Squirrel Pie
by Jack Elliott
© Copyright
It started out as a normal Sunday afternoon drive down to the Bailiwick for dinner at Em and Norm’s.
“Do we have to stop and pick up Carolyn?” I inquired of my wife, the Pearl of the Orient, after a second false start having forgotten both my keys and my hat- an unacceptable delay.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Elliott. If she needed a ride she would have mentioned it yesterday,” shot back the Pearl, already flustered, having been unreasonably delayed at Customs on her return from the pool.
“But…” I started remembering Carolyn’s car was reported as dead the previous day.
“No buts! We’re already late and Emily said dinner was at four sharp,” stated the Pearl who insists on being on time.
“Besides, I’m hungry,” she added as we stowed the pie and the cake in the van. The trip was uneventful with the aroma of the baking making focusing on driving rather than on the upcoming dinner, difficult.
Halfway there the Pearl slapped her head and snorted in disgust, “I forgot Carolyn’s present. How could you be so stupid to let me forget?”
“Yes Dear,” I replied automatically, keeping my attention on the road.
We arrived right on the dot of the appointed hour and pies in hand were ushered in. The aroma of the roast drifting in from the barbecue absolutely set my taste buds aquiver,
“Where’s Carolyn? Didn’t you pick her up?” asked Emily, her face suddenly aghast.
“I asked, but the Pearl said no,” I replied. Both Emily and the Pearl shot me stony glances. I could see immediately it was my fault, and headed for the door to make the ten-minute back track.
“No! No! I’ll go. I insist!” stated Emily as she raced out the door and jumped in Norm’s truck. The roar of the engine and the spray of gravel from the rear tires as the truck negotiated the turn at the end of the lane in a four-wheel drift clearly demonstrated the urgency with which this passenger pick up would be accomplished.
Norm and I settled down on the patio downwind of the barbecue with a couple of beers to wash away the drool. A half hour later, with no sign of Emily, we were forced to open more beer. Forty-five minutes later with the second beer down to dregs, slamming doors announced the return of driver and guest.
“She wasn’t home and I had to go running all over town to find her. I was sure she was lying dead in a ditch somewhere,” explained a totally flustered Emily, of the delayed return.
“Well, I didn’t know I was invited to dinner,” added a still puzzled Carolyn. “Nobody told me. Besides my car is dead. Remember?”
“See Elliott, I told you,” chided the Pearl. Wise beyond my years, I simply shut up and opened another beer.
Norm, however of lesser experience and perhaps wisdom asked, “Do you want me to cut this meat now? It’s done. Is the other stuff ready yet?”
“How can it be ready yet? I JUST GOT IN THE DOOR!” snapped Emily.
Norm’s head toppled from his shoulders and bounced twice as it rolled across the patio and down the steps, smirking and giggling all the way.
“You two just shut up!” ordered the Pearl as Norm picked up his head and I opened him another beer.
The meal was delicious.
