Glenda took a big risk when she bought over the small diner from her friend Peter. For one thing, she was thinking of converting it into a pie shop and though she was good at baking pies for the family, baking them for dozens of people every day was a totally different matter. The shop was also small, and with the kitchen added in, there was only enough space left over for about eight people, so the question of making a decent profit from the investment did come up.
When she saw the place from behind the counter for the first time, however, she realized that baking was going to be the least of her worries. The kitchen was rundown and filthy. It took her a week to scrap it clean and another four days to give the interior of the shop a new coat of paint. She wished she had money to get new furnishing but she didn’t so she cleaned and repainted the existing display shelves, tables and chairs as best as she could.
One afternoon her best friend Sarah dropped by to help and said, “This place looks very outdated.”
“I know. It is depressing isn’t it?”
Sarah laughed. “I meant that in a good way. Sorry, I should have used the word nostalgic. Maybe if you put in some old stuff, you might get a 50’s or 60’s theme going.”
“You think so?”
“Yeh. I can give you some of my grandma’s tea and coffee cups.”
“Are you sure? They must be antiques.”
Sarah shrugged. “They are old, but worthless because none is of a complete set. My grandparents used to travel a lot, and they broke a lot of pots and cups along the way. My grandma kept the bits and pieces because she was the frugal type. Most of the mismatched cups are in a couple of boxes in the attic. We can’t use them to serve guests at home, but you can use them here to serve individual customers.”
“What a brilliant idea.”
That same afternoon, Sarah sent down the two boxes, plus an extra box filled with old calendars and posters. They cut the calendars out, bought some wallpaper glue and stuck all the pictures on the wall scrapbook style. Once washed and displayed, the cups looked quaint lined on the shelves behind the service counter. Glenda also found some old tiered serving trays with glass covers behind the shelves in the storeroom, cleaned them and placed them on one corner of the counter. More digging led them to baking trays, old-styled spoons and forks and white platters centered with a sprig of red, yellow or blue flower that were still in good condition. Sarah went home after that, but Glenda stayed to finish what she described as the little things.
It was two o’clock in the morning when she finally stepped back and scrutinized her work. She smiled: Everything was exactly as she wanted them to be. She sat down on the floor, leaned back against the glass wall looking out to the street and stretched her tired legs in front of her then dozed off.
I wonder what mommy is making, she thought to herself as she stood on tiptoe and looked over the counter at a middle-aged woman who was slicing a freshly baked pie.
“Would you like a little pecan pie, honey?” the woman asked.
Glenda nodded and the woman gave her a thin slice on a dish shaped and painted like a smiling rabbit’s face. Then she sliced a larger piece, slid it on a red flower platter before passing it to a man sitting at the counter.
A large man walked into the shop. “You still have blueberry pie, Margo?”
“Yes, I do. To take away?”
“As usual. The whole pie please.”
The woman stooped and took out a pie from the display case, placed it on a circular cardboard then wrapped the whole ensemble with oil paper before passing it to the man. After he paid her, she turned to Glenda and asked, “Would you like to help mommy bake some pies, honey?”
Glenda nodded gleefully, and that morning they baked five different pies. After lunch Margo sent her to the small back office to nap on the couch.
It was six in the morning when Glenda woke up. She looked about her dazedly, and realized that she was still in the shop. She went to the small office in the back, took a quick shower and changed.
Then she went outside and baked five different types of pie. The pies were ready just before nine, so she decided to open her shop. Minutes later, an old couple walked into the shop and ordered the blueberry pie with their tea.
After taking a few mouthfuls and bickering a little with her partner, the old woman asked, “Are you related to Margo?”
Glenda thought for a moment then she said, “No, I don’t have any relations called Margo. But the name does sound familiar.”
“See I told you she can’t be related to her,” the old man said. “Margo had only one child and no one else. And if I recall correctly, Lucy had Down syndrome, so after her mother passed on she was sent to a nursing home.”
“I am so sorry to hear that,” Glenda said, for want of anything better to say.
The old man smiled. “My father used to come in here every Sunday to buy her blueberry pies. And when my wife and I started dating, I brought her here. Your pie tastes exactly like Margo’s.”
“I am glad you like it,” Glenda said.
“Oh yes, it is lovely,” the old woman said and looked about the shop with a contented smile.
Another customer walked into the shop with his young granddaughter then another and another. Everyone who walked in that day felt familiar to Glenda, yet for the life of her, she could not understand why.
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