“The sun isn’t even really gone at ten,” Sam said.
“I’m just pulling his leg,” Willo said. “See you later.”
When they had walked out, Angelo said, “Your grandma is something else. And so is this place. Do you mind giving me a little tour? I was so excited to eat the pie and see the orchard that I missed this.”
“Really?” Sam asked. “OK.”
Before she had even gotten to the kitchen, the D Cups hooted and hollered, “This must be Angelo.” DeDe zipped over with a spatula, swatted Angelo on the behind, and said in her husky voice, “They grow ’em nice in Jersey.”
Angelo laughed. “They grow ’em nice in Michigan, too.” He bent over. “Swat me again.”
DeDe roared and smacked him again. “I think this pie’s ready,” she laughed. “Seems firm to the touch.”
“I don’t want to scare him off yet,” Sam said.
“That’d be a first,” DeDe said to raucous laughter.
“What are you making?” Angelo asked the bakers.
“Lots of apple pies,” Debbie said. “Fresh off the tree.”
“Trying to get as many made as possible before the big anniversary party for the orchard and your grandma on Labor Day weekend,” Debbie said. “Working OT.”
“I remember you talking about that,” Angelo said to Sam. “That’s amazing. What’s your involvement?”
His question stopped Sam cold.
I’ve been so caught up in my own life, I haven’t even asked about that, Sam thought, guilt rising in the pit of her stomach. Will I even be here? Will I have a new job by then? She thought of the call she had made to Colette on the drive to pick up Angelo.
She said she’d call to schedule the interview, Sam thought. I feel like such a traitor.
“Maybe a new recipe for the party?” DeDe said, saving Sam. “A mix of the old and the new, like these pies and your pie crust?” DeDe hesitated and tried to act very demure, but she dissolved into a fit of giggles and could barely get out, “Or like me and Angelo.”
“I better get you out of here before it’s too late,” Sam said.
“We’re headed out in just a bit,” Donna called as Sam began to usher Angelo out of the kitchen. “Long day.”
“OK,” Sam said. “I can shut everything down.”
The pie pantry was beginning to slow for the day. Some of the waitresses had taken seats at a back table and were eating sandwiches and divvying up their tip money. They were chatting about their day, with piles of dollar bills and plates filled with pie and ice cream crammed into the middle of an old Formica table.
Angelo stopped every few feet to study the historic memorabilia that lined every nook and cranny of the restaurant. He read old newspaper headlines about the war, and the great spring freeze that nearly killed Michigan’s orchards. He touched old baking utensils and was fascinated by the antique orchard ladders that lined the walls. He partially climbed one of the old, short, wooden ladders—carefully testing each rickety step—before turning to Sam and saying, “Take my picture.”
She took his camera and snapped a shot before saying, “I’m ordering the pizza … before someone gets hurt.”
“OK,” Angelo said, as if in a trance. “This stuff is fascinating.”
It is? Sam thought, as she called to order the pizza. When she was done, she stood beside Angelo and tried to see what he was seeing: this place through his eyes, for the first time. Slowly, as his enthusiasm began to affect her, she became more engaged, telling him about the history of the memorabilia.
“What’s this?” he asked as they returned toward the front of the pie pantry near the kitchen. A glass door—frosted over as if it were the middle of winter—sat adjacent to two large stainless steel doors, both of which were also cold to the touch.
“Oh, that’s our cold storage,” Sam said. She opened the first door, gesturing for Angelo to go in.
“You locking me up?” he asked. “Already done with me?”
“Not yet,” Sam laughed. The room was lined with small crates filled with apples, while shelves held gallons of cider. “This is where we keep the apples and cider that we use on a daily and weekly basis. You probably saw our waitresses dash in and out of here to get apples for customers or to serve cider.”
Sam spread out her arms.
“It’s bigger than my whole apartment in New York,” Sam said. “Warmer, too.”
Angelo laughed. “So true. You take that for granted being here. Having so much room to breathe is a gift.”
“Speaking of breath,” Sam said, exhaling a puff of white into the chilly air. “We better get out of here before ours freezes.”
They walked out of the cold storage, and a din of noise echoed through the pie pantry. The four waitresses who had been counting their tip money earlier were now attempting to navigate a big dolly lined with folding tables through the restaurant. One uncooperative wheel on the dolly, however, didn’t even touch the concrete floor and simply spun in a circle like those on a bad shopping cart. The four young women groaned to keep it going the right way on the wavy, sloping concrete floor.
“What are you doing, Mandy?” Sam asked one of the women.
“Oh,” said the waitress. “Didn’t see you, Sam. Your grandma wanted us to start hauling these tables out to the orchard barn before we left. She wants to get a jump-start on the party planning. She’s very excited. And excited the forecast isn’t calling for rain.”
Sam smiled despite feeling a pang of guilt. “I know,” she said. “But you all have had such a long day. Just deal with it tomorrow.”
“But…” Mandy started.
“And I’ll deal with my grandma,” Sam added with a laugh.
“Thanks,” the waitress said. “The D Cups just left … Want us to shut all the lights off and lock up, or do you want to do that when you leave?”
“I’ll do it, Mandy,” Sam said. “Thanks. We’re leaving in a second. Have a good night.”
Mandy waved and walked out with her friends, leaving the dolly. Sam opened the larger doors. Angelo peeked his head inside.
“This is our large cold storage room,” Sam said.
“For really big apples?” Angelo laughed. “Mind if I peek?”
Sam shook her head and dropped the tote she was carrying.
Angelo walked into the giant freezer, and Sam followed. Apples of all colors and varieties had been sorted into larger and smaller wooden crates. “We sort them into half pecks, pecks, and bushels to sell to grocery stores and restaurants,” Sam said, “as well as baskets to sell to customers.”
“Sounds like a country song,” Angelo said, beginning to croon off-key and acting as if he were strumming a guitar. “Bushels and pecks … my life is a wreck … now that the apple of my eye has turned to mush.”
Sam laughed. “Did you make up those lyrics on the spot?”
Angelo nodded proudly.
“Impressive … although I wouldn’t quit your day job just yet,” she said with a smile. “Although there is something catchy about your lyrics. And truthful. Cold storage keeps the apples from turning into mush.”
Angelo walked over, picked up an apple, and took a big bite.
“Hey,” Sam said. “Don’t eat our profit.”
“I deliver fruit for a living,” he said. “I know exactly how much profit I’m eating.” He took another bite of apple, chewed, and shut his eyes. “I ate about one thirty-second of your peck profit.”
“Wow,” Sam said. “You’re right. A peck is about thirty-two apples, or twelve pounds, and a bushel is a hundred twenty-six apples, or forty-eight pounds.” She looked around the big storage unit. “Cold apple storage is a boon for keeping income generated for us during the leaner winter months. My grandpa said we used to lose apples before they even got off the tree. Now, we can control the temperature and oxygen concentration to perfection.” Sam walked over and picked up a beautiful, red, shiny apple. “This baby,” she said, “will be a birthday apple.”
; “A what?” Angelo asked.
“A birthday apple,” Sam said. “In about a year, someone might buy this at a grocery store, a year after it’s been picked. But it will still be as delicious as it is right now.” She took a big bite. “Many of these will go to our apple corer and be used for pies, and many of these will be mashed in the press for cider. A lot will be sold to stores. And a lot will be eaten right here.” Sam took another bite.
“Speaking of eating,” she said, “our pizza should be about ready.” She rubbed her hands over her bare arms, which were covered in goose bumps. “And I’m not ready to be freeze-dried.”
Sam pushed the door, but it wouldn’t open. She tried again, to no avail.
“That’s weird,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“You need a big strong Jersey man,” Angelo said with a wink.
“Where can I find one in here?” Sam joked.
“Very funny,” he said. Angelo walked over and gave the door a big push, but it didn’t budge. He tried harder. Nothing. He then cemented his feet into the ground, angled his body, and ran into the door with all his might, his shoulder bouncing off the steel door.
Angelo put one eye to the crack and strained to see something, anything.
“You don’t think…” Sam started.
“I don’t,” Angelo said. “That’s how I’ve made it this far.”
“You don’t think the dolly rolled in front of the door, do you? The old floors in here are so warped. They go uphill and downhill. What if the dolly with all those tables has us trapped in here?”
Angelo walked over and shook his head, trying to look calm. “Don’t worry,” he said, putting his arm around Sam. “Lucy and Ethel got out of way worse.”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “See?” she said. “You really are an old soul.”
“My parents love Lucy,” he said. “Now, what would they do to get out of such a mess?”
Sam scrunched her face. It suddenly lit up. “Use their cell phones!” Sam said.
“They didn’t have cell phones,” Angelo said.
“No, but we do,” she said. They both immediately pulled their cells out, but their faces dropped in disappointment. “No service in here. Walls are too thick.”
Sam looked at Angelo, her face turning into that of a kid who was genuinely scared. “Sam, it’s going to be OK,” he said. “Don’t worry.” Angelo walked to the door and began to pound on it. “Hello?” he yelled. “We’re stuck in here! Help! Anyone?”
He stopped and panted, his breath coming out in frosty puffs.
“Don’t worry,” he said again, although this time Sam could tell he didn’t sound as convinced.
Angelo walked over to a closed crate, took a seat, and patted the wooden top next to him. Sam walked over, head down, and sat down beside him.
“What if we never get out of here?” she asked, her eyes wide. “What if this is it? What if they find our bodies frozen in here?”
“Sam, you’re overreacting,” Angelo said.
“Am I?” she asked again, her voice rising. Angelo put his arm around her, and Sam took a deep breath.
“What would you regret?” Angelo asked out of the blue. When Sam turned with a confused look, he added, “If this were it. What would you regret?”
“Now you’re scaring me,” Sam said.
“I don’t mean to,” he said. “But sometimes—at the strangest times—I think God forces us to stop for a moment, be still and reflect on our lives. Either we choose to pay attention, or we don’t … and I think that often determines the path our lives will take.”
“Old soul,” Sam said, repeating what she’d said earlier. “Mind giving me an example?”
Angelo chuckled. “Sure,” he said. “When you told me I should go to college. Most guys I know my age would have laughed it off. They would have said they were too busy working, having fun, dating … that the course of their lives was already set.”
“But you?” Sam asked.
“I thought, ‘Why is this smart, driven person taking an interest in me? Why is she telling me this?’ And I believe it’s because I needed to hear it. My mom told me the same thing, but I never listened until you said it.” He hesitated. “I love my friends, but so many aren’t ever going to change. They’re going to do the same job for the next forty years, but when you said that, I realized I wanted something more. I don’t want to be a deliveryman when I’m forty.”
“That’s how I felt, too,” Sam said. “That’s a big reason I moved to New York. I didn’t want the same thing.”
“I think you are very blessed to have a family like yours who supports you without question, and to be a part of a place like this with so much history and opportunity,” Angelo said quietly.
“Opportunity?” Sam asked. “For me?”
“Yes,” Angelo said. “Have you ever considered that you could bring New York here?”
“What?” Sam asked. “Is your brain already freezing?”
“I just see so much opportunity here, Sam,” Angelo said, suddenly standing and walking around the freezer. “I mean, just think about what’s hot in New York right now … pardon the pun again.” He picked up an apple. “Have you or your family ever considered making your own hard cider, or starting your own winery?”
“What?” Sam asked. “We’re known for our sweet cider. We don’t even serve soda here. There are tons of wineries around us.”
“And what makes the best cider?” he asked, tossing the apple into the air and catching it. “The best fruit.”
Sam cocked her head, considering Angelo’s words.
“And what’s the hottest thing in New York right now?” he asked. “Every bar serves high-end hard cider. It’s like the new craft beer.”
“Go on,” Sam said.
“You could reach an entirely new market,” Angelo said, “without losing your current one. You could have concerts in the orchards in the evening.”
Sam immediately thought of when she surveyed the pie pantry’s crowd and wondered where the younger customers were.
“And so many people love quality, high-end comfort food these days,” he continued. “What if the pie pantry added a country poutine, or veggie pot pies with your special crusts? What if your new takes on old-fashioned desserts were a part of a new menu?”
“People who come here would never go for that,” Sam said. “This is tradition. It’s like your friends. Some things will never change.”
“How do you know if you don’t ever try?” he said. “I didn’t know what I could do until you said something to me, and I finally listened.”
Sam smiled. “That’s sweet, but…”
“Just think about it,” he said. “You’re the strong one, Sam. You just need to realize that. You can be a great pastry chef in Paris, or New York, or here. But you can’t be you everywhere, or you’ll never make a mark.”
Sam thought of the pie pantry’s cornerstone, of the thumbprint cookies she’d made, of the footsteps she, her mom, and her grandma had left in the orchard.
Angelo walked over and sat again by Sam on the crate. He put his arm around her to warm her up, rubbing her shoulders. “You know what I would regret if we froze to death in here?” Sam asked.
“We’re not going to freeze to death,” Angelo insisted.
“I’d regret being a failure,” she said.
“You’re not,” he said. “Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just feel that whatever I do isn’t good enough.”
“You’re putting that pressure on yourself,” he said.
“I know,” Sam said. “I just want people to remember my food.”
“They will,” Angelo said. “But remember that food is connected to our hearts and our histories, our souls as much as our taste buds. When my mom makes one of her grandmother’s favorite recipes, she says it’s as though she’s still with her in the kitchen.”
“You have that here,” he added.
“What
would you regret if we froze to death in here?” Sam asked.
“We’re not freezing to death in here, Sam,” Angelo said, giving her a gentle shake.
“Just asking,” she said.
“I’d regret not doing this,” Angelo said. He leaned in and kissed Sam on the lips, gently at first, then harder, their mouths—cool at first—suddenly hot. Sam felt her body go from ice-cold to red hot, and she moved closer to Angelo, running her hands through his dark locks. His lips were smooth and large, and Sam leaned her head back, and Angelo kissed her neck, as Sam’s body exploded again in goose bumps.
Sam opened her eyes, and she realized Angelo’s dark eyes were staring back, seeming to search her soul.
“I like you, Sam,” he said, his breath coming out hot, the words trembling. “A lot.”
“We haven’t even had a proper first date yet,” Sam said demurely.
“I’ve been courting you forever,” he said.
There was something about that word—courting—that Sam loved.
It’s so old-fashioned, genuine and sweet, Sam thought. The way he says it is respectful and honest.
“I like being courted,” Sam said. She stopped and put her hands on Angelo’s face, her heart stopping at how handsome he was.
“My first kiss obviously didn’t do enough,” Angelo said. “You still have goose bumps.”
“That’s because you gave me the chills,” Sam whispered in a husky voice.
“That might just be the room,” he said. “I’m trying to give you the hots.”
He leaned in and kissed her again, when the door suddenly opened.
“What’s going on in here?” Willo asked.
Angelo and Sam bolted upright, as if they were kids busted sneaking into the movie theater. Their sudden movement caused the crate of apples on which they were sitting to tumble, and apples rolled across the cold floor.
Willo smiled.
“Grandma!” Sam exclaimed, rushing over to hug her. “Thank you. We could have died in here.”
“You look just fine to me,” Willo said.
Sam looked outside the door. “No, really. The dolly rolled in front of the door and blocked us in. We could have frozen to death.”
The Recipe Box Page 21