The Shopkeeper’s Daughter

Fiction

Clark handed his keys off to an employee and took off just before noon. It was the first day of summer after all, and he’d promised his daughter they’d go on a picnic.

As he rode his bicycle down the street, cars honking and drivers screaming for him to get off the road, he mulled over in his head what he should prepare them for lunch. Did she still like his ‘famous’ bologna and cheese sandwiches? Would she rather he packed them juice boxes or a bottle of wine?

He rested his bike on the railing of his porch and fished for the keys in his front pocket. While kicking his shoes off he thought of something that could make up for all the lost time, the perfect meal.

His kitchen was in disarray, the result of recipes cluttered together as he tried to stretch leftovers to their very limit. Instead of cleaning he pushed everything to one side of the counter to create enough space to work with. Appetizers, main course, desert — how much space did he have in the cooler?

He started off with making the appetizers, which consisted of two bologna and cheese sandwiches cut up into squares and stuck with tooth-picks. He was a master at crafting simple sandwiches, if there was such a thing. Next, for the main course, he fetched the loaf of brown bread he’d gotten from the bakery earlier in the week and cut off four slices. Instead of his go-to recipe, he placed some pieces of the honey-glazed ham he had left in the refrigerator and topped them with the cheese he’d been given by an employee, her words of wisdom floating around in his head as he compiled the creation, “Don’t just eat this cheese with crackers, okay? Smoked Gouda is to be saved for something special”.

He looked up and noticed time was running out on the clock. His daughter had taken an early day at work as well and would be getting out soon, and in turn be waiting for him at the park in less than an hour. He finished off the sandwiches and grabbed what he’d planned for dessert out of the fridge, along with a bottle of wine from atop the bookcase. Everything fit into the cooler, wedged snug and filling every crevasse.

Cars honked, people hollered. He got to the park to notice she hadn’t arrived yet. He pulled the cooler out of the basket at the front of his bike, which he had to place in vertically to make fit, and opened it to find things were still intact, having been wedged together so tightly nothing could move. From his backpack he pulled out a checkered blanket, which he placed on the ground and put a rock at each corner in case of wind. Just as he was putting the finishing touches on his presentation he heard her call for him.

“Dad?”

He turned around and stood up, smiling from ear to ear as he dusted off his slacks.

“Jessica,” he said, “it’s great to see you.”

“What’s all this?” she asked. “I thought we were going to grab lunch.”

“I figured I’d treat you to a picnic,” he reached down and grabbed a small sandwich square, “I even have your favorite.”

“Bologna and cheese?” she asked. She grinned. “I haven’t eaten that in years.”

“I thought that might be the case,” he replied. “So that’s why I made the adult version for the main course, ham and Gouda. Pam, she’s the cashier at the shop, brought it in for me, says it’s really good.”

“I’m sure it is.”

They sat down and talked, first over the memories of the last time they’d seen each other as they sank their teeth into the small sandwich squares, then about where their lives had lead them as they bit into the main course over glasses of wine.

“It was tough without you,” said Jessica. “Mom and I were on our own for a while.”

“It wasn’t easy for me either,” he replied. “Your mother and I,” he paused as he swallowed the last bit of his sandwich, “decided it would be better off. I wasn’t in a good place, but now, now I have a shop of my own. I’m seeing the world differently. When I spoke to your mother a week ago she was delighted at the thought of our meeting today. She and Greg seem like a nice fit, too.”

“Greg’s amazing,” she took another bite and sloshed it around while holding up a finger in the air, “mom really lucked out with finding him.” She paused for a moment. “I’m glad we’re doing this, but I have to ask…”

“What? You can ask me anything.”

“What’s for dessert?”

He smiled and turned his attention to the cooler. He turned back towards her and stuck out his hand to offer her a juice box.

“Cherry Blast,” she said, “can’t believe they still make this stuff.”

“How about a toast,” he said.

“A toast to what?”

“Making new memories,” he replied, “while never forgetting the old.”