The Husband Recipe

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Lauren had never been so on edge during a dinner at Gran’s. The two older women knew something was wrong. How could they not? Her hands shook; she dropped her fork onto her plate and it clattered so loudly she jumped out of her skin.

  Finally, Gran set her own fork aside and looked Lauren in the eye. “What’s going on with you?”

  Lauren took a deep breath. She couldn’t tell her grandmother that her love affair with Cole had gone wrong, that she’d slept with him and fallen in love and he’d dumped her while she was picking tomatoes. “A producer from New York is coming to my house on Saturday. I think they want me for some reality cooking show.”

  “That sounds wonderful!” Miss Patsy said.

  Gran smiled. “It does. How exciting! I don’t understand why you look like the world is coming to an end.”

  Because it is…. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” Lauren said, her voice quick and sharp. “Maybe weeks, maybe months! What if you need me? Forget it, I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t just get on a plane and leave you here not knowing when I’ll be back.”

  “You most certainly can,” Gran said, unsmiling. “Do I look like an old woman who can’t take care of herself? Do I look like I’m on my last legs and can’t be left alone for a while?”

  “Of course not, but…but what about my column?”

  “You can either stockpile a few columns or take a leave of absence. I’m sure your job will be waiting for you when you return,” Miss Patsy said. “My goodness, you’ll come home a celebrity!”

  Gran stared, her dark eyes boring into Lauren’s. “That’s not it. You know your job is secure, and you know I’ll be fine. Is it Whiplash? Are you worried about leaving him behind?”

  “Gran!” Lauren could feel heat in her cheeks. “Don’t be silly. I barely know the man.”

  “Did you take him an apple pie?”

  “No.” Chocolate cake, cookies, peach cobbler…but no pie. “He’s really not my type, Gran.”

  Gran looked disappointed. She screwed up her mouth and made a gentle harrumphing noise. “All I can say is, you’d better not turn down a chance for something like this because of me. I’ll be fine.”

  “I know you will.” Lauren started at her plate. “I’m just…scared.”

  “Of what?” Miss Patsy asked.

  Failure, success…walking away from something she’d thought—wrongly, as it turned out—could be wonderful. “The unknown,” she answered.

  “Life is unknown,” Gran said. “Go for it, girl. Go for what you want and grab it.”

  It was great advice. The problem was, at the moment Lauren had no earthly idea what she really wanted to grab.

  Chapter Twelve

  With one eye open and the other closed, Cole stared into the thick, green potion. This was his third serving of the day, and the budding wizard was becoming concerned because his ungrumpy potion didn’t seem to be working.

  He couldn’t tell the kid that no potion was going to cure him, not today. Not tomorrow. One day, maybe.

  But he drank. Tried a wide smile.

  “Eww,” Justin said. The youngest peeked around Hank’s cape. “That’s kind of a scary smile.”

  “My potion has gone wrong,” Hank said solemnly. “Maybe I’m losing my magical powers.”

  He could only hope…. “It does happen, you know.”

  He sent the boys off to brush their teeth, ignoring Hank’s nightly argument that he’d already done the minimum required for the day, and collapsed back on the couch. After they went to bed he’d do another load of laundry, maybe rearrange a couple of cabinets in the kitchen. He didn’t feel much like sleeping.

  Meredith plopped down on the chair facing the couch and glared at him. “What did she do?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t treat me like a kid, Dad. You’re sad and angry and…and weird. It was her, I know it. She said something or did something mean and now you’re…”

  He didn’t play games; he knew who “her” was. “Lauren didn’t do anything to me,” Cole said.

  “But you’re dating her, aren’t you? Last night, while we were at the movies, you went over there and she did something. I know something’s wrong! I knew from the beginning that she was going to be trouble.”

  In her own way, Meredith was as protective of him as he was of her. “Lauren didn’t do anything. I told her I didn’t think we should see each other anymore.”

  It wasn’t his imagination that relief washed over Meredith’s face. “You don’t seem very happy about it.”

  “I’m not,” he said. He could be honest with his kids without going overboard and telling them anything they didn’t need to know. “But it’s for the best.”

  Meredith took a deep breath and seemed to relax even more. Her shoulders, her hands… She unwound from the inside out.

  “You don’t like Lauren at all,” he asked. “Why?”

  The tension came back in a flash. “Because we don’t need anyone else in this family. The four of us are enough. Anyone else would be…weird.”

  Cole managed a real smile. “Is that why you sabotaged my dates a few years back?” The boys were too young to remember, but Meredith was another matter.

  She looked away. “It wasn’t sabotage, exactly. It was more like a…test. They all failed miserably.”

  “How the hell did you get Justin to throw up on command?”

  Meredith leaned forward in her chair. “Okay, that was just a lucky break. I’d planned to spill juice down the front of her dress, and Hank was supposed to blow his nose on the hem of her dress. But Justin got sick and that was perfect.”

  “No more, okay?” Cole said, working hard to keep a straight face. “Y’all are too old for that now, and one day I might want to date again.”

  “Please, none of those women like before.”

  “I’ll do my best. And I don’t see anything happening for a good long while.” No, first he’d have to get over Lauren.

  He’d never expected it would come to this, that after just two days he’d feel as if he’d lost something important.

  Lauren decided to keep it simple, for the producer and cameraman’s meal. Chicken and rice, a three-bean salad, homemade rolls and chocolate cake. She’d cooked and puttered around the house for the past two days, since she and Cole had spoken in her garden. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since, because honestly, what was there to say?

  She’d seen the boys outside and heard all about the movie, and even though she shouldn’t have—she didn’t need to be deepening any of her ties with the family next door—she’d made them cookies.

  Gran and Miss Patsy had both been very encouraging about her opportunity. After she’d told them about it they’d gone on and on about how wonderful it was, what a great success she was going to be. Eventually they had her on board. It wasn’t like she was moving to New York to stay. If she was chosen for the reality show she’d just be there a few weeks, maybe a couple of months. If she was lucky. With most of these shows someone went home every week. Lauren didn’t expect to win, but she didn’t want to be the first one to go home, either. That would be embarrassing.

  Besides, she felt a deep and undeniable need to get away, to escape her latest romantic mistake. She wasn’t sure she could bear watching Cole come and go, listening to the screams of the children she’d begun to like so much. Not until she’d had some time to wash away the memory of what they’d almost had.

  Almost. In truth they’d had nothing but sex, just as she’d wanted from the beginning, just as she’d planned. Here she was all but grieving because she’d lost something important and Cole was just sorry to have lost something hot. Had she been born with a built-in radar that directed her to the most shallow males available? It certainly seemed that way.

  Her guests wouldn’t be here for a couple of hours. She’d offered to collect them from the airport, but Mandel had told her that he was renting a car. After he and the cameraman visited with her they were driving to
Memphis to meet another potential contestant. How many were being considered? How many would be chosen? Lauren’s competitive side emerged. At first she’d gone back and forth about whether or not she wanted this job. Now she just wanted to escape. But if the show didn’t happen for her, she wanted to be the one to turn it down. Not the other way around.

  The table was set. She’d decided they’d eat in the rarely used dining room instead of the more comfortable kitchen. The cake was sitting on the buffet, pretty as a picture. The chicken and rice was warming in the oven, and the bean salad was in the fridge. She’d made the rolls early this morning. They just needed to be warmed. Some sliced tomatoes would be a nice addition to the meal. Lauren stepped into the backyard, her eyes on a couple of big, ripe tomatoes.

  A sound—a sob—from next door caught her attention, and she turned her head.

  Meredith stood by the kitchen door, her back against the wall, her head down. She was crying as if her heart had been broken.

  Lauren stopped. Meredith had made it clear that she didn’t like her. The lie about Tiffany had proved that, as well as the cutting glances which weren’t at all subtle. Cole had kicked her to the curb after a couple nights of mind-blowing sex that she’d thought had been the start of something and he’d thought had been a grand old time. The family next door was not her concern.

  But Meredith was just a child, and she sounded so distraught. Lauren took a deep breath and turned toward the Donovan backyard. Hank and Justin weren’t in the yard at the moment. The trampoline and soccer net were untended. She had to step around a soccer ball and an action figure—with one arm he was the perfect match for the one-legged Barbie on the front porch—in order to reach the small patio.

  “Meredith, what’s wrong?”

  The young girl was surprised. She’d been so lost in her misery she hadn’t heard Lauren’s approach. Her head snapped up, revealing red eyes, a wet and blotchy face and a very runny nose.

  “Like you care,” Meredith muttered.

  It would’ve been very easy to take the hint, turn around and mind her own business. But honestly, she had never seen anyone look so miserable. “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here. Is something wrong?” Her heart leaped. “Is someone hurt?”

  Meredith shook her head. “It’s nothing like that. I’m cooking for my aunt, and she’ll be here any minute. It was going to be such a nice meal, and I got up really early to get started, but…but…something must be wrong with the oven. I burned the tuna casserole and the apple cobbler, and the rolls are black on the bottom, and the peas stuck to the bottom of the pot. The whole kitchen stinks of burned peas! It’s too late to start anything else, and Aunt Janet is just going to freak because she’ll think we can’t get by without her.”

  “What does your father say?”

  “I haven’t told him. He and the boys are straightening up the porch and their rooms. Aunt Janet will inspect them. She always inspects everything. Dad told the boys to clean their rooms, but they just shoved stuff in the closet. He wasn’t very happy about that so now he’s telling them exactly what to do. He’s going to be so mad when he finds out I ruined lunch. I can’t do anything right!”

  Lauren laid a hand on Meredith’s shoulder, wondering if the gesture would be rejected with a shrug. It wasn’t. “Your father will not be angry with you. He loves you very much, and I’m sure he’ll understand and appreciate the effort you put into your plans. Plans don’t always work out the way we want them to, but the attempt was admirable.”

  Meredith nodded her head as if she understood. She was still upset, but less so. “I did try. Dad will be disappointed, but he won’t yell at me or anything. He’ll say it was a valiant effort—he says that all the time when I mess up—and then he’ll take care of it. I need to go tell him what happened so he can run out and pick up some chicken.” Meredith sighed. Her thin body seemed to shudder a bit. “I guess Aunt Janet is right when she says we’re helpless without her.”

  The girl turned to go inside, but Lauren impulsively stopped her with a hand and a word. “Wait.” Meredith turned to look up at Lauren, though she was just a little bit shorter. With those long legs she’d soon be taller than Lauren, beautiful and coltish and perhaps one day even elegant. But today she was just a child. “I have an idea.”

  When Meredith had found the burned, stinky mess of what was supposed to be lunch in the oven, a thousand thoughts had gone through her head. Panic, anger, horror, a sense of total failure. She’d figured lunch was a lost cause and they’d end up eating fried chicken out of a bucket. She’d never expected this.

  She followed Miss Lauren’s instructions, hiding the burned food—because it wouldn’t do for it to be discovered in the trash—and setting the dining room table with the good china. Dad called the delicate rose-rimmed plates “Mom’s good dishes” and they were never touched, much less used. They always ate off paper plates. But Miss Lauren insisted, and at the moment Meredith would do anything their neighbor asked of her. Anything at all.

  Miss Lauren didn’t have to do this. She didn’t have to do anything! She could’ve ignored the crying fit Meredith had been having on the back porch. If the situation had been reversed, that’s what she would’ve done.

  All Miss Lauren had asked was that they keep Dad out of the kitchen. Meredith had brought Hank and Justin in on the plan to help with that. Now and then, as they worked in the kitchen, Miss Lauren would hear a noise and glance toward the doorway. She looked like she was ready to bolt if Dad showed up.

  She looked—and acted—like she really cared, and that made Meredith feel about an inch tall.

  They opened the windows and sprayed air freshener to kill the odor of burned food. It worked, though Meredith could still detect a hint of burned peas. When that was done, and the ruined food was hidden, Miss Lauren ran next door. She literally ran, because time was short. Meredith followed, out of their kitchen door, across the yard, to Miss Lauren’s kitchen.

  Which smelled heavenly, as always.

  Miss Lauren grabbed a matching pair of oven mitts that didn’t have a single burned mark or food stain on them, and took a big dish from the oven.

  “There’s a covered dish in the fridge,” she instructed without looking back. “Grab it. We’ll come back for the rest.”

  Meredith carried the dish very carefully, half-afraid she’d drop it on the way home. She didn’t. Miss Lauren made her check to see that the dining room was clear before she went in and placed the dish on the center of the table. She frowned at the table. “You need flowers,” she said, as if the absence of a centerpiece was a serious infraction.

  “We don’t have any flowers,” Meredith said. “Just weeds.”

  Miss Lauren smiled. “I have a garden full.” She studied the wrinkled tablecloth—who had time to iron?—and frowned. “There’s no time to take care of that tablecloth, but I do have a particular rose that matches that stripe perfectly.” She nodded. “It’ll do.”

  They ran back and forth, carrying food, collecting flowers and a vase. Hank looked in a couple of times, and ran interference when Dad got too close to the kitchen.

  When everything was done, Miss Lauren studied the results and smiled widely, happy with what they’d done even if the tablecloth was wrinkled.

  Meredith took a deep breath, looked at her neighbor and asked plainly, “Why did you do all this?”

  Miss Lauren stared dead-straight-on at her, not waving the question off as if it meant nothing, not brushing the query away. It did mean something, and they both knew it. “You were in trouble, I helped. It’s as simple as that. I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me.”

  “But…” Meredith was about to say she wouldn’t have, she would’ve laughed if she’d found out Miss Lauren was in a bind. Was she a bad person? Why was she so anxious to think the worst of a woman who had only been nice to her?

  She didn’t get to continue the conversation. From the front of the house, a car door slammed. Justin yelled, “She’s here!” and
Dad’s voice followed.

  At the sound of that voice Miss Lauren twitched, and then she said she had to go. She hurried from the dining room, and then out the kitchen door, making a hasty escape.

  Cole led Janet into the dining room, not certain exactly what to expect. Meredith had all but ordered him to stay out of the kitchen, and he’d done as she asked. This seemed to be so important to her, he wanted to give her the chance to succeed on her own. He’d told her to holler if she needed help and she hadn’t, so everything must’ve gone well.

  Maybe tuna casserole wasn’t fancy, but it should do the trick. Her apple cobbler called for canned apples, but shoot, that’s the kind of recipe he’d pick if he were cooking. Not everyone wanted to spend their lives in the kitchen, like…