Софи Райан - A Whisker Оf Trouble

Rose clapped her hands. “Everybody out,” she said. “Sarah doesn’t need an audience while she’s cooking.” She looked toward Mr. P. and made a move-along gesture with her hand.

He started for the dining room. “Rosie’s right,” he said. “Let’s give them some space to work.”

“You’ll do just fine,” Charlotte said as she passed me.

Mr. P. held the door open and once everyone else was out of the room, he smiled at me. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said. “You have a good teacher.” He looked at Rose. “I’ll keep them in the living room.”

She beamed at him. “Thank you, Alfred,” she said.

He disappeared into the next room and Rose turned to me.

“Sarah darling, you know I love you like you were my own,” she said solemnly, taking my hands in her own.

“I love you, too,” I said, wondering where this was going.

She looked over her shoulder seemingly to make certain no one was spying on us and then took a step closer to me. “I’m going to share with you the secret of my perfect gravy, but you have to swear that you won’t tell anyone. Ever.” She looked back over her shoulder again.

I would have laughed except she was so deadly serious. “I swear,” I promised, crossing my heart with one finger for good measure and hoping the secret wasn’t something like fried turkey livers or brains or something.

Rose took a deep breath and pulled two red packets out of the pocket of her apron.

“A mix?” I said.

“Shhhhh!” she hissed, putting her index finger to her mouth.

“I thought you could cook everything,” I whispered.

“Well, surprise. I can’t make gravy from scratch. Or pineapple upside-down cake.”

I frowned. “Wait a minute. I’ve eaten your pineapple upside-down cake.”

“You’ve eaten a pineapple upside-down cake,” she said. “And we really don’t have time to talk about that right now.”

“Okay,” I said. “What do I do?”

Rose walked me through the instructions on the back of the mix packet and in five minutes actual turkey gravy was simmering in the roaster. She handed me a spoon and I took a taste.

“It’s good,” I said in surprise.

“Of course it’s good,” she said. “The company would have gone out of business by now if it wasn’t.”

Charlotte poked her head around the door then. “How’s it going?” she asked.

I smiled at her. “Good. Really good.”

She came up behind me and leaned over my shoulder to look into the pan. “It smells wonderful,” she said.

“It tastes wonderful, too,” Rose said, handing Charlotte a spoon so she could take a taste.

“Um, that is delicious,” Charlotte exclaimed. Behind her Rose tucked the empty gravy mix packages in the pocket of her apron. Charlotte straightened up and smiled at me. “I knew you could do it,” she said. “Now, could you help me dish out the food?”

I smiled back at her. “What would you like me to do?”

“Put some hot water in the gravy boat to warm it and then put those rolls on the table.” She pointed to the counter behind me. Then she reached for the turkey platter, glancing over at Rose at the same time. “You did get Sarah to make two packages of gravy, didn’t you?” she asked.

Rose’s expression didn’t change, but her shoulders went rigid and the hand in her pocket froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, a tad stiffly.

Charlotte moved the bird to the counter, pulled off the foil that had been loosely covering it and finally looked at her friend full-on. “Rose, you haven’t made gravy completely from scratch since the seventies. Do you have one empty gravy mix in your pocket or two?”

Rose slowly withdrew her hand from her apron pocket. She was still holding the two empty packets.

“Good,” Charlotte said, leaning back to regard the golden brown turkey for a moment. “That should be enough.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Sarah, are you warming the gravy boat?”

“I’m on it,” I said.

“How long have you known?” Rose asked, somewhat indignantly, one hand on her hip.

“How long have you been buying those packages?” Charlotte countered.

“A while,” Rose hedged.

“Nineteen seventy-three,” Charlotte said, picking up the knife. She seemed to have planned her attack on the turkey.

Rose’s lips moved as she did the math. “What gave me away?” she asked, indignation replaced with genuine curiosity.

“No offense, but before 1973 your gravy tasted like burned shoes.”

“How do you know what burned shoes taste like?” Rose asked, slipping on a pair of oven mitts.

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at her friend. “You ate my mother’s cooking. You know the answer to that,” she said. “And the potatoes are in the green casserole dish.”

Rose nodded as if it all made sense. “Are you going to tell?” she asked.

“Nothing to tell,” Charlotte said.

They both looked at me. I held up the hand that wasn’t holding the gravy boat. “Hey, I just made gravy that people can actually eat. The how doesn’t matter. It could have been leprechauns.”

“I think that’s cookies, dear,” Rose said helpfully.

We were about to go way off on a tangent. I smiled at her. “Either way, your secret’s safe with me.”

Dinner was delicious as usual. It was fun to watch both Nick and Liam take a tentative taste of the gravy and then try to hide their surprise that it was edible. After we’d eaten I caught Nick’s eye across the table and tipped my head, ever so slightly, in the direction of the kitchen.

He nodded, set his napkin next to his plate and then pushed back his chair. “Mom, that was delicious. Thank you,” he said. He grinned at me. “And, Sarah, good job with the gravy.”

I ducked my head and smiled.

Nick swept his finger from Charlotte to Liz to Rose and Mr. P. “Now go sit.”

Charlotte was already getting to her feet. “Don’t be silly,” she said.

Nick looked at Liam. “Please escort my mother to the living room.”

Liam jumped up, grinning. He moved around the table and offered his arm to Charlotte with a bow.

Charlotte took it and turned to look at Nick. “Yeah, I know I’m stubborn,” he said with that charming little boy smile. “I’ve heard it’s hereditary.”

“It is,” Avery chimed it. “I get it from Nonna even though she says she’s not stubborn at all.”

“I’m not,” Liz said, setting her napkin next to her plate. “I’m determined.”

“Yes, you are, Elizabeth,” Mr. P. said warmly. Then he got to his feet and smiled across the table at Nick. “Could I help, Nicolas?” he asked, effectively ending the stubbornness discussion.

“Yes,” Nick said. “You can tell Avery if you’d like another cup of coffee.”

Mr. P. tipped his head to one side. He reminded me of a balding woodchuck or a groundhog with high-water pants. “I think I would like another. Thank you,” he said.

“I’ll get it,” Avery said. She looked at her grandmother. “More tea, right?”

“Please,” Liz said.

“I’ll get some for Charlotte and Rose, too,” Avery said to no one in particular.

I cleared the table while Nick put the food away in the kitchen. Then I started on the pots and knives that I knew Charlotte always washed by hand while Avery and Liam loaded the dishwasher.

“Thanks, guys,” Nick said when the kitchen was almost back to rights. Liam and Avery headed for the living room, each with a slice of pie—his second and her third.

“Want a cup?” Nick asked, holding up the coffeepot as I wiped the counter by the sink.

“Um, yeah,” I said.

He poured, added cream and sugar and handed the mug to me.