Francesca's Kitchen Read Online Free Page A

were a half gallon of milk and a loaf of bread. The tomatoes had been an afterthought. A few other odds and ends caught her eye as she made her way up and down the aisles. She tossed them into the cart and ambled along. Francesca took her time; there was really no hurry. She had no place else in particular to go and nothing else to do that day. Now and then, she cast a glance over to the entrance, hoping to spy a familiar face coming in, one of her market friends, as she liked to call them. Most of her old friends from the neighborhood were gone, some having moved to warmer climes, some to retirement centers or nursing homes, and some directly to the next life. Still, there were new faces she had come to know, younger couples who had moved in to take the place of the old. Francesca enjoyed seeing these new people, exchanging a few moments of pleasant conversation with the younger women, commenting on the price of this or that, complaining about the weather. Most of all, she loved seeing their little children, especially the newborns. It gave her hope.
    On this day, however, there was no one in the store she recognized, so she pushed her cart up to the checkout counter, where Tony’s wife, Donna, waited by the cash register.
    â€œFind everything you need, Mrs. Campanile?” she asked. “I see you have your milk and bread. That’s good. They say we might get some snow later today.”
    â€œOh, yes,” Francesca replied as she started to put her groceries up on the counter. “I heard the forecast. I’ve got everything I need, not that I’m one of those nervous Nellies who thinks the sky is falling every time she sees a few snowflakes, but it never hurts to be prepared.”
    â€œThey say we might get six or seven inches,” Donna said as she scanned the groceries. “Sounds like it will be a good night to just stay home.”
    Francesca nodded and smiled. “What else would I do?” she thought.

CHAPTER 4
    A few fragile flakes from the approaching snowstorm were already drifting down when Francesca left the market and started on her way home. It was late morning, nearing lunchtime, and the cars zipped up and down the road as she walked along the sidewalk. There was a palpable feeling of nervous tension in the air; she could see it in the faces of the passing motorists as they hastened along, almost frantic to run their errands before the real snow started to fall. Watching them go by, seeing the impatient frowns of the men and the worried looks of the women chirping away on their cell phones instead of paying attention to the road, Francesca could not help but laugh. It was always the same whenever the weathermen predicted a winter storm. The specter of a few inches of snow put everyone in a tizzy.
    Clutching the handles of the cloth bag in which she carried her groceries, Francesca made her way along the sidewalk, keeping a watchful eye on the pavement lest she slip on a patch of ice. That was all she needed to have happen. God forbid she should fall and hurt herself; she would never hear the end of it from her son and daughters. Francesca might just have easily taken the car to the market instead of walking; she was a perfectly capable driver. But she liked the exercise and enjoyed being out in the open air. Besides, in her mind, the world was already going by much too fast. As far as she was concerned, people spent too much time hurrying from one place to another, from one task to another, without ever taking a moment to appreciate the journey. People, she often observed, would be far better off if they could only learn to slow their lives down a bit, but they were generally in too much of a rush to give the idea much thought.
    An added benefit of walking to the market was the opportunity it afforded Francesca to monitor the comings and goings in the area. Hers wasn’t what one might call a tough section of town by any means, but some of the shine had gone off the