Cameron To Candy

It was the evening of Self Defense Class day and Candy had just managed to wedge the fourth casserole into the enchanted icebox when someone knocked on the front door. She closed her eyes.

"...For gods sakes, not again." Another knock. "Marcus!"

"I'm shaving!"

"You're answering it!"

A long sigh drifted down the hallway. A few thudded steps and a moment later Marcus opened the front door.

"Oh. Good afternoon, Mr. Elwood." An older woman stood smiling on the porch, balancing a covered baking dish. "I heard poor Candy had a spell at the bathhouse the other day."

Marcus nodded politely. "She's doing much better, thank you, Mrs. Dungenly.”

"Oh, wonderful." She lifted the dish proudly. "Chicken casserole."

Marcus accepted it automatically. "That's very kind."

Candy could hear every word from the kitchen. "Another casserole," she muttered.

“You know what I think it is? All that reading. I’ve seen her read on the porch swing. It overheats the female brain you know —”

“Thank you for the casserole, Mrs. Dungenly.” Marcus shut the door a bit faster than Candy, as a younger woman, would have gotten away with. The privilege of being a man.

He walked in carrying the dish. Candy stared at it. He opened the icebox and took stock. There was one beef casserole, two chicken casseroles, one pheasant casserole, one shepherd's pie, and three soups. Plus a loaf of fresh bread and a peach cobbler.

"I swear if another woman shows up with a casserole I’m going to..."

A knock echoed through the house. Candy’s eyes went wide, then she pointed toward the front door without even looking, her eye twitching. Marcus went to the door again.

"Oh! Mr. Elwood!"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bindlewack. Lovely to see you again,” he replied dry and automatic.

"I made another vegetable soup."

"Thank you very much."

"And some fresh rolls."

"That's very thoughtful."

“Well, I just thought that poor Candy, she hasn’t mastered zesting a lemon or deviling an egg; she can’t cook in her state!”

“Uh, yeah, that’s uh… that’s a thing.” Marcus floundered to stay polite, smiling and nodding as he slowly closed the door. Candy buried her face in her hands. Marcus returned carrying another pot.

"...Soup."

"I heard."

By nightfall, the icebox had become a jigsaw puzzle. Candy had just finished rearranging everything when another knock came. She looked to Marcus.

“Oh no, I got the last two.”

Candy grumbled the entire way to the door but didn’t fight him on it. It wasn’t that Candy hated casseroles or soup, or free food in general, but she was growing to despise the seemingly obligatory commentary that came with them. She opened the door. Standing on the front porch was Mrs. Poppy Dovewell, a kindly silver-haired matron whose wrinkles suggested she'd smiled through most of her life.

"My dear!" she said warmly. "You're looking much better."

"I feel much better, thanks,” Candy responded in the slow, flat affect that meant she was pacing herself for a long, obnoxious conversation she absolutely hadn’t invited.

"Oh, good." Mrs. Dovewell lifted another covered dish. "I brought supper."

Candy accepted it. "Thank you."

"When I heard the news, well, I just knew I had to help! Poor thing needs to eat, I said to myself.”

Hmm, not too bad so far… Candy thought.

“Uh, thanks. I mean, I did need it after I woke—”

“We simply couldn't let poor Mr. Elwood go hungry while you're recovering."

Candy froze. Seriously?

“And we all recall the time the fire brigade had to rescue you from your burning kitchen. We wouldn’t want you in there when you’re not at your best. Can you imagine?”

Aaaannnd there it is.

"No," Candy agreed, sarcastically, though it went over Mrs. Dovewell's head. "We certainly wouldn't want that." Mrs. Dovewell nodded vigorously. Candy hesitated. "You know... Marcus is actually a pretty good cook himself."

The older woman's pleasant smile slowly faded.

"...He, he is?"

"Yeah."

Mrs. Dovewell blinked. "He... cooks?"

"Sometimes," Candy added the last word quickly. "You know... if I'm not feeling well."

Mrs. Dovewell stared at her, her face the picture of confusion. "But..." She searched for the proper words. "He's a man."

"Yeah."

"So..." Another pause. "Er, why is he cooking?"

Candy shrugged. "Because he enjoys it. He did a damn good snake steak last month.”

Mrs. Dovewell frowned harder for a moment before lighting up like a fireworks show. "Oh, you mean barbecuing! Well, that’s quite different.”

“Uh, that, and other things.” The woman froze again. Candy stared. Damn it, she should have taken the out.

"...Is he, er, applying to become a chef?"

"What?"

"A chef."

"No."

"Oh." That somehow made even less sense. “Did he cook in his military service?”

“Uh, yeah, a little.”

“Oh, that explains it then!" She sighed, relieved the world made sense again. "I suppose people do have hobbies. Nostalgia probably."

Candy almost laughed at the ridiculous mental gymnastics she was witnessing. "I suppose they do."

Mrs. Dovewell brightened again. "Well! At least you won't have to cook while you're recovering."

Candy smiled politely. "That's true." Not that she ever really did. The matron leaned in conspiratorially.

"So, between us girls, how’d it feel being carried by that huge fireman? Bit of fantasy come true a?”

“Er, I,” Candy sighed. “...I really could have gotten out myself. It’s not hard to just walk out the door with a smoking pan.”

“Of course, darling, of course. Anyway, we all have our strengths, dear."

"I suppose."

"Cooking simply isn't yours."

Candy forced a smile. "Apparently."

"But you're brave."

"...Uh, brave?"

"You keep trying." There wasn't the slightest trace of sarcasm in her voice. She genuinely meant it, and somehow, that made it worse.

Some time later…

The knocking had finally stopped. Candy cautiously peeked through the curtains.

“Clear.”

Marcus looked up from the file he’d been reading.. “No more casserole?”

“No more casseroles.”

“I think we made it.”

She smiled. “I think, dare I say it, we got through it!”

The icebox still looked absurd. It was crammed with enough to survive a minor siege. Then…

Knock knock knock!

Candy groaned. “Oh, come on!”

She shuffled toward the door. Standing outside was Susie Cropley, smiling brightly beneath her ridiculous flowered bonnet, cleavage at full display per her norm.

“Well hiiii, sugarplum!”

Candy couldn’t help smiling back. “Hey, Susie.”

Susie looked past her into the kitchen “Oh ufdah!" She whistled. "Looks like the rest of the neighborhood got to you first.”

“Yes. Yes it did.”

“I was gonna bring supper; I mean, I have it here if ya want it.”

Candy narrowed her eyes. “…It’s not a casserole, is it?”

Susie’s grin somehow became even wider. “Oh, heavens no.”

Candy immediately stepped aside. “Come in.”

Susie laughed. “I spent a few years over in Plumpudding , you remember, and, well, I picked up a recipe or two.”

She uncovered the dish. Marcus wandered in from the dining room. All three of them stared. The pie glistened beneath a perfectly browned crust decorated with tiny pastry crowns. Steam escaped through delicate vents shaped like little flowers. The smell alone made Candy’s stomach growl.

“What is that?” Marcus asked, mesmerized.

“Golden Crown Pie, sweetie.” Susie beamed proudly. “Beef, mushrooms, onions, roasted root vegetables, cream gravy, buttery potato crust that stays crisp, honey-glazed pastry,” she leaned closer. "And just a whisper of cinnamon.”

Marcus stared. “Cinnamon?”

“Trust me.”

Candy looked from the pie to the mountain of casseroles in the icebox, then back to the pie. “I think…” she said carefully, “you may have just become my favorite neighbor.”

Susie laughed so hard she had to steady herself against the doorway. “Oh, don’t be saying that too loud.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “The casserole committee might hear you.”

Candy burst into laughter. Marcus covered his mouth, unsuccessfully hiding a grin.

Susie winked. “Now scoot. That pie’s best while it’s hot, dontcha’ know."

As she bounced (very literally in her case) back down the garden path, Candy watched her go. Her personality was as perky as her sweater puppets. Maximum legal cleavage; maximum optimism, and somehow they suited her. Candy shut the door and carried the pie into the dining room. She grabbed a serving utensil and smiled despite herself. The casseroles would feed them for another three weeks, but that evening, neither of them ate a single one. They had pie.