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 cups cake flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon salt
1 cup sour cream
½ cup finely chopped almonds
FOR THE FROSTING:
3 sticks butter, softened
1½ cups dark brown sugar
½ cup powdered sugar
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
½ teaspoon vanilla
FOR THE CANDIED ALMONDS:
½ cup water
1 cup sugar
½ teaspoon ground cardamom
2 cups slivered almonds
Preheat oven to 350°F. Line cupcake pans with 20 paper liners.
MAKE THE CUPCAKES: Cream butter and sugar. Add the eggs one at a time, then the vanilla. Whisk together the flour, baking soda, cardamom, cinnamon, and salt. Mix into the butter mixture alternating with the sour cream. Fold in nuts. Fill the liners ¾ full with batter. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, rotating the pans halfway through baking time. A toothpick inserted in the center of a cupcake should come out clean. Let cool.