Grace Makes It Great Page 6

  “Are you okay, Grace?” Ella asked. “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

  I sighed. “My grandparents invited my family to dinner tonight at their house. It must be important, because…” I stopped myself. Until I met with them, I shouldn’t assume they were going to ask us to leave their bakery. And if I was right and we were being kicked out, I couldn’t bear to share that news with my friends just yet. “Well, I’m sure it’s fine,” I finished.

  “Is it their anniversary or something?” Maddy asked.

  I hesitated. It was definitely something, but what? “No, their anniversary is in June. I think they just want to get together,” I said, with forced cheerfulness. A lump rose in my throat and I swallowed hard.

  All through dinner, I kept a careful eye on Grandpa and Grandma, wondering when they were going to share their news. Grandpa ate every bite of the pork chops baked with apricots. Grandma finished her slice of rhubarb pie. But I could barely eat.

  “For someone who doesn’t like to bake,” Grandma said to Mom, “this pie is just delicious.”

  “Well, it helps that I like to garden,” said Mom. “I had so much rhubarb last summer that I had to freeze it. Can’t let it go to waste, y’know.”

  Grandma’s smile softened, and she said half-seriously, “Does that mean you’re ready to take over First Street Family Bakery?”

  Mom laughed. “That would be the day!”

  Grandma winked. “I know, dear. I’m just teasing. Say, are you running a half marathon again anytime soon?”

  Mom buttered a slice of sourdough bread. “Once school started, I decided it’s just too much to try to do it all. I’ll start training again next spring and do the Last Blast of Summer run again.”

  Conversation ambled like a shallow stream over rocks. Dad talked about snow coming soon and being ready for it by giving his skis a good base coating of wax. Josh talked about putting fat tires on a bike so he could bike through the winter, snow or not. And I tried to force down my whipped yams and green beans with slivered almonds, and waited for the real reason we had gotten together tonight.

  After dinner, we went into the TV room. I was surprised to see that Grandpa had set up his old slide projector and screen.

  “That thing’s an antique!” Josh said.

  “Sometimes old things work best,” Grandpa replied. “I’m proof of that,” he added with a chuckle.

  Grandma patted the empty space on the couch beside her. “Come sit with me, Grace.”

  I didn’t hesitate. I scooted in close to Grandma and pressed myself against her side.

  Anxiety swelled in my chest.

  Whatever is wrong with the business, I wanted to tell her, let me be able to help.

  But I said nothing. I just waited and worried.

  Once we were all settled, Grandpa dimmed the lights and started clicking slides from the past. There were slides of Mom when she was little—an adorable one of her holding a white rabbit—and slides of her and Aunt Sophie. And there were slides of the bakery, from the very beginning.

  In many slides, Aunt Sophie was working in the bakery’s kitchen, wearing various aprons. I recognized the one decorated with apples. I still wore that apron sometimes when I worked in the bakery!

  Looking at the slides, I almost felt as if that little girl in the apron were me. Aunt Sophie and I had both grown up loving baking. Now Aunt Sophie was a baker and living her dream in Paris. Who knew where my love of baking would take me next?

  Anxiety swelled again in my chest. But as Grandma laughed aloud at some of the photos and Grandpa told short bits of stories about funny customers, I began to relax. Maybe they’d simply wanted to get together with us to do this—to celebrate all the good times we’d had at the bakery and as a family.

  The slide show ended with an image of the bakery, with its faded lettering above the front door. It must have been taken recently, because the nearby maple tree was a brilliant red and I recognized a recent LPP flyer posted in the bakery window.

  “And here’s where our journey comes to an end,” Grandpa said. “With great sadness, yet with wonderful memories, Grandma and I have come to a painful decision.”

  I sucked in my breath. Here was the news—finally. I dreaded what was coming next.

  “Grandpa, did I do something wrong?” I blurted. “My friends and I try to leave the bakery kitchen sparkling clean and to always turn the lights out when we go and to follow—”

  “No, darling. It’s not about you girls or anything you did,” Grandma said quickly, patting my leg. “Don’t think that for a second.”

  “It’s about First Street Family Bakery,” Grandpa said, his voice catching a little. “We’ve decided to put it up for sale.”

  Up for sale? The bakery? I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. If my grandparents were going to shut down their business, then my business would have to close, too.

  Everyone was silent. The only sound in the room was the whir of the projector fan.

  he full force of Grandpa’s words hit me. “You’re selling the bakery?” I said. “But…you’ve had it for as long as I can remember. And…you love it, and…we need it for La Petite Pâtisserie!”

  Tears welled up in my eyes, partly because I’d been holding back all of my anxiety about hearing the bad news, and partly because now the bad news was terrible in a totally unexpected way.

  Grandma pulled me close. “All of that is true, honey, but we’ve had to borrow money the past few years to stay in business. When you girls asked if you could use the bakery kitchen, I thought about telling you then—maybe we should have. But we hadn’t made up our minds yet. Now, after another month of poor sales, we know we have to sell. I’m so sorry, Grace.”

  Mom pressed a hand to her cheek. “First Street Family Bakery is going to close? Really? I can’t quite believe it.”

  Mom looked as shocked as I felt.

  Grandpa was still standing beside the projector. He shook his head. “Business has died off, plain and simple.”

  “But what happened?” Dad asked. “Any idea why?”

  “City-Way and their new supermarket bakery, for one,” Grandpa said with a sigh. “We just can’t compete with their discounted prices, and we can’t afford to offer the same promotions they do.”

  “And the drop in business,” Grandma added, “means that we just can’t keep our doors open much longer.”

  Josh piped up with forced cheerfulness. “So you’re retiring? That’s a good thing, right?”

  Grandpa shrugged. “Yes and no. It’s good when you’re ready for it and want to stop working, but not so much when you feel you have no other choice.”

  Mom got up and hugged Grandma, and then she went to stand by Grandpa. “I’m so sorry, Dad,” she said sadly.

  I shook my head, trying to take in all this hard news. “Wait a minute. If you two can’t keep the bakery in business, how’s anyone else going to?”

  “I suppose someone will find another use for the space,” Grandma said softly.

  “This is just too sad,” I whispered. I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of Grandma’s hand on my back.

  “When will you put it up for sale?” Dad asked, breaking the silence.

  I braced myself for the answer.

  “Immediately,” Grandpa said. “It may take some time for the building to sell. But we’re hoping a buyer comes along by the end of the year. We’d like to maybe do some traveling this winter.”

  “Someplace warm,” Grandma added.

  “Hey,” Josh said. “That doesn’t sound so bad. You could take bikes and go exploring.”

  But I couldn’t think about exploring. “The end of the year?” I asked, my voice cracking. “That’s so soon!”

  And then, with the tiniest hope that it could make a difference, I remembered the money I was supposed to give my grandparents. “Wait a second!” I pulled the check from my jeans pocket and handed it to Grandma. “We want to pay rent. This is fifty dollars.”

&nb
sp; Grandma unfolded the check, and I saw tears glisten in her eyes. “Oh, Grace, darling,” she said, “We can’t take this from you girls.”

  I stood up. “No, we want you to, Grandma—you need to. Please?”

  She set the check on the coffee table. “That’s very sweet of you.” Then she leveled her gaze on me. “We dreaded telling you, Grace. You and your friends have done an amazing job with La Petite Pâtisserie. We hate knowing that our decision to close the bakery and sell the building affects your business.”

  I didn’t want Grandma and Grandpa to feel any worse about what they were doing, but it was one more blow to LPP. “First we had to move out of the kitchen at home,” I said quietly. “Now we’re all settled into the bakery and things are going really well, and we have to move again. But to where?”

  Tears ran hot down my face. I felt bad for Grandma and Grandpa that they had to close and sell their bakery after all these years. I couldn’t imagine Bentwick or my world without it. But I also felt bad for me—I couldn’t help it.

  Ever since I’d told Grandma and Grandpa about my dream of starting a business, I’d been working so hard to make it a success. But if First Street Family Bakery couldn’t make it, how could La Petite Pâtisserie?

  All day on Sunday I stewed over Grandma and Grandpa’s news, avoiding texts from my friends and hiding out in my bedroom with Bonbon. I didn’t even feel like talking with Sylvie. I couldn’t bear to tell her that First Street Family Bakery was closing.

  I didn’t have it in me to break the bad news to Ella and Maddy, either. So I asked my grandparents to do it. On Monday afternoon, as we stepped through the back door of the bakery, Grandma and Grandpa were there to greet us. As we bustled about—washing our hands, putting on aprons, and turning to our whiteboard—Grandma and Grandpa made small talk with Mr. P.

  Mr. P. was in an especially good mood. “Hey, girls,” he blurted out. “I thought you should know. I’m one of the final two applicants for a job. I should hear by Friday, and if I get it, we’ll have to discuss what you girls will do here without me. I could still help out on Saturdays, at least until you find someone else.”

  What was this? Rain-on-my-parade week?

  I met Grandma’s eyes and bit down on my lip. She could tell I was struggling, so she left Grandpa’s side and walked over to me. Then she reached for my hand, gave it a squeeze, and held on. I was grateful, because I was using every ounce of my strength to keep from crying.

  Ella wore a mixed expression of happiness for her dad and disappointment for us. She glanced my way and shrugged.

  Brace yourself, I wanted to say. There’s worse to come.

  And then Grandpa explained that they were selling the bakery. “I put the ‘For Sale’ sign in the window this morning.”

  “What?” Maddy exclaimed. “You can’t sell!” But then she caught herself and said a little more calmly, “I mean, of course you can. It’s your bakery. But…we’ve worked so hard and…” She looked at me and said weakly, “What are we going to do?”

  Mr. P. cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to hear your news,” he said to my grandparents.

  “Oh, maybe it’s a blessing in disguise,” Grandma said a little too brightly. “We might get a chance to try life without constantly working—maybe take a vacation or two. Not that we’re quite ready to retire, but sometimes you have to accept what life deals out.”

  “Everything just feels so unfair right now,” I said quietly.

  “Life isn’t fair, Grace,” Grandpa said gently. “Never is. Never was. The only thing that evens out the playing field—and the only thing we can control—is our attitude when things get tough.”

  Maybe Grandpa was right, but I didn’t want to hear it right now. No words or advice could set things right.

  “You girls can keep using the kitchen until the building sells,” Grandma said. “But soon we’ll put out our ‘Closed’ sign for good.” Her eyes threatened tears, but she forced a smile.

  Grandma and Grandpa left for home. They’d put in a full day of work, but our baking was just beginning.

  I turned on some French music, hoping it would help lift our spirits. Instead, we were all very quiet as we worked.

  As the last batch of madeleines was cooling, Ella sighed. “Maybe it’s time for us to just close up, too,” she whispered. She glanced back at the sink, where her dad was washing a stack of dishes. “I have a feeling my dad is going to get the job he was telling us about.”

  Maddy nodded slowly. “We’ve had fun,” she said. “Way more than I ever expected to have. But now, without a space to bake in or an adult to help us…”

  I stared at my friends in shock. They were ready to call it quits? The last thing in the world I wanted to do was to close the doors on La Petite Pâtisserie!

  My eyes went to the shelving filled with all of our packaging supplies: sheets of pink tissue paper and cellophane wrap, different-size boxes, and frosty plastic bags stickered with our name and logo. I’d poured my heart into this business. We’d poured ourselves into it. How could everyone act like it was time to close up and move on?

  Mr. P. was done at the sink. I said, “Maybe you guys should just go home.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “I want to finish up here on my own today.”

  Mr. P. studied my face and then nodded. “Fair enough. Let’s go, girls, and give Grace a little time alone.”

  As Ella and Maddy gathered their things and left the kitchen, Ella tried to catch my eye. But I couldn’t look at her. I was angry and sad and afraid I would cry. I turned my back until I heard the door to the alley close softly.

  Then I stepped through the swinging doors into the front of the bakery. I took it all in, trying to memorize every detail of the display cases and cash register. But as I looked around, I realized something. Though my memories were filled with bright laughter and wonderful smells, I now saw the bakery in a different light.

  The shop looked faded and dull. It looked exactly the way I was feeling.

  Tired.

  Discouraged.

  Worn out.

  I took another look at the “Closed” sign on the door of the bakery. It couldn’t really be closed forever, could it?

  Then I traced my finger along the top of the “For Sale” sign in the front window. I wanted to take it down and chuck it out onto the street.

  Closed could be forever. And I’d probably better start getting used to the idea.

  As I stepped back into the kitchen, I reached up and started yanking images of Paris from the walls—one after another. Who needs inspiration when a dream comes to an end?

  I gathered the images into a small stack and then walked over to the recycling bin, ready to toss them in. But I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t even open my hand.

  Tears started to fall, and a drop fell on a picture of a pigeon atop a fountain in Paris. With my free hand, I swiped at my eyes.

  I just couldn’t let go of what I loved. At least not yet.

  Instead, I walked to the metal cabinet and opened it. I pulled out the thick wholesale catalogue, flipped to the middle, and placed the stack of French images inside carefully so that they wouldn’t curl. I closed the catalogue and returned it to the cabinet. Then I left, locking the door behind me.

  The day was warm for early November, and I was grateful to bike home alone with just my thoughts. But like my bike tires, my thoughts just went around and around in circles. We were on the verge of losing Mr. P., and soon we’d lose the bakery kitchen, too. Ella and Maddy probably were right that we should just close LPP and move on. But how could I?

  I needed some serious cheering up, and I knew the perfect dog who could help me.

  I found Bonbon in the backyard playing with Zulu. Josh was sitting on the steps doing his homework.

  “Hey,” I said, sitting down beside him.

  “Hey,” he replied.

  Bonbon dashed up to me, licked me on the cheek, and darted off again to chase Zulu.

  “Thanks for bringing Zulu
over for a playdate,” I said to my brother.

  “Sure,” Josh replied. “Figured I’d better keep an eye on them so I wouldn’t get in trouble with Mom…”

  “Yeah, she wouldn’t be happy if they dug up the hundred bulbs she just planted for next spring.”

  Next spring. By then, LPP would be just an old memory. My eyes started to burn again, so I tried to think about something else.

  Luckily, that’s when Mom called to us from the back door. “Come on inside, you two. Dinner’s ready.”

  At the table, I did my best to focus on eating. Mom had made my favorite: spaghetti and meatballs, Caesar salad, and garlic bread with lots of butter. But halfway through dinner, I was just twirling my noodles around and around. I didn’t have an appetite.

  “Grace,” Dad said, “if you’re not going to eat, please talk. Tell us what’s on your mind. It’s not good to bottle up your emotions.”

  I spun my fork a few more rotations, dragging the spaghetti with it.

  “What’s up?” Josh asked. “You’ve only eaten one meatball and almost no noodles. You usually devour a plate of spaghetti in five minutes.”

  I stopped, set my fork on my plate, and dropped my hands to the sides of my chair. Bonbon, who spent dinnertime under the table, pushed her wet nose into my palm. Sweet girl—she seemed to understand why I was upset without me saying a word.

  “Mr. P. is probably getting a job,” I said slowly, trying to make my parents understand how bad things had gotten. “He’ll find out Friday.”

  “I didn’t know Mr. Petronia had a job opportunity,” Dad said. “Now you’ll need to find another adult to supervise your baking.”

  “Why bother?” I said bleakly. “Pretty soon we won’t have any place to bake.”

  Mom sighed. “I feel sad that the bakery is closing, too,” she said. “I realize Grandma and Grandpa can’t run it forever, but it’s still hard for me to think of it not being there.”