Chapter 7
Pinewood
A Few Days Later
M yra could hear the popping of gravel being turned up by Annie’s arrival.
Lady gave a woof of acknowledgment. As per her usual entrance, Annie bounced through the door with greetings, hugs, and kisses, and not necessarily in that order.
Fergus followed behind with his hands in his pockets, getting ready for Lady and her pups and their expectations of treats.
“Hello, dear!” Charles said, chopping something on the butcher block. Annie pecked him on the cheek and sniffed the pot on the stove. He shooed her away. “Your cohort is in the atrium.” He looked up at Fergus, who was doling out doggie morsels. “Hello, mate. Ready to get your apron on?”
“Why is it that every time I walk into this kitchen, I become the sous chef?” he said, and snickered.
“Because you are,” Charles replied. He nodded to an apron that hung on the knob of the large walk-in pantry.
“What’s on the menu today?” Fergus asked, as he tied the fresh apron strings around his waist.
“Something from the homeland,” Charles said, winking.
“I thought you were going to cook real food,” Fergus said, and grimaced.
“Steady on, mate. I put my own spin on this stew.”
“Do tell,” Fergus urged.
“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” Charles joked, although in the past that could have been a real possibility. Thirty years later, not so much.
Fergus eyed the twenty-five-year-aged bottle of Modena balsamic vinegar behind one of the colanders. “No worries, mate.” He slapped his friend on the shoulder.
“We have about a half hour to kill. What you say we watch some football?” Charles offered.
“Football as in the American version? Or real football as in soccer?”
“Good one, but I still have trouble using the word soccer when referring to the game.” Charles handed Fergus a clean towel. “Let’s clean up first.”
“Fair enough.” Fergus wiped the sauté pan until it was shining. Within a few minutes, the two men retreated into the den opposite the atrium.
“We’ll be in here, love.” Charles gave the women a nod.
Myra waved back. “Have fun.”
The two women were sitting at the long wooden table in Myra’s atrium. They had their laptops in front of them, each contacting the vendors who promised donations of toys.
“This is really coming together,” Annie said gleefully. “So far we have over two hundred toys coming in.”
Myra turned to her friend. “And I have another three.”
“Hundred?” Annie’s eyes went wide.
“Yes!” She and Annie did a high five. “You said your goal was to get a thousand, correct?”
“That is correct!” Annie said, grinning from ear to ear.
“Do you have any idea of how many pallets that will be? Do you think Kathryn will be able to manage it?”
“We’ll get the cubic footage of the pallets and let Kathryn figure out what size truck she will need.”
Another high five slapped between them.
“Speaking of Kathryn, she will be joining us for all of our holiday festivities from Thanksgiving to New Year’s! Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Wow! How did you manage to talk her into it?”
“I didn’t, really. She phoned while she was driving and said she was having some introspection, or at least that’s what it sounded like.”
“Oh?” Annie said, peering over her reading glasses.
“It seems as if she wants to get back into the land of the living, and not just on the highways and byways of the country.”
“It’s not as if she hadn’t tried to make a connection in the past.”
“True. But I think it was too soon. She had so much grief to deal with. Her ordeal with those horrid men was more than enough to shut down any normal person, but then the mess with Alan, being forced to watch. And then losing him. I remember what it was like after Barbara. I was out of it for months,” Myra said, reminding her friend of the darkest days of her life after her daughter was killed.
“Yes, you were buried deep in that black hole. I worried you would never come out of it. You became so frail. Unresponsive.”
Myra sighed. “I know I put everyone through a lot of angst, but look how far we’ve come!” she said, then held up her hand for a fist bump.
“You ain’t kiddin’,” Annie said, and grinned.
They were busy logging the promised loot onto a spreadsheet when another email dinged. Myra squinted at the email address. It was from Silly Socks. “Do you know anyone at Silly Socks?”
“No. Why?”
“Because they said they heard about our toy drive and are offering to donate fun holiday socks for the kids,” Myra shared.
“Terrific! Who doesn’t need a pair of fun socks?” Annie asked rhetorically.
“You surely don’t.” Myra faced her friend. “How many pairs do you think you have?”
Annie tilted her head from side to side. “Fifty, maybe?”
“I think that’s an underestimation.”
Annie snickered and replied, “I suppose you’re right.”
“So, who should we hit up for the other five hundred toys?” Myra asked.
Annie laughed, then said, “Definitely respond to Silly Socks and let them know we would be thrilled to accept their offer.” She paused and sniffed the air. A delicious aroma was emanating from the kitchen. “What do you suppose is going on in there?” she asked.
“Let’s find out,” Myra replied.
Before they had a chance to get out of their seats, Charles and Fergus appeared from the den. Apparently, they could smell Charles’s latest creation, as well, and Charles had the good sense to carry a kitchen timer with him just in case they got lost in the sporting event.
“How is the game?” Myra asked as the four traipsed into the kitchen.
“Someone is winning,” Charles said.
“Well, duh. Do you know who?” Annie asked.
“It’s one of them,” Charles said, and sighed.
“Must be Madrid,” Myra said. “Charles never likes to admit when his team is losing.”
“They’re not losing, Myra,” Charles corrected her. “They simply haven’t caught up yet.”
Everyone laughed out loud. Besides his love for cooking, Charles had a penchant for his home team.
“Charles is making some kind of stew,” Myra said.
“It’s a miracle none of us have gained a ton of weight,” Annie said, then chuckled.
“I know. I keep saying that to Charles, but he insists his food is nutritious, and I have to admit, it is, more often than not.”
Annie added, “It’s those popovers that’ll get you every time.”
“Especially if you eat them by the dozen like I do!” Myra said as she followed the men into the kitchen, where Charles and Fergus began sampling the goods.
“Gotcha!” Annie yelped.
“We want to be sure it’s fit for you lovely ladies,” Charles teased. He blew on the spoon of savory delights and put it in front of Myra’s mouth.
She opened wide and accepted the scrumptious mix of meat, vegetables, and potatoes. Charles handed her a napkin to wipe the gravy that escaped her lips.
“Me too! Me too!” Annie bounced up and down.
Fergus rolled his eyes, pulled out a large wooden spoon, and scooped some into a small bowl.
Charles nudged everyone aside. “Cook coming through.” He pulled a tray out of the oven that contained the dreaded popovers.
“Oh no, Charles! I was just telling Annie that these are dangerous to my hips!”
He checked the rack of puffy Yorkshire pudding the name the Brits call the soft, flaky pastry.
Myra’s nose followed the tray of buttery delights to the area where Charles placed them on the counter.
Before Charles had a chance to turn around, Myra and Annie were practically on top of the fluffy treats.
Charles let out one of his loud whistles. “Ladies! Please! Some decorum, if you do not mind.”
“Ha! Yes, we do mind!” Annie shoved another piece into her mouth. “Don’t get your knickers in a snit,” she cracked between the bites.
Charles shook his head and looked at Fergus. “I don’t know how you put up with her,” he said, and grinned.
Myra got busy pulling out bowls and flatware while Charles ladled the steaming stew into a terrine. Annie flipped the pop overs into a basket, and Fergus brought glasses and napkins to the table. They sat two by two, said grace, and began to enjoy Charles’s latest creation.
Annie began the conversation. “Myra and I have five hundred toys promised to us for the event!”
“Bloody impressive!” Fergus raved.
After she finished chewing, Annie said, “I’m looking for another five hundred to make it a nice even one thousand.”
“Sounds like you’re on your way,” Charles added.
“We are going to work on the rest of the plans this afternoon,” Myra said. “Oh, and Kathryn will be spending the holidays with us. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“I’m chuffed to bits!” Charles used one of his favorite British expressions. “I’ll have to come up with something special for Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, Charles, you always come up with something special,” Annie said as she waved her half-eaten popover around the table.
Charles laughed. “It’s not as if we Anglos are thrilled with the idea of Thanksgiving, considering its historical roots.”
“Good point,” Annie said, and dunked her pastry puff into the gravy at the bottom of her bowl. “I was going to ask you how you celebrate it on the other side of the pond, but duh, I suppose you don’t!” She snorted.
“That is correct.” Charles had a deadpan expression, then said, “I think I shall make a crown roast.”
Annie howled again. “Brilliant! Crown roast! Love it!”
“We must have a turkey,” Myra said, placing her hand on Charles’s arm.
“Of course! And, as you say, ‘and all the fixins’!’” Charles answered cheerfully.
“Charles, we’ll leave the menu up to you for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Myra and I will figure out New Year’s Eve. We’ll even give you the night off!”
“Bloody brilliant!” Charles gave the heavy wooden table two taps. “But I still plan to visit my idea of an amusement park for foodies!”
“Of course, we will expect something gastronomically fantastic at least one night while we are in the city,” Annie advised.
“No worries,” Charles reassured them. “Especially with my sous chef to lend a hand.”
Fergus humbly bowed his head. “Indeed.”
After they cleared the table, Myra and Annie retreated to the other large wooden table in the atrium where they had been working earlier.
Both women always started a project or a mission using pens and lined paper pads.
They didn’t care that it was considered “old school.” What they did care about is the underlying slur that often accompanied the remark.
Annie once said, “I prefer to call it ‘smart school.’”
“One thing for sure, the Gen X, Y, Z, or whatever letter of the alphabet, they tend to underestimate us.” Myra winked.
“You got that right. Technology is great when used properly. Don’t get me wrong; I love my phone. But I also hate it. It can be very intrusive. Annoying.”
“You won’t get an argument from me,” Myra said in agreement. “And now they’re finding many examples of social awkwardness when people actually meet in person.”
Myra sighed. “Remember the days when we would run around the farm all afternoon? We’d make up games.”
“Climb trees,” Annie waxed nostalgically. “Lay on the roof of one of the barns and pick out faces and shapes in the clouds.”
“I sometimes feel sorry for kids today. On the one hand, they have access to almost any piece of information they could want or need,” Myra replied.
“But that’s part of the problem,” Annie said, and then frowned. “Nobody knows what’s real or not.” She softly pinched Myra’s wrist.
“What was that for?” It didn’t hurt but was clearly unexpected.
“Just making sure you’re real.” Annie chortled.
Myra placed a large calendar on an easel. “Let’s mark up the days.”
Annie began to rattle off dates and items. She started backwards.
“Toys delivered to the hotel by December nineteenth, which means they have to be unloaded and repacked on the seventeenth for transferring the pallets to smaller trucks.” Then she marked the 15th for Kathryn to pick the toys up from Pinewood.
“I’ll ask Charles to make sure the barn off the main road is ready. We recently had the interior floor refurbished with cement.”
“Oh, a dance floor? For pole dancing, perhaps?” Annie said with a twinkle in her eye.
“Calm down, girl,” Myra joked. “It was either refurbishing it or tearing it down. For sentimental reasons, I decided to refurbish it.” She paused.
“It’s a reminder of what you just said a few moments ago.
Climbing into the loft and then sneaking onto the roof to watch the sky, although I’m not sure I’d do that now. ”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You are as spry as ever. I’ve seen you in that ninja outfit, climbing through a few windows.”
Myra laughed and said, “I think my alter ego takes over. When I think about some of the shenanigans we’ve pulled, I cannot imagine I was in my right mind.”
Annie laughed, too. “You are never in your wrong mind, my friend. But I’ll make a deal with you. If you’re willing to climb up to the top, I’ll be right behind you.”
“Oh, Annie. I appreciate the offer, but let’s wait until it’s warmer weather. There could be ice up there, and I don’t want to end up on my keister.”
“We’ll go down together! Sisters in crime,” Annie hooted.
“Sounds more like punishment,” Myra said, and chuckled.
“What are you going to do with it after the holidays?” Annie asked, while tapping her pen on the pad.
“I haven’t decided. We thought about turning it into a studio apartment for guests.”
“That’s a great idea. Close but not too close.”
“My thoughts exactly. But meanwhile, it will be our staging area for the toys and the socks.”
“Sounds like we have the beginning of an exceptional plan.”
“We do!” Myra offered her hand for another high five.