Francesca's Kitchen (15 page)

O
ne need not have been a psychic to perceive a certain feeling of high anxiety in the air at the Simmons residence when Francesca arrived the following evening a little before seven. Will answered the door and let her in before fleeing to the relative quiet of the living room couch, where he safely lost himself in a video game. The situation upstairs was not so tranquil. As Francesca stepped inside, she heard a good deal of commotion on the second floor. Voices were raised, particularly that of the Simmons woman, who was no doubt hurrying to get ready for her evening out. At issue seemed to be the location of a pair of earrings that
someone
must have misplaced when she was snooping around in her mother's jewelry box, even though she had been told a thousand times not to. For her part, Penny was denying the accusations with shrill professions of innocence.

It was, a chuckling Francesca decided, just a typical mother–daughter melee. She had endured enough of them through the years with her own daughters to recognize the signs.

“Staying out of the line of fire?” she said to Will as she passed through the living room on her way to the kitchen with the big paper bag she had brought to the house.

The boy rolled his eyes and raised a finger to the side of his head, where he made circles in the air to indicate his assessment of the emotional state of his mother and sister. “It's like this every time when she's getting dressed to go out,” he sighed.

“Does your mother go out a lot?” asked Francesca.

“Hardly ever,” answered Will. “But it's always a disaster.” Then, nodding to the bag, “Whatcha got?”

“Just a few things for later on,” she replied. “Nothing special. But come and see if you want.”

Will paused the video game he was playing, tossed the controller aside, and jumped off the couch to follow her into the kitchen. He came to the table and stood by Francesca's side, his eyes full of eagerness as she reached into the bag. The old woman looked down at the boy and smiled. Much in the world had changed since she had been a young mother, but without fail, children everywhere were still always fascinated to see what treasures an adult might have brought home for them at the end of the day.

“I thought these might come in handy in case anyone wanted to play a game,” said Francesca, pulling a deck of playing cards out of the bag. She handed them to Will, who considered them for a moment with a look of faint disappointment before putting them aside.

“What else?” he asked.

“And I brought this in case we watch a movie or something good on TV,” she continued, producing a bag of popping corn. She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “It's the only thing I'll cook in the microwave,” she confided.

The prospect of hot, buttered popcorn seemed to spark some interest, but only a little. “Anything else?” he asked, standing on his toes to get a peek inside the bag.

“Just this,” said Francesca, reaching deep to get a good hold of the bottom of the glass-covered cake dish resting inside. Slowly she lifted it out, set it on the table, and lifted the cover to reveal the chocolate cake she had baked just that afternoon. She hadn't bothered to frost it, but instead had sprinkled the top with ground nuts and confectioners' sugar. The sight of it elicited the hoped-for look of approval on Will's face.

“Now you're talking,” he said happily.

“I hope you ate your dinner already tonight,” Francesca said.

“Yup,” the boy assured her with an enthusiastic nod of his head.

Having perhaps decided that her best course of action would be to come downstairs and get out of her mother's way, Penny suddenly made an appearance at the kitchen door. She gave an anxious look over her shoulder—her mother was still carrying on upstairs despite her disappearance—before stepping closer to the table to take a look.

“What's all that?” she said with the same look of eager curiosity as her brother.

“Just a couple of treats for later,” Francesca told her. “That is, if you're both good. Maybe we'll make some hot chocolate too.”

The idea seemed more than agreeable to the two youngsters. Francesca was about to suggest some games they might play to pass the time when they heard the front doorbell ring. All conversation ceased, and Will and Penny exchanged nervous glances. Francesca looked up at the clock and arched an eyebrow. The Simmons woman's gentleman friend was not due until seven fifteen, or so she had said, but it was barely five minutes past. Had this person no sense, Francesca wondered. What kind of man came ten minutes early to pick up a lady on a first date? The two children fell in behind her as she marched off to the front door to find out.

“Hi, Ned Hadley,” said the young man straightaway when Francesca opened the door. She looked past him to the driveway, where a sleek black sedan was idling.

“Francesca Campanile,” she replied, unimpressed. “Come in.”

Before Hadley had finished stepping across the threshold and into the front hall, Francesca had already scrutinized him from head to toe. She noticed everything: the cut of his clothes, his shoes, the way he carried himself. He was handsome enough, she thought, with his sandy brown hair and regular features, and he obviously had more than a few dollars in his pocket, but there was something vaguely annoying about his smile and the easy manner with which he nodded and winked at Will and Penny, who were keeping their distance a few steps back.

“Hi, kids,” he said with a smarmy grin. “Where's Mom?”

“You're early,” Francesca told him. “Why don't you come in and have a seat for a few minutes?”

“That's okay. I'm ready,” came Loretta's voice from the top of the stairs. She was standing there putting on an earring. “I'll be right down.”

Francesca shrugged and stepped aside. She would have liked to have had the opportunity to grill Mr. Hadley a bit before letting him back out the door, just to find out what sort of man he was. But it was probably for the best, she told herself. It really wasn't any of her business.

A few moments later, Loretta descended the stairs. Wearing a very feminine but conservative black dress, she looked quite lovely. Will was too much of a little boy to pay any attention, but Penny looked up at her mother with unabashed admiration.

“Wow, you look pretty, Mom,” she told her as she came into view.

“Ah, here's my girl,” added Hadley, eyeing Loretta in a way that struck Francesca as somewhat less than wholesome.

“Thank you, Ned,” Loretta replied. “I guess you didn't have any trouble finding the house.”

“No problem at all,” he said easily. “I just punched the address into the navigation system in the car and let the lady inside tell me where to go.”

“Ladies have a way of doing that,” said Francesca, though she had meant only to think it.

“Have you met my children, Penny and Will?” said Loretta, beckoning them to come closer.

“We were just saying hello,” said Hadley to the two children, who stepped only slightly nearer.

“Say hello, guys,” said Loretta. “Why are you hiding over there behind Mrs. Campanile?”

Their reluctance to come much closer did not escape Francesca's notice, and she was certain that it had not escaped Loretta's either. Still, Loretta wasted no time putting on her coat and gloves, and hurried to give each of the kids a kiss.

“Promise me you'll be good,” she said, squeezing them both.

“I'm glad you found your earrings,” Penny whispered to her.

“Me too,” her mother whispered back.

“Will you be home late?” asked Will, a nervous twinge in his voice.

“Not very,” his mother assured him, “but when I get home, you should already be asleep. Okay?” With that, she let them go and turned to Francesca. “We won't be late,” she said. “Maybe around ten-thirty? Eleven the absolute latest.”

“That's fine,” said Francesca, shooing her to the door. “You two go and have a good time. Just drive carefully. It's dark and icy out there.”

“Don't worry,” said a grinning Hadley. “She'll be in very good hands.” He nodded to the door. “Shall we, Loretta?”

The moment their mother and Hadley stepped outside and the door closed behind them, Penny and Will hastened to the window to watch them go. Francesca came up behind the two children and looked out the window with them. The trio stayed there, keeping watch, until the car backed out of the driveway and sped off into the night.

“Nice car,” opined Will once the car was out of sight, “but I think that guy is weird.”

“Me too,” nodded his sister.

“Me three,” thought Francesca. Then, aloud, “Well, now, anybody in the mood for popcorn?”

F
rancesca took a card from Penny, on her left, and passed one of her own to Will, on her right, who in turn passed one to his sister, on
his
right. Francesca let out a grunt of displeasure. She was on the lookout for a queen, but it was proving elusive. Like a poker player in a saloon, she narrowed her eyes to slits and looked about the table at the children. The two of them were holding their cards tight to their chests, stealing glances at one another, while trying their best to keep a straight face. The decisive moment was almost upon them. On the count of three, they passed cards once again. This time, Francesca's eyes lit up when the hoped-for queen finally appeared in her hand. Without pause, she thrust her hand out into the middle of the table to grab one of the two spoons resting there.

Too late!

With screams of delight filling the air, two smaller hands shot out first and snatched the spoons away. Will threw his cards on the table to reveal four jacks. Penny showed four kings. Gloating in their victory, the two burst out in laughter and waved the spoons at her.

“Cheaters!” cried Francesca. She threw her palms down on the table and glared at the two with mock indignation.

“Uh-uh,” said Penny, shaking her head smugly.

“She's right,” agreed Will. “We won fair and square. Now you've got to pay up!”

“Hmm, I don't know about that,” answered Francesca. “I think maybe I was just hustled by a couple of cardsharps. I should probably just take that cake and head on home.”

This suggestion elicited a howl of playful protest. The bowl of popcorn was empty, and the two youngsters were eager for their next treat.

“Okay, okay,” laughed Francesca, getting up from the table. “
Mannagia,
my ears! If the two of you are going to carry on about it that way, I guess you can have some. What do you want with it, milk or hot chocolate?”

Hot chocolate having won the vote hands down, Francesca fished a pan out of the cupboard beneath the counter and placed it atop the stove. She filled it with milk, turned up the heat, and ordered Will to find the Nestlé Quik and Penny some clean cups, plates, and forks. Her arms folded, Francesca watched the two children. She was very pleased with herself, for the night was turning out far better than she had expected. After their mother had left for the evening, Francesca had feared that the children would immediately retreat to their usual sanctuaries of the upstairs computer and the television. Instead, they had followed her into the kitchen and waited while she prepared the popcorn in the microwave. To her surprise, it was Will who suggested they play a game of cards. Spoons just happened to be an old favorite of Francesca's.

When the hot chocolate was ready, Francesca filled three cups and set them on the table. “Careful, those are hot,” she warned them, before turning her attention to the utensil drawer, through which she sifted around until she found a suitable knife for the cake. She cut three slices and transferred them to the plates using the flat side of the knife. She was about to set the plates down in front of the children when she hesitated and regarded them with a skeptical gaze.

“You did say that you both ate your dinners, right?” she asked.

“Yes, we did,” nodded Penny. “We had the leftovers from the other night.”

Will took a big bite of his cake. “Yeah, that spaghetti and meatballs was really good,” he enthused between chomps, “and the cookies too.” He washed this statement down with a gulp of hot chocolate.

“Well, thank you,” said Francesca.

Penny cast a wistful look at the stove. “Will you ever cook supper again for us?” she asked.

“Oh, we'll see,” Francesca replied. “I suppose if your mother has to come home again late some night after work, then maybe she might ask me.”

“Mom's been coming home late from work a lot lately, hasn't she?” said Will, his upper lip now covered with a milky brown mustache. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, but only partially succeeded in wiping it clean.

“Uck, you're so disgusting,” noted his sister.

“Here,” said Francesca, handing the boy a napkin. “Try one of these.”

Penny took a bite of her own cake. “That's just the way her job is sometimes,” she said of her brother's observation regarding their mother. “Mom says that sometimes they give her a lot of work right at the end of the day.”

“Your mother works very hard,” Francesca told them, nodding her head to show that she understood how things were. “She does it for you two, to keep a roof over your heads, and food on the table, and shoes on your feet. And I'm sure that sometimes she comes home very tired. That's why you and your brother should do all you can to help out around here, picking up after yourselves and keeping things in order. That's a big job all by itself, you know. Your mother can't always do it all by herself.”

“Did you ever have to work late when you had kids like us?” asked Will in a small voice, his eyes peering at her through his wire-rimmed glasses. Looking at him, Francesca had to chuckle to herself, for she realized that Tubs Bennett was right; sometimes Will really did look like Harry Potter.

“Well, I didn't have a job outside the house,” she replied, amused by the children's surprised looks. “My husband had his own business fixing cars, and sometimes I would help him by taking care of the books and paying the bills. Things like that. But my most important job was taking care of my house and my family.” She paused and gave the two of them a warm smile. “That was another day and age,” she went on. “Life was different then.”

“I bet things were really hard back in the old days, when you grew up,” mused Penny, sounding as if she considered Francesca's “old days” to be centuries ago.

“Well, in some ways I guess they were,” said Francesca. “When I was a little girl, we didn't have a lot of the fancy gadgets and appliances that we have today. I had to wash my own clothes by hand and hang them out to dry, because we didn't have a washer and dryer. And we didn't have automatic dishwashers, of course. Everything was done by hand. But in a lot of ways, things were easier in those days, I think—or at least, a little simpler.”

“Like how?” asked Penny.

“Yeah,” said Will. “Tell us what it was like to be a kid in those days.”

“Well, for one thing, families stayed a lot closer in those days,” explained Francesca. “At least, mine did. When I was little, my grandparents lived upstairs from us, and my aunt and uncle lived next door. And we had relatives all around the area. It seemed like I couldn't walk anywhere in the neighborhood without seeing someone who wasn't a cousin or whose family came from the same
paese
as my grandparents.”

“The same what?” asked Penny.

“
Paese
,” said Francesca. “The same town or village back in Italy. Didn't you ever hear the word
paesan
? That's where it comes from.”

“I thought it meant someone who likes to eat pizza,” said Will.

“Well, I suppose that might be partly correct,” chuckled Francesca. “But the long and the short of it was that I could walk anywhere I wanted without worrying because there were always people watching out for me. I think that's what the problem is today. People are always moving around all over the country these days, never setting down the roots of their families, and never really getting to know who their neighbors are, because families come and go so often. You never grow to trust and depend on one another, because no one's ever around long enough.”

“You sound just like Grandma Jane,” observed Will. At the mention of the name, Penny gave a little cough and cast a sharp look at her brother.

“I didn't know you had a grandma,” said Francesca, pretending not to notice the young girl's sudden discomfort.

“She lives up in New York,” he said, “so we don't see her much.”

“That's too bad,” replied Francesca. “I'm sure she must miss you both a lot.”

Penny fidgeted with her hands. “She and Mom don't get along,” she said awkwardly.

The subject was one that clearly distressed the young girl, and though curious to know more, Francesca decided to save it for another time and move the conversation back to more comfortable terrain. A pall had come over the table, and she was anxious to recapture the light spirits of just a moment ago. It was Will, however, who pressed the issue.

“She never liked Dad,” he went on matter-of-factly, “especially since he went away. And Mom never liked Grandma's husband, and so they argue all the time whenever she comes.” He might have said more had his sister not silenced him with a shush.

“I see,” said Francesca, nodding her head. “But you know, you shouldn't worry too much if your mother and grandmother don't always seem to get along. Mothers and daughters have been arguing with one another ever since…well, ever since there have been mothers and daughters, I guess. It's natural. It doesn't mean that they don't love each other, so don't worry too much about it. You should see the way I yell at
my
daughters.”

“Where do your daughters live?” asked Penny, taking the opportunity Francesca had given her to move on to another topic.

Francesca gave her a smile. “Oh, I'll tell you all about them some other time,” she replied, taking the deck of cards in hand. “For now, how about you finish your cake, and we'll play another few hands before it's time for bed. I want you both asleep before your mother gets home.”

And so, as the children ate their cake, Francesca replaced the spoons in the center of the table and shuffled the cards.

“Okay,” she told them as she started to deal, “this time, no cheating.”