Albert Sweet made the best chicken pot pie in LaFontaine. In fact, I thought that if there was ever a pot pie contest in Michigan, Albie would bring home the blue ribbon. He always managed to get his crust flaky, keeping it from becoming soggy under the rich gravy.
Even just the thought of it made my mouth water.
So too, the thought of it could put my nerves on end.
It was the kind of meal that the Sweets had along with family meetings. We’d had it the day Mom told us she had cancer and when I told the family I wasn’t able to have children. The comfort of pot pie was forever linked in my mind to bad news.
When Marvel told me we were having family dinner at her house and that Albie was making supper, I knew we were in for a difficult discussion.
I was just glad that she’d thought to set up a table in the basement for the boys—next to the tent that was still pitched down there from the sleepover weeks before.
“Stan, Al, and me had a little talk with the fella from Lazy Morning today,” Pop said, pushing his fork into the top crust. “They’re opening the day after Labor Day.”
“I offered to bake a cake for their big day,” Stan said.
“Stanley . . .” Marvel scolded with a laugh in her voice.
“I thought it was the neighborly thing to do.”
“The man didn’t seem too amused,” Albert said, smirking.
“Hey, I said I’d add raspberry filling, no extra charge.” Stan shrugged. “What kind of person would turn that down?”
“All joking aside,” Pop said, “we’ve got to figure out what we’re going to do. Now, this man brought over a flier with their prices listed. I don’t know how they can sell bread for so cheap and stay in business. But I do know that we can’t match what they’re selling for.”
“I bet you dollars for donuts their bakes aren’t half as good as ours.” Stan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Can’t be.”
“That may be. But it won’t matter to somebody who’s got to tighten their belt.” Pop put his fork down. “That person’s going to go where they can save a few pennies.”
“I’m not willing to let them win,” Albert said.
Stan thumped him on the back.
“What do we have that Lazy Morning doesn’t?” Marvel asked. “The Sweets. Us. I say we out-charm the socks off of them.”
“I like the sound of that,” Pop said. “How do we do it?”
“Well, I’ve been told that I’m charming.” Stan winked at Marvel.
“Oh you.” She swatted at him. “But I was thinking more of Betty and me pitching in. Running the front and helping the customers. We both still have aprons in the back, don’t we?”
“You sure do, kiddo,” Pop said.
“Betty and I can take turns working while the boys are at school,” she said.
“I would like that,” I piped in. “Unless you gentlemen wanted me to help bake the bread.”
“No,” Stan answered, a little too fast. “You can be the charmer. I’ll let you.”
“Another thing to think about is offering some of Lacy’s special recipes,” Pop said. “Now, I know. I know. She didn’t want to make them to sell. She liked keeping them just for us. But maybe it’s time we started sharing a little bit.”
“I don’t know, Pop,” Marvel said. “Would it feel like we’re giving away too much?”
“They’re just cookies. Maybe some sweet rolls and a couple fancy pies,” Pop said. “That’s all. They aren’t who we are or what makes us a family. I know your mom had stories to go along with all of those recipes, and I still treasure that. I think it’s nice. But who says those stories were only meant for us anyway?”
“Mom said,” Albert answered.
“Yup. She did.” Pop pulled his hanky out of his pocket and scrubbed it under his eyes. “But she’s also the one that said we’d stay open until God told us it was time to close. I haven’t heard that from the Lord yet, and I don’t expect to anytime soon.”
“Should we take a vote?” Stan asked.
“No.” Pop shook his head. “Lacy wouldn’t have liked that. Either we all agree or we don’t do it.”
“I don’t know if I have much say in it,” I said. “But I don’t think it could hurt to try.”
“Yeah.” Stan grinned at me. “What’s the worst that could happen? People like Al’s cinnamon rolls so much we sell out of them every day? That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”
“I do like making Mom’s recipes,” Albert said. “It helps me remember her better.”
“Oh, Albie,” Marvel said, her eyes full of tears. “How can I not want that for you? Okay. I agree.”
“What do you think Norm would want?” Pop asked me.
I clenched my teeth, finding myself unable to speak without falling apart. Instead of saying anything, I nodded my head.
We finished our dinner, not bringing up Lazy Morning again the whole evening.
Albert’s pot pie had never tasted so good.