Baking for Keeps

by Jessica Gilmore

  “Those were dark days. There were times when I didn’t think I could get up the next morning and yet somehow I did. And then the next and then the next. And then one day I laughed at something and I realized I hadn’t laughed in over a year. Karl and I struggled with Sam’s death in different ways and it nearly drove us apart; but in the end love, our love for each other, our love for our son, was strong enough and we made it through. That’s why, in spite of everything, despite being alone now, I feel blessed that I was lucky enough to have such love, that I had fought for it and didn’t fritter it away. I often wondered what would have happened if Sam had come back to us. If he and Patty Hathaway might have made a match of it like they always planned.”

  “My great-aunt Patty?” Was this the tragedy that Patty kept locked away? It would explain why she had never married. She was a true Hathaway through and through. Once her heart was given there was no other path for her. Lacey laid the camera down and got to her feet, walking over to the sideboard to pick up the photo and study it: the blond hair and blue eyes, the smattering of freckles. “He has such kind eyes.”

  “He was the loveliest of boys. Such a sunny disposition. He and your Aunt Patty dated right through high school. They were prom king and queen, you know.”

  “Aunt Patty was prom queen? She kept that quiet!”

  “When you come back I’ll show you photographs. They were such a striking couple. I have letters too, all the letters she wrote Sam from all over: New York, London, Paris. Every week a letter arrived, pages thick—and in those days the cost of airmail letters was considerable. Even when Sam was away they arrived and I kept them for him when he came home. Only he never did. I meant to give them back to her when she came back to Marietta but somehow I couldn’t. She’s visited me, of course, but we never have talked about Sam, even after all these years. Maybe we should. And she should have her letters. I never read them of course but I liked having them, a reminder of what could have been.” She smiled at Lacey. “So, we could have been related by marriage.”

  “I’d have liked that.”

  “I would as well.” Mrs. Hoffmann reached out and Lacey took her hand. “Very much.”

  “I’d better get on with the rest of the house. May I come back? To get the oral histories and to see the photographs?”

  “Any time you like. And, Lacey? Maybe you could ask your Aunt Patty to come on over. Tell her I need to return some letters to her.”

  *

  It was hard for Zac to concentrate that afternoon. The visuals and emotions conjured up by Mrs. Hoffmann repeated over and over in his mind. Tragedy upon tragedy, sons lost too soon, families torn apart. And yet, at the end, even though she was alone, the last of her family, she still had the grace to appreciate what she had had, gave thanks for the good. How did she manage that?

  He shifted in his seat. It had never occurred to him to look for the good in his past; the negative had been so all-encompassing, so overpowering. But there had been good parts too. His early childhood had been picture perfect. Should he discount that because it felt like it was based on a lie? But his parents had been happy once…

  Several teachers had believed in him. His boss on the construction site had treated him like a son. Zac might have always turned down the invitations to Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners but they had still come with annual regularity. When was the last time Zac had emailed or called him? Far too long ago.

  His college roommate had asked him to be his best man. He’d declined, reluctantly agreeing to groomsman duties instead, somehow still part of the wedding despite all his attempts to get out of it. What did Justin see in their friendship that made him so persistent despite Zac’s stand offishness? What did he see in Zac?

  “I fought for love,” the old lady had said. “I didn’t fritter it away.” If Zac still had his health and wits at ninety would he be able to say the same? Would he have memories and ghosts to keep him company or would he be alone, having frittered away every chance of happiness?

  Lacey had known just what to say, how to prompt the story without breaking the flow, how to encourage her speaker. It had made for a powerful narrative, one that had stayed with him as they had toured the graceful old mansion, Lacey’s camera lingering on the stained glass in the old windows, on the perfectly carved balustrades, on each curve in the turret rooms. The house was still full of furniture that must have been bought when the house was newly built: chests and tallboys and whatnots, elegant beds and quilts faded with age. The whole house was an antique dealer’s dream.

  Glancing at his screen he realized it was time for dinner. Either he’d have to skip pie-making practice tonight or take some more time to catch up on his work tomorrow—which meant he’d be unlikely to wrap up his project and get out of Marietta as quickly as he’d hoped. He pushed his chair back and stood up then paused. Where was the sinking feeling? The annoyance? The frustration? He didn’t feel any of it. In fact, if he had to put a word to the warm glow, then that word was pleased.

  Dinner was already on the table when he arrived in the kitchen, a pot of chicken and dumplings served with the famed green beans and mashed potatoes. Lacey was in her place, camera set up in front of her, sifting through the still photos she had taken in addition to the video footage. “Look at the light in the attics,” she said as he passed by. “Wouldn’t it make a wonderful studio?”

  “Is that Summer House?” Aunt Priscilla said, patting Zac on the shoulder as she passed by. Just a few days ago he’d have stiffened at the casual intimacy but he simply slid into his seat with a wink in her direction. Eating in the kitchen had become a habit but so had feeling like he belonged, only it had happened so slowly he had barely noticed the change.

  But he didn’t belong. He was a stranger passing through, wasn’t he?

  “Mmm,” Lacey said. “I hate the thought of it not being a home anymore.”

  “But who could afford to live there?” her aunt pointed out.

  Zac didn’t consider himself sentimental but he could see why Lacey was nostalgic about the old house. “There’s plenty of space if you wanted to turn some of it into an office. Maybe a doctor or a therapist or some internet start-up could move in? Offices on the first floor and live on the second?”

  “Or a family where both mom and dad work from home and need separate office space. I’ll try and subliminally send that message out in the video.”

  At that moment Aunt Patty appeared, entering the kitchen as if she were still on the Paris catwalk, grace in every line of her body. “Zac, I want to thank you.”

  Zac had just picked up the water jug and started to fill the glasses. He paused, the jug at a tilt. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. I went to see the Evanses today.”

  Zac realized the water was still dripping from the jug and hurriedly filled the remaining glasses, setting the jug with care in the middle of the table. “Oh?”

  Patty folded herself into her chair and nodded an agreement to her sister-in-law who began to heap the pot roast onto her plate. “That’s enough, Priscilla, thanks. Yes, I found a pretext to call around and I am so glad I did. You know, Lacey, this is a real lesson in sharing responsibilities in a house. Harold and Celia Evans were so traditional—she did everything in the house and he did everything out. He can barely open a can, has no idea how to use a computer. She took care of all the finances, all the day-to-day managing, cooking, cleaning, shopping. He hasn’t a clue, poor man, and Ty is little better though doing as much as he can, poor kid. Dementia,” she said. “Poor Celia. Sudden and fast from what I can tell. Harold is having to care for her completely.”

  “Poor Ty, no wonder he’s been looking so tired and unkempt.” Lacey looked over at her aunt. “What can we do?” And there it was. Her automatic first response. How could she help? How could she make it better? Lacey might say she was a doer to give herself a purpose, to join in, but she was wrong. She cared about her community from the bottom of her heart.

  “You know what they’re like, s
o proud. Won’t accept charity and didn’t want anyone to know in case they thought they weren’t coping and tried to put Celia in a home—or send Ty back to his mom. His grandparents have custody but it was contentious,” Patty told Zac. “You know, this has been under our noses for the last six months and not one of us picked up on it till Zac mentioned his concerns for Ty. Thank you, Zac. I’ll be meeting up with the Ladies’ Aid tomorrow and we’ll look at what help we can provide. Poor Harold, he’s exhausted.”

  “Glad I could help in some way.” They weren’t just words. A glow spread through him, warmth at the knowledge that the intervention might be in time, that Ty might be saved from the evils of loneliness and despair.

  Zac looked around the table at the three women, all talking rapidly as they discussed the best way to help the Evans family, his gaze honing in on Lacey. Her eyes were bright and she was waving her fork in emphasis as she drove her point home. He had stopped despairing when he’d left Connecticut and taken firm hold of his own destiny. But loneliness? He’d clung to that like a badge, resolving that nobody would ever get close enough to hurt him again. But maybe by his intransigence he’d just ended up hurting himself. Because now he’d had a taste of what it was like being part of a family, Zac didn’t know how he was going to go back to his vagabond solitary existence.

  Or how he was going to leave this newfound family behind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marietta sure was a town that liked its festivals. There was nearly a week to go till Valentine’s Day, a day Zac usually took about as much notice of as he did reality show gossip, but this year there was no avoiding it. Heart-shaped bunting had sprung up all through the town, including Crooked Corner, and the aunts were insisting he make his pie in a heart-shaped dish, which was adding to the complexity more than he was comfortable with.

  The last two bakes had been of a high standard but neither had felt like winners. Another night, another practice. He was sick of the smell of ginger—still, at least he was enjoying a cupboard-love popularity at work with all the practice food he was bringing in.

  He ducked to avoid a piece of bunting that had come unmoored and trailed damp hearts into the faces of any passersby. No, he didn’t do Valentine’s in any shape or form usually but this year he really ought to get the women of Crooked Corner a token of his appreciation for their welcome. Chocolates or something. But chocolates didn’t seem adequate to express his feelings to Lacey. It would, he thought, be helpful if he knew what those feelings were.

  He liked her. Respected her. Wanted her. But he knew that wasn’t enough for her. Lacey wanted her white picket fence with no deviations from that path and he had no intention of trying to seduce her away from her dream. No, he either stayed her friend as he had offered, no flirting, no almost kisses, no meaningful moments or he…

  That was the bit Zac was stuck with and no amount of evening walks seemed to give him an answer. Just because he had enjoyed the last few weeks, just because he had experienced a warm glow from helping Ty and his family, just because he was beginning to know his way around Marietta, just because the Java Cafe knew his coffee order and Sage his favorite chocolate, just because he was comfortable… None of that meant he belonged here. None of that meant he was going to up haul his life and start again.

  None of that meant he was going to make himself vulnerable.

  Besides, Lacey probably wouldn’t want him to hint at anything long-term. He shouldn’t mistake a bit of flirtation and her warm heart for genuine interest. Finding out if her feelings ran deeper was far too dangerous. What if they did and he let her down?

  Or what if they didn’t? What if he wasn’t enough for her? He didn’t want to see pity cloud those blue eyes. He couldn’t be made vulnerable again.

  “Zac? Is that you?” He turned at the call and saw Patty Hathaway walking briskly through the snow. Most people in Marietta wore some kind of thick padded jacket to keep out the cold but Patty was swathed in a thick, velvet-trimmed cloak that swirled around her like a royal robe. Her hat was more suited to a Russian spy in a sixties movie than a small town and her gloves fit so elegantly he suspected they had been made for her. Even though she was laden down with bags she still exuded a dignified elegance.

  “Let me take those for you.” Zac relieved her of the bulkiest bags and she fell into step alongside him as they headed away from Main Street and toward Bramble Lane.

  “Thank you, dear. How was your day?”

  “Good. All the accounts are up to date and audited and the software is installed and most of the migration of data is complete. By the end of next week I think it should all be ready to use and I just need to complete the training.”

  “And then you’ll be leaving us.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  A faint smile curved her lips. “Life is much more interesting when we don’t plan, don’t you think? It’s the deviations and paths less traveled that are always the most rewarding I’ve found. Although—” her voice softened “—that could be because not all plans are destined to be.”

  Following her gaze Zac saw she was staring at Summer House, her heart in her eyes. “I don’t know if Lacey mentioned…” He paused, diffidently. He had no idea how to approach anything as personal as a tragic love affair with the older woman—with anyone in fact.

  “That Lucia Hoffmann has the letters I sent her son, safe after all these years? I have letters too. The letters that Sam sent me. I should probably let his mother read them. It would be the kind thing to do. I’ve clung on to them for all these years to remind me. Remind me it was real and not just some romantic dream.”

  “How did you know? That it was real? That this was the person you wanted to spend your life with, the person it was worth compromising yourself for?” He was afraid he’d given himself away with his impulsive question but Patty Hathaway was too lost in the past to notice.

  “I didn’t compromise anything. I thought I would have it all. Travel and adventures before settling down. He asked me to marry him, you know, straight out of high school. Ask me again in four years, I told him with all the arrogance of youth, all the certainty that we had all the time in the world. He was off to Yale and I wanted to see the world. I was certain he’d be waiting for me when I returned. The stupid thing was he needn’t have gone.”

  “To Yale?”

  “Vietnam. He was in college and an only son. That made him exempt twice over but he had a strong sense of duty. See, he wrote me, you’re not the only one who can travel. I’m going to see the world too.” Her voice cracked and Zac’s chest ached at the pain in her voice.

  “I liked Mrs. Hoffmann. She seems like she was pretty independent herself back in the day.”

  “Oh, she was. I often wondered how much we’d have clashed if I had married Sam. Oh well, fate had other plans for me and I have had a full and varied life. I’ve lived in some wonderful places, experienced many wonderful things. I knew Sam wouldn’t want me to stop living, that he’d want me to live enough for the two of us. The one thing I never thought I’d do was come back to Marietta if he wasn’t here waiting for me, and yet here I am, living with my widowed sister-in-law and baking cakes for a living. I couldn’t have planned that if I’d tried. But it’s a good life. I just wonder…” She was speaking very quietly and Zac knew she had almost forgotten that he was there. “I wonder if there’s an alternate reality where Sam and I live in that house and it’s full of children and grandchildren and love and laughter. Lacey’s right, for all its size it’s a family house. I hope someday it is again.”

  Zac stared over at the stately old Victorian, at its turrets and porch. The house looked lonely, like it wanted to be filled with a family, with Christmas trees and heart-shaped bunting, with spring flowers and summer blooms and wreaths made of fall colors. It wanted boots and shoes tumbling around the porch and balls and bikes left on the drive. For all its size and grandeur it had been built to be a home, not a show house. “Me too,” he said slowly. “Me too.”

/>   *

  Lacey set her camera up in one corner so it took in as much of the kitchen as possible and her webcam on the counter she would be working on. She smoothed her hair before twisting it up into a loose knot. She tugged her pale blue sweater down and switched the webcam on.

  “Good morning,” she said with as sunny a smile as she could manage. “Today is Saturday and that means just one thing here in Marietta. Pie day! I’ll be over at the Main Street Diner this afternoon to capture as much of the pastry action as I can to share with you later, but tune in in just half an hour to see me attempt this very same challenge and see if I can bake a pie that passes muster with the hardest judges of all: my aunts. I’ll be honest with you, my practice sessions haven’t gone as well as I had hoped. Pastry is hard, folks, but I’m staying positive and hoping today will be my lucky day. Don’t forget this is all for a really good cause and the links to donate are on this very page. Thank you so much to everyone who donated after last week’s cookie crumble disaster—you amazing people raised over six hundred dollars and every cent of that has gone straight to the fundraising appeal. See you soon.”

  She switched off the webcam and sank onto her stool, trying not to sigh. It had all seemed so simple just a few weeks ago. Nat would come home and try to bake and she, Lacey, would be at the heart of it all, publicizing, fundraising, and doing whatever she needed to do to make this whole Bachelor Bake-Off a success. And it was working. Her behind the scenes footage had been viewed hundreds of times, not just locally, and the Bake-Off had even been mentioned on the local state TV station when they were rounding up the forthcoming weekend’s events. Jane was delighted and working hard to try and capitalize on the interest and get some of the press to come to the third and final Bachelor Bake-Off afternoon tea at the Graff Hotel a week today.

  And then what? The Bake-Off would be over and Zac would head off and Lacey would be exactly where she had been when this all started. Where she had been since she was sixteen.