The Secret Ingredient for a Happy Marriage

by Shirley Jump

  “Well, some moms don’t even do that.” Iris finished the first piece, so she took the ball of sugar paste from Nora and began to flatten it with the rolling pin.

  Would Nora’s kids grow up and say the same thing to a woman they barely knew? Would they look back on this year and see it as the year their mother failed them? Or would they understand she had done the best she could, that she had tried so hard to hang on to their world?

  Nora slid thin wooden sticks into the flower centers and handed one back to Iris. “Poke this through your smallest flower cutout. Then we’ll start forming the petals.”

  Work instead of talk about good mothers and healthy parenting. Work instead of thinking about how she was back in Dorchester now and she could run into Ben at any minute. Work instead of wondering how the hell she was going to afford to give her children the life she had promised them when they’d put their tiny hands in hers.

  Nora took the set of modeling tools off the shelf and started to explain how to use the bone tool with its fat and skinny bulbous ends to press the petals into flutes. Iris looked down at the sugar paste and then back up at Nora. “Can you teach me to do it the way you do? ’Cause you didn’t use those. You did it with your hands.”

  Nora hesitated and heard her own voice asking her grandmother the same thing. Ma had told Gramma that Nora was too young to learn the delicate process and handed Nora the same set of modeling tools. But when Ma left the kitchen, Gramma had bent down beside Nora, covering her granddaughter’s hands with her own thin, cool ones, and helped her change the flat circles of sugar paste into roses, daisies, sunflowers. That had been the moment Nora fell in love with cake decorating, with the magic of transforming simple ingredients into majestic creations.

  “Okay. Start with dampening the petals just a bit, so they’re easier to work. Then you sort of pinch and roll at the same time, working them up and around the cone. It takes patience and a light touch, so don’t rush this.” She worked a few petals on her flower, moving closer to Iris and slowing her movements.

  Iris’s first two attempts were clumsy, and the petals folded like a blanket over the cone. She let out a long breath. Then she squared her jaw and tried again. The third time, the petal fluttered into place. Iris looked up, her face bright with surprise and pride. “I did it.”

  “You did.” Nora set her flower in the drying box. It sat among the others, a close enough twin that only a practiced eye could tell the difference. “You really have a talent for this, Iris.”

  “Thanks.” The girl blushed and toed at the floor. “I’ve, uh, never really been good at anything before. And to take this”—she spun a ball of sugar paste—“and turn it into this”—she waved her hand over one of the roses—“kinda shows me that you can make something beautiful out of something that isn’t. Like people, huh?”

  “Most people, I guess.” Nora started working on another flower while Iris did the same.

  “It’s like my mom. She’s screwed up twelve thousand times, and I know I should hate her and cut her out of my life, but there was this time”—Iris let out a sigh—“that I used to see the flower in her. It’s still there. I believe that.”

  Nora stopped working. “Why? Why believe that? Why not walk away instead of getting hurt by her again?”

  “Because she hasn’t stopped trying.” Iris’s eyes welled. “How can I give up on her when she hasn’t given up on herself?”

  NINETEEN

  Nora ducked out early from work to pick up the kids from school, partly happy to be in the old routine and partly wishing she were back in Truro where the biggest thing she had to worry about was tracking sand inside the house. Nora found Anna’s mother waiting for her own daughter in the parking lot. Joyce was sitting in her Benz, an iPad resting on her leather steering wheel while she fiddled with letters in Words with Friends. Nora had always liked Joyce Stanford, who was one of the few people she considered a friend. “Hey, Joyce.”

  Joyce glanced up and her brown eyes widened. She seemed startled, almost nervous. “Oh, hi, Nora. Uh…how are you?”

  “Fine.” Nora swallowed. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  “I was hoping you would.” Relief flooded Joyce’s face, as if she’d been waiting for Nora to approach first. “Anna’s really upset that Sarah is so angry with her.”

  “Sarah told me that Anna said something. I’m not quite sure where Anna came across this information.” Nora glanced toward the school. Three minutes until the bell rang and the kids were released so she had to have this discussion fast. A discussion she didn’t want to have, but it was like ripping off a bandage—do it quick and it would be over and she could move on. “Anna told Sarah that Ben and I were getting divorced.”

  Joyce’s face colored. “Oh…uh, I’m sorry about that.”

  “What do you mean, you’re sorry about that?”

  “I didn’t think Anna was listening. I thought she was in bed.” Joyce shifted in her seat and let out a long breath. “Ben came over one night and we got to talking—”

  “Ben, my husband Ben? You were alone with him? At night?” Was that where Ben had been spending his Friday nights? With this woman she thought was her friend?

  How much of her life had she been clueless about? Ben’s gambling, their finances, Sarah’s grades and fighting, and now this? Had she buried her head in work too much, using that as an excuse to hide from the messes in her family?

  Then again, hadn’t she kept a few things from her husband too? Had all those lies and secrets piled up between them and created an impassable wall?

  “He was upset, Nora. He needed someone to talk to, that’s all,” Joyce said. She put a hand on Nora’s and her eyes pleaded for understanding. “And he thought I would be the best one because I know you so well.”

  Jealousy flared inside of Nora, white-hot and fast. “What exactly did you talk to my husband about late at night, Joyce?”

  “Well, what all has been going on between you two. He’s really worried, and he was afraid that you might divorce him.”

  Nora jerked her hand away from Joyce’s window. This woman was her friend, and she’d kept all this a secret. Because she didn’t think Nora could handle it? Or was there more? And why had Ben been going to Aunt Mary and Joyce instead of coming to her? “When did he say this?”

  “A couple weeks ago. He said he knew the bank was going to come down hard and if the two of you lost the house, he was pretty sure you’d leave him. He said he’d screwed up too many times, and this would be the last straw.” Joyce turned to Nora. “Was it?”

  “That is none of your damned business. And for the record, the next time my husband wants to know what I’m thinking, tell him to ask his fucking wife.” She spun on her heel and stalked back to her car, just as the bell rang. The kids exited the building like a swarm of bees, and Joyce and her Benz were lost in the frenzy.

  The bakery was quiet, in that nice lull of Monday afternoons when no one was rushing to a wedding or a baby shower or panicking over a last-minute need for rolls and dessert. Colleen loved this time of day, when the air was still, the pressure was off, and she could take a moment to enjoy the quaint little shop she’d spent most of her life in. Nora had left early to pick up her kids and Abby went home to catch some sleep before her predawn shift the next morning.

  Bridget emerged from the kitchen. “Hey, Ma, we’re all cleaned up back there. Mind if I leave early? Garrett and I are going to a show at the Wang Theatre, and we were hoping to grab some dinner first.”

  “Go ahead.” Colleen set the cleaned cookie display back on the counter, ready to be filled tomorrow. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with that man.”

  Bridget’s smile burst like sunshine on her face. “He’s a pretty special guy.”

  It was nice to see her daughter this happy after the years of unhappiness with her late husband. A part of Colleen envied that and wondered if maybe she’d done herself a disservice by staying true to a man who had been dead for twenty years.
Then again, Michael had been a pretty special guy, too, and not one who could be easily replaced. She’d loved him in a way she’d never loved anyone else. He’d been so fun, so easy to be with. He’d brought a lightness to her heart, one that she was afraid she’d never find again. Maybe theirs had been a once-in-a-lifetime love, the kind that once gone could never be recaptured. Or maybe she had left that empty place at her dinner table for far too long.

  Colleen pressed the Open Drawer button on the cash register, at the same time the day’s total sales receipt printed. As she had done a thousand times before, she added the checks, the credit card receipts, and the cash, subtracting the hundred dollars they left in the drawer for starting cash. She compared the two numbers, then looked over at the pile of cash. “Hmm. That’s odd.”

  “What’s odd?”

  “I didn’t get the same number. I must have added wrong.” Colleen pulled out the adding machine she kept under the counter, turned it on, and repeated the process, this time double-checking every number before she typed it in. The adding machine jiggled as it spat out a total. “Bridget, did you pay the delivery guy with cash today?”

  “Nope. With the company credit card, as I always do.” Bridget leaned over her mother’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m two hundred dollars short.” In all the years she had run this bakery, the register had never been off by this much. There’d been the occasional transposed number on a transaction, and the time Magpie filched three dollars to buy candy her mother had told her not to, but never had the day’s total been off by so much.

  “Maybe something got entered wrong. If you want, I’ll take all the receipts home and go through them.”

  “Thank you, dear. Maybe you’ll see something I missed.” Colleen passed the pile over to Bridget, then added the two register tape totals. She tucked the cash into the night deposit bag and stowed it in the safe in the office. As she returned to the front of the store, she cast another glance at the register and ran through the day in her mind. “Let me know what you find out, will you?”

  “Sure, Ma. I will. Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s nothing.” Bridget kissed Colleen on the cheek before hanging up her apron and leaving through the back. Colleen straightened the tables in the front, gave the glass case one more swipe with cleanser, and turned the sign to CLOSED.

  Just as she did, she saw Roger’s familiar face on the other side of the door. She unlocked it and ushered him in, closing the door quickly against the November chill, but not before a brisk wind swept under the transom. She shivered. “I swear, these winters get colder every year.”

  Roger blew on his cupped bare hands and nodded. “Makes a man think about moving to Florida. Especially if a man knew someone else who would love the warm weather too.”

  A little part of her flared with jealousy. Who was he thinking of moving to Florida with? And why did she care? “I hope you don’t mean me, because I would certainly not shack up with you and move to another state.”

  “Who said anything about shacking up?” Roger hung his coat on the hook by the door and took off his hat. He wore one of those old-fashioned fedoras, which on most men looked like a costume but on Roger looked…jaunty. “I’m thinking a week in Florida to start, see if we like the heat in the winter. If we do, maybe we buy property down there, a place to sit out the New England winters.”

  Colleen blinked at him. Had he said “we”? More than once? A second ago, she’d thought he was making a joke about taking her to Florida, but now he seemed earnest. “Are you asking me to go on vacation with you?”

  “No. I’m asking you to marry me, Colleen.” Roger stood before her, his hat still in his hands, and gave her a smile.

  “Roger O’Sullivan, do you have early-onset dementia? Marry you? Seriously?” She waved the idea away. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  She started to turn away when he grabbed her hand and stopped her. “Why?” he asked.

  His hand on her arm was warm and gentle. They’d touched so rarely that every time he brushed against her or put a hand on her shoulder, she felt this odd little trembling deep inside. But that didn’t mean anything other than he’d startled her, Colleen told herself. “Because we have only been on one date, which wasn’t a date at all. We discussed work the whole time. I hardly know you.”

  “You and I have seen each other at least three times a week for the last year. We sit together at Mass almost as often. I have taken you to coffee, and you have brought me pie. I think you know me quite well.”

  This was all treading far too close to the thoughts she’d just been having. Thoughts that felt like sins, with her Michael looking down from above. She’d promised to love him until she died, and she intended to do so. Loving another man—loving Roger—didn’t fit into that equation, no matter how much a part of her wished it could. Wasn’t it Paul who had written in the Bible that a woman must never separate from her husband? And if she did, and couldn’t reconcile with him, it was far better to remain alone?

  Yes, she had gone to coffee with Roger and, yes, she had brought him pie and, yes, she had thought about him far more often than she should. But that didn’t mean she should push Michael’s memory to the side and move another man into her heart. “Those are things you do for friends. Or people you admire.”

  “And is that how you feel about me, Colleen O’Bannon?” Roger arched a brow. “Like I’m another friend? Some acquaintance you admire?”

  Goodness, he was standing so close to her. That little tremor started in her veins again, and she wondered if it was a heart attack about to take her down. Or maybe there was a part of her that wanted him to kiss her, just so she could prove to herself that she wasn’t attracted to this man at all. “This is a pointless discussion. I’m not getting married again.”

  “Because your heart is still pledged to a man who has been dead for two decades.” Roger shook his head. “Just because Michael died doesn’t mean you have to as well.”

  “I’ve done no such thing.”

  “You’ve gone through your life on autopilot, working, raising your girls, then going home to an empty house that you keep meticulously clean because that helps you forget how lonely you feel and how quiet the night is without someone snoring beside you.”

  “Snoring is irritating.” She scowled. “I’d sooner smother you with a pillow.”

  He laughed. “Maybe you will grow to love the sound of me sleeping beside you.”

  “And maybe you are a crazy old man who needs to get a dog.” She took a step back, inserting a respectable distance between them. They were alone in the bakery, and even though it was still daylight, it seemed as if the rest of the world had disappeared.

  “I don’t need a damned dog, Colleen. I need you.” He shook his head and cursed. “You are the most infuriating woman sometimes.”

  “Good. That alone is a reason for you to give up this silly notion that you are in love with me.”

  Roger leaned in, close to her. “You are like a prickly cactus alone in the desert, so afraid of anyone getting close to you because you don’t want to hurt again. Life hurts sometimes, Colleen, and sometimes it is full of joy. Don’t keep living in the shadows because you are afraid of feeling again.” Then he narrowed the gap and, just like that, drew her in for a kiss she wasn’t expecting. It was a sweet kiss, a tender kiss, and for a second, she froze, so unused to that kind of affection that she forgot what to do. Just as quickly, Roger drew back. He plopped his hat back on his head. “January first through eighth, I’ll be on a beach in Fort Myers. And I hope you’ll be there beside me.” He shrugged into his coat again, pulled an airline ticket out of his pocket, pressed it into her hand, and then left the bakery.

  The little bell over the door tinkled a goodbye.

  TWENTY

  By Friday, the kids had settled into Aunt Mary’s house. More or less. Jake took the change much better than Sarah did. He was his usual adaptable self, asking only if they could go back to the old hous
e to pick up his Legos. Sarah had remained mostly silent, not complaining but not celebrating either. There’d been no more incidents at school between her and Anna, and for now, things seemed to be on an even keel.

  Nora whispered a silent prayer to God every time a day went by without drama or tears. Maybe this could go smoothly—or as smoothly as a divorce and relocation could go—and the kids would be okay.

  Ben had picked them up after school a couple times, kept them overnight once, and delivered a lot of their clothes and toys when he brought them home. He’d done the drop-off quickly, saying he had to get back to work. She didn’t ask him about Joyce, didn’t ask him how he was doing. They kept their conversations short and entirely about the kids. Duck and avoid—she was becoming an expert at that.

  They’d decided to tell the kids that Daddy was working on the house, and that’s why he was staying there. Sarah had been suspicious but didn’t ask any questions, and Jake did what Jake did—went along as happy as a clam in a tide pool.

  Magpie had been scarce in the last few days, and Nora kept meaning to call her sister but then figured Mags was doing what she always did—dashing off to some unknown destination, chasing after the next story. Nora pulled into the driveway, unloaded the kids and a couple bags of groceries before heading inside. Chance scrambled to his feet, dashing over to greet the kids with tail wagging and face licking. Jake giggled and dropped onto his knees to hug Chance, but the dog wriggled free of Jake and pressed his nose to Sarah’s hand.

  In the end, Nora had relented about the dog too. Part of that keeping-the-kids-happy-until-she-dropped-the-divorce-bombshell thing. And, a part of Nora liked the dog. Sort of like a delayed birthday gift, from when she had her father around.

  A smile bloomed on Sarah’s face, and she turned to Nora. “Can I go outside and play with Chance?”