Pupcakes

by Annie England Noblin

  “But he didn’t explain it any further?”

  “I didn’t ask him to.”

  “And he didn’t offer?”

  Brydie turned around to face her friend. “I thought you said he was a keeper?”

  “I’m sure he is,” Elliott replied. “I’m just looking out for you. You’re fragile right now.”

  “I’m fragile?” Brydie set the timer on the oven. “I’m not the one two months away from giving birth.”

  Elliott looked down at her stomach. “I’m a force to be reckoned with right now,” she said. “Nobody wants to piss a pregnant lady off.”

  Brydie laughed. “That’s probably true.”

  “Well, as long as he’s not an ax murderer with a closet full of ex-wives, I’m sure I’ll like him very much,” Elliott said.

  “Speaking of ex-wives,” Brydie said, shutting the oven, “I have something I want to show you.”

  “Ooh, what is it?”

  “Remember when I told you I found a photo album down in the basement?”

  “Was that before or after Teddy ate an entire family of granddaddy longlegs?” Elliott asked.

  “Before.” Brydie led Elliott to the basement door. “Remember I told you that the album is missing a bunch of pictures?”

  “Yeah,” Elliott replied. “But that’s not so strange, is it? People take pictures out of albums all the time. Remember how in seventh grade I got pissed at Samantha Siebert for stealing my boyfriend? I cut her face out of every single picture I had of her.”

  Brydie grinned. “I remember.”

  “What was his name?” Elliott mused. “Mason? Mark?”

  “Maxwell!” they said in unison before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

  “Oh, Maxwell,” Elliott said once she’d recovered. “I still haven’t forgiven Samantha.”

  “You were thirteen,” Brydie reminded her friend. “The pictures in Mrs. Neumann’s album are just gone. It’s like something happened in the middle of the album, and it changed everything. She looks so happy in the pictures at the beginning, at her wedding. Then there’s these blank spaces where pictures ought to be, and when the pictures begin again, she looks miserable. She’s not smiling in a single picture.”

  “I still think you’re making more out of it than you need to.”

  Brydie unlocked the basement door and a gust of stale air hit them both in the face. “I found something else down there, too.”

  “I’m not going down there,” Elliott said, bumping her belly on the door frame. “No way.”

  “Why not?” Brydie asked. “We can shut the door so Mia doesn’t come down.”

  “She knows how to open a door, genius,” Elliott replied. “But it’s not that. She’s so absorbed in Bubble Guppies, she won’t even notice. I’m not going down there because it looks less like Bubble Guppies and more like American Horror Story down there.”

  Brydie rolled her eyes. “Come on, you’ll be fine.”

  “Fine, but if my baby ends up possessed by an angry spirit, I’m sending it after you.”

  When they got to the bottom of the steps, Brydie led Elliott over to the trunk in the corner. “See that chair by the trunk?” she asked. “It was sitting there just like that with the photo album lying open on top of it.”

  “Creepy.”

  “It’s like Mrs. Neumann would just come down here and sit,” Brydie said. “Sit down in the chair and look at the pictures.”

  “And stare at the trunk,” Elliott said.

  “And stare at the trunk,” Brydie agreed.

  “What’s in the trunk?” Elliott asked.

  Brydie shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s locked.”

  “You brought me down here to stare at a locked trunk?”

  “Did you get any other keys when you got the keys to this house?” Brydie asked.

  Elliott screwed up her nose as she thought, and then said, “I don’t think so. It would make more sense that the keys are in the house somewhere.”

  “I can’t find them anywhere.”

  “Well, maybe she doesn’t want you to find them,” Elliott replied pointedly. “We shouldn’t even be down here. This isn’t your house.”

  Brydie knew that Elliott was right, but the words still stung. She forgot sometimes that nothing about her life at the moment was permanent. She really had no idea how long she would be here in Germantown. She didn’t know how much longer she would be caring for Teddy, and that thought gave her an unexpected lump in her throat. “Let’s go back upstairs,” she said, turning away from the trunk. “I need to check on the croissant braid.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Brydie nodded. “Yeah, I just don’t want to burn the croissant.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ve been meaning to ask you, have you thought about your plans for Thanksgiving yet?” Elliott asked, following her. “Are you going home?”

  “I doubt it,” Brydie replied, relieved that Elliott wasn’t asking any more questions about Mrs. Neumann. “I’ll have to work that night.”

  “My mom and dad are going to Florida to see my brother and his wife,” Elliott said. “We’d go, but I don’t want to travel that far so close to my due date. I was thinking maybe we could get together and have dinner. Me, you, Leo, and Mia . . . and maybe that doctor of yours.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Brydie said. “Five minutes ago you were grilling me about his possible girlfriend.”

  “Well, just you then.”

  “Is this your way of asking me if I’ll make you a pumpkin pie?”

  Elliott rolled her eyes. “It’s not always about your pie.”

  “It’s not?”

  “Okay,” Elliott said. “It’s about your pie. But I’ll bake the turkey!”

  BRYDIE STOOD AT the entrance to the dog park, one hand wrapped around Teddy’s leash and one hand holding a thermos of coffee and a ShopCo bag filled with an old tablecloth she’d found in the hallway closet and the pastry she’d baked.

  Nathan waved her over to where he was standing with Sasha. “This looks like a little more than coffee,” he said, bending down and unhooking Teddy’s leash. “What’s in the bag?”

  Brydie set the thermos down on the ground and handed Nathan the pastry. “You can’t have coffee without something to eat.”

  “Oh, really?” Nathan asked, a small smile appearing on his face.

  “Everything goes better with something to eat.”

  “I guess you’re probably right.”

  Brydie spread the blanket down on the ground. “I love to eat almost as much as I love to bake.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever dated a girl who felt that way,” Nathan replied, sitting down.

  “Are we dating?” Brydie teased. “I thought this was just coffee.”

  “But you brought food.”

  “I guess I can’t argue with that,” she replied.

  Brydie had been nervous when she first got there, afraid that maybe their conversation would be awkward after what happened the last time. But Nathan’s smile was so easy, and his eyes were so kind. She felt her heart skip a beat when she looked at him, and she had to admit that it made her feel a bit foolish.

  “So, did you always know you wanted to be a cook?” Nathan asked. “Or, what is it that you said? A pastry chef?”

  “I think I figured it out when I was in high school,” Brydie replied. “I like cooking in general, but desserts have always been my favorite.”

  “My mom is a great cook,” Nathan said. “I have two older sisters, and they’re also fantastic cooks. My dad cooks, too, but I don’t think I’d ever even boiled water until I went to college.”

  “My mom is a Realtor, and she works a lot,” Brydie continued. “My dad mostly stayed home when I was little, and even though he went back to work part-time, he cooked all the meals. Then, when I was sixteen, he suffered a back injury and for a while, he couldn’t cook or do much of anything. My mo
m didn’t have time, so that left me. Instead of feeling like it was a burden, I ended up really enjoying it.”

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” Nathan said. “Back injuries can be one of the worst kinds of injuries for a person to bear.”

  “It was hard on him,” Brydie agreed. “He tried surgery and therapy, but nothing really ever worked.”

  “We’re coming up with new treatments all the time,” Nathan replied. “There’s always hope. I can refer him to some specialists up here if you think he might be receptive to that.”

  Brydie looked away from Nathan and down into her lap. “Thanks,” she said. “But he died three years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was a brain aneurism,” she said. “He was fine when my mom left for work, but by the time she got home that night, he was already gone.”

  Nathan reached over and took Brydie’s hand in his. He held it for a minute, not saying a word. It was a surprising act of intimacy that Brydie hadn’t expected, but it was one that she was grateful for. She didn’t know why she felt compelled to tell him these things. It was like the night they’d had dinner, all over again. She could have told him about her love for cooking without mentioning that her father had been hurt. She could have merely said thank you when he offered to help, without telling him that her father was dead. But for some reason, a reason she’d yet to figure out, she couldn’t keep quiet around him. She couldn’t not tell him what she was thinking, and it was an altogether new experience for her. All she knew was that he made her feel better about . . . everything.

  After a few minutes, Brydie saw Fred and Arlow scampering over to them, followed by the woman and Great Dane she’d seen her first day in the park.

  “How’re you young’uns today?” Fred asked. “Looks like yer havin’ quite a picnic.”

  “We were just about to have some chocolate croissant,” Brydie replied. “Would you like some?”

  “Oh, no, thank ya,” Fred said. “I’ve got the diabetes. Can’t be havin’ none of that. But Dr. Reid here gave me some of those treats you made for Sasha. My Arlow loved ’em, and so did MaryAnn’s Thor over there.”

  Brydie looked past Fred to the woman and dog standing behind him. “I’m so glad to hear that,” she said.

  “We’d both like to place an order fer more, if yer willin’ to make us some.”

  “Really?”

  MaryAnn stepped out from behind Fred and said, “You made those treats? Thor loved them. Ate them right up.”

  “I did,” Brydie replied, nodding.

  “And the ingredients are all natural?”

  “They are.”

  MaryAnn shifted Thor’s leash from one hand to another. “Could you make a treat that’s grain-free? I like to try to keep Thor on a grain-free diet. It’s best for his skin.”

  “I’m sure that I could,” Brydie replied. “In fact, I think I have a recipe for a grain-free treat that I’ve been meaning to try.”

  “Great,” MaryAnn replied. Drool from Thor’s massive tongue dripped down and splashed onto her shoes. “I’ll take five dozen.”

  “Oh, um, okay,” Brydie replied. “When would you need them?”

  “Could you have them ready by Sunday?” MaryAnn asked. “I’d like to have them for Thor’s third birthday party. If they’re a hit, I’m sure some of my Dane friends will want to order some as well. Do you have a card?”

  Brydie stood up and dusted herself off. “I don’t have a card,” she said. “But let me give you my number.”

  “Just give me a couple dozen of them peanut butter banana treats,” Fred said. “Ain’t no rush on ’em.”

  Teddy wandered up to Brydie and nudged her leg. She reached down to pet him, while she used her other hand to log the numbers of Fred and MaryAnn into her phone. “I’ll get started on these ASAP and give you both a call once they’re ready to go.”

  Brydie watched MaryAnn and Thor walk off, followed by Fred, who mumbled something about being sorry to have interrupted them. Sasha and Teddy ambled off after the other two dogs, Teddy jumping up every so often to try to sniff Thor’s back end, the big dog merely swatting his tail at the pug.

  “I hope it was okay that I gave some of those treats to Fred,” Nathan said once everyone had gone. “Sasha loved them so much, and then so did Arlow. Now I guess Thor does, too.”

  “Are you kidding?” Brydie asked. “It’s fantastic!” She sat back down, feeling a little dazed. She couldn’t believe that she’d just gotten two orders for dog treats. “But a dog birthday party? Do people really have those?”

  Nathan laughed. “MaryAnn does. Sasha and I were invited last year. It was an interesting experience.

  “Have you thought about trying to sell your treats at pet stores?” Nathan asked. “It seems like there’s a market.”

  “I’ve never thought about selling my treats anywhere,” Brydie replied. “But I don’t think I need to worry about it just yet. I’ve just gotten my first two orders.”

  “Thanks to me,” Nathan said, giving her a mischievous grin.

  “Thanks to you.”

  Nathan took apart a piece of croissant and popped it into his mouth. After a moment of thoughtful chewing, he said, “So, I have this friend whose husband owns a restaurant. It’s in downtown Memphis, close to Beale Street. The chef is absolutely amazing.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, and I think you’d really like the food.”

  Brydie tried to hide a grin by eating a piece of the croissant. “Are you asking me out on an actual date?”

  “I’d like to take you there, if you want to go,” Nathan replied. “Next Saturday night?”

  “I think I have that night open.”

  “Great,” Nathan said. “Do you want to bring Teddy over that night? My dog sitter can watch him and Sasha together.”

  “Is that the same woman who lost Sasha the other day?”

  “I promise she won’t lose Teddy.”

  Brydie wasn’t so sure that was true, but she was too excited to think much about it right then. It had been the perfect day, and now she had actual orders for something she’d created. It had been so long since she’d had that feeling. She enjoyed making cakes and everything else at ShopCo, but the customers didn’t come because she was baking them. It was the first time in a long time that she felt excited to bake, and it was a feeling she was going to hold on to for as long as she possibly could.

  CHAPTER 22

  BY THE DAY OF THOR’S PARTY, IT LOOKED LIKE THE PILLSBURY Doughboy had exploded all over Brydie’s kitchen. Actually, it looked a little like she’d slaughtered him and his whole family. Every single utensil was dirty, and remnants of Brydie’s test runs of treats were strewn about the table and the countertops. She’d been through five different grain-free recipes before she found something Teddy would even sniff, let alone eat. In the end, it was the pumpkin treats that won out.

  She’d found a cookie cutter in the shape of a paw at ShopCo the night before, and after baking the regular batch for Fred, all she had left to do was package them up in the red cellophane bags she’d found. Brydie looked around the kitchen, feeling exhausted, but satisfied. It would take her at least an hour to get herself cleaned up and package the cookies, which didn’t leave her much time to get ready for work and deliver them, if she didn’t get lost on the way to Fred’s and to MaryAnn’s. Cleaning the kitchen, she realized, would have to wait.

  Teddy looked up at her and licked his lips.

  “Is this what you want?” she asked him, holding out the can of pureed pumpkin that was left over from the treats. “Well, come on.”

  Brydie bent down over Teddy’s bowl. Up until she began living with Teddy, she hadn’t known that dogs could eat anything other than regular dog food. She hadn’t known what human foods were good and which were bad, and she certainly hadn’t known that there was a community of dog lovers big enough to bake treats for. Now she was spooning pumpkin out into a dog dish.

  She put the empt
y can into the trash and headed back into the bedroom to get dressed. She pulled her khaki pants and blue ShopCo shirt out of the closet, her gaze moving across the box of photo albums up on the shelf. Brydie knew she should probably take the box back to the basement, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it, especially after not even being able to see the older woman once she and Teddy got to the nursing home. It had taken more treats than Brydie was willing to admit in order to get Teddy back up to his old self. Well, that and letting him sleep right next to her on her pillow.

  Brydie laid her clothes out on the bed and then turned on the shower in the bathroom. As she let the water rush over her and she began to relax, it occurred to her that when she’d packed up and left the house she and Allan had shared; she hadn’t taken much of anything—no pictures or keepsakes. Why would she? Their marriage had been over.

  She wondered what Allan had done with everything. Had he thrown everything away? Had he left everything in the house after it sold? Surely he wouldn’t have taken it with him. Brydie couldn’t imagine Cassandra, his soon-to-be wife, wanting any reminders of the woman who’d come before her—the woman he’d been married to for more than a decade. Maybe there were people in her old house right now wondering what to do with the memories she and Allan had collected. Things like the wedding topper from their cake, and photo albums with pictures not unlike the ones she’d found in Mrs. Neumann’s basement. She couldn’t think of a single picture where she and Allan weren’t smiling, happy. All of the vacations and holidays and monumental moments in their lives had been photographed and saved for posterity; for a day, she’d always thought, that she’d be able to show their children and grandchildren.

  Now she didn’t even know where those pictures were.

  But those pictures, she knew, told only half of the story. There were other memories, not so happy memories, which were not in any kind of album. Brydie knew that the same thing was true for the younger version of Mrs. Neumann and the man she was with. There was a reason nobody took pictures of those memories.

  Brydie turned off the shower and reached for her towel, only to realize that it was no longer hanging on the towel rack. She looked down to see Teddy nestled into it, snoring away. “I need my towel,” she whispered to him.