Chocolate Cherry Cookies

Chocolate Cherry Cookies

It has been over twelve years since I stood in front of Gram’s house. It was forever, yet it was just yesterday. I walked slowly past the FOR-SALE sign taking in the familiar site of the lilac bushes that framed the white bungalow. I stopped beside the rocker on the front porch and could almost see Gram in her pink cardigan calmly taking in the sounds of a new day.

I felt the keys clinched tightly in my hand. I had just picked them up from Grams’ neighbor Jack Wall. Jack and I had years of childhood adventures. We climbed the apple tree in the backyard, swam in the frog pond, often picking off leaches with the nearby saltshaker, made snow forts in the winter, and picnicked in Gram’s attic. Now Gram had passed. Her funeral was simple with few mourners, even my brother Joe failed to attend.

Since Gram had depended on a reverse mortgage to get along, the bank now owned her home. I was allowed to go in and collect any personal affects and take time to say good-bye. With a few boxes in hand, I collected her favorite teapot, ancestral photos that sat on the fireplace mantel, her sewing box with crochet needles and scissors, and the blue ribbon that she won in the local fair baking contest. I collected some gaudy costume jewelry from the keep box on her bedroom dresser. I checked through dresser draws and closets for any money she may have stowed away for a rainy day, finding only a plastic baggie with quarters and a few single dollar bills.

Then up to the attic which had been mostly cleaned out years ago according to Jack. I spotted a wooden chest almost obscured in the dark eves. Memories flooded my mind of Jack and I turning the space into imaginary destinations. It was in the attic where Jack and I said goodbye while angry shouts filtered up the stairs from down below. My mom had left years before and Gram filled that void. Now Dad was taking my brother Joe and I away from the only home we knew. I can still see the tears falling from Gram’s face as we walked away. I loved her so and feel guilty that I never came back. I dragged the chest into the light and lifted the heavy lid. Inside were pieces of clothing that must have meant something to Gram, along with a few old books. On the bottom of the chest was a shoebox. Curious about its contents, I lifted the lid and found an envelope addressed to me. Inside was a handwritten index card with the recipe for Gram’s famous Chocolate Cherry Cookies. I smiled. Oh, how I wish I could taste one now. Also in the box was a little black book. I opened it expecting to find names, dates, or maybe a few notes about her life, but instead there were pages and pages of words and numbers: cookies 6, flowers 4, afghan 10, eggs 3, doilies 4. These words and numbers repeated over and over. Very strange. I slipped the recipe card and black book into my pocket and headed downstairs where I found Jack waiting. His broad smile made me realize how happy the days here were. Life with Dad hadn’t been easy.

With boxes loaded in my car, I decided to take one final walk about the property. The apple tree was in bloom and a few flowers popped out of the ground, even though the yard looked like it was in mourning. Gram had a green thumb and spent hours in her garden and tiny greenhouse/potting shed. The door creaked as I entered, expecting to see Gram’s soft wrinkled face smiling at me, but no just a void. As I gazed around, I spotted Gram’s Cookie jar. It filled my heart with joy. I lifted the lid hoping that maybe I would find a cookie, but instead I found rolls and rolls of dollar bills. I screamed and Jack came running. He was as astonished as I at the amount of cash in my hands. His eyes lit up as he told me about Gram’s little business. For years she sold her cookies, flowers, eggs, and crocheted goods to friends in the neighborhood. Eggs $3.00, Flowers $6.00, Cookies $4.00, Afghans $10.00. Sometimes she would ask Jack to deliver her goods and would pay him 50 cents. He once asked her what she was going to do with her money. She answered, “This is for my grand-daughter, someday.”

Jack and I went back to the house and counted over twenty thousand dollars. I was in shock. Jack asked me what I was going to do with the money. I looked out the window and stared at the FOR-SALE sign by the walkway. I smiled, I was home, and the money would be my down payment on Gram’s house.

Six months later, the photos were back on the fireplace mantel, an afghan rests on Gram’s rocking chair, flowers are once again growing in the greenhouse, and Chocolate Cherry Cookies are baking in the oven, all because of Gram’s little black book.