Suddenly Single

by Millie Criswell

  But Francie was more surprised than angry. "But you're doing such a wonderful job. Leo told me just the other day that he was impressed with your initiative and was going to give you a raise. And it's not easy to impress Leo, I'll have you know. He's very picky. If it's the money, I can—"

  "It's not about money. I just feel there's something missing from my life, that I'm supposed to be doing something other than pulling swatches and making deliveries. I know I've made some poor choices over the years, like the exotic-dancing thing, but this job isn't working, either. Maybe it's just me. I don't seem to fit in anywhere."

  Her father had told Lisa once that she was a square peg in a round world. Now she knew what he meant.

  "You know delivering and fetching materials won't last forever. Leo plans to move you up to a designer position, once you learn the ropes."

  "But that's just it. I don't think I want to learn the ropes." Lisa shook her head. "Oh, hell. I don't know what I want. My failed marriage is a perfect example of that. I just can't do anything right."

  "Stop talking like that. You're being entirely too negative about yourself." Francie clasped her sister's hand. "Tell you what. Why don't you walk down the street to Smollensky's and get me one of their fabulous crumb cakes. I didn't have breakfast this morning, and I've been craving one."

  At the word craving Lisa gasped. "You're not pregnant, are you? Please tell me you're not. I know how much you want a baby, but Mark is going to freak out if he finds out you went and got pregnant behind his back."

  Shaking her head, Francie smiled. "I'm not pregnant. Not yet, anyway. But I took your advice and had a heart to heart talk with Mark, just the other night. I told him exactly how I feel. He's had a change of heart and wants me to get pregnant, says he thought it over and all his previous objections seem stupid to him now."

  Smart man, Lisa thought, hugging her sister. "That's great, Francie! I'm so happy for you. What happens now?"

  "Why just the usual morning, noon and night stuff, until we conceive."

  "I bet Mark's a happy man these days."

  "He just grins and bears it. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, is his new motto. And he does it so well."

  Pulling a five-dollar bill from her wallet, Francie handed it to Lisa. "Here, this is for the cake. Don't come back without it, or I may go into a frenzy. When you return, we'll talk about your options for the future. How does that sound?"

  "All right. Two heads are better than one, I guess. And I can do with a Smollensky fix myself right about now."

  Smollensky's Bakery was as much a fixture in Philadelphia as the Liberty Bell.

  Lisa and her family had been shopping there for years. Bread, rolls, bear claws or birthday cakes, if you wanted the best, you bought your bakery goods from Sol Smollensky.

  Sol was older than God—or so it had always seemed to Lisa—with a thin patch of white hair on the top of his head, a large round belly protruding from beneath his not-so-pristine white apron and a smile that could light up an entire room. He'd lost his wife a year previously to cancer and didn't smile as much these days. His teeth were false and clacked when he spoke, but that was the only thing fake about the kindhearted baker. If Sol told you something, you could bank on it.

  Inhaling deeply, Lisa moved toward the counter, smiling at the older man. "How's it going today, Sol?"

  "Can't complain. Business has been okay. Not great, but okay."

  Her forehead furrowed. "Why not great? You've got the best bakery goods in town." She gazed longingly at the prettily decorated Valentine's cookies. "This place should be packed." She turned her head, noticing for the first time that she was Sol's only customer, which was strange. The bakery should have been crowded at this time of day.

  Sol shrugged. "We got competition from all the big grocery-store chains now, not to mention the discount clubs. They've all got bakeries, and they can sell cheaper than I can. It was only a matter of time until we started to feel the pinch."

  "Their stuff isn't as good as yours. Maybe you need to advertise more."

  "Maybe I need to retire. I'm getting too old to be working so hard. I don't enjoy it as much as I used to. And I'm starting to lose money. Man cannot live by bread alone, as they say. If I could, I'd be set for life, no?"

  Lisa sighed, knowing exactly how the older man felt.

  "So what brings you in today, Lisa? I got some nice éclairs, or maybe you'd like some blueberry muffins. I just took them out of the oven a few minutes ago." The tantalizing aroma of freshly baked muffins scented with vanilla and cinnamon filled the air.

  "Francie wants a crumb cake, and I'll take as many blueberry muffins as you can give me for whatever's left of this five-dollar bill."

  Sol pulled the familiar pink cardboard box with the Smollensky's gold-foil label from beneath the counter and began packing it with the streusel crumb cake. Lisa's stomach growled. Next he filled another box with six blueberry muffins and tied that up, as well. Lisa's stomach growled even louder.

  "Smells scrumptious. I can't wait."

  "I'm glad somebody appreciates my efforts. Since Olivia died, my heart hasn't been in the bakery business. I really am thinking about retiring."

  Lisa gasped. "But you can't do that, Sol! You're an institution around here. Where would I buy my cookies and doughnuts? My sister is trying to get pregnant. She can't get pregnant if she doesn't have your crumb cake. You're important to a great many people, me included."

  "So you'll come here a couple of days a week and I'll teach you how to bake what I bake, then you can make all the same cakes and pastries for your family and friends."

  Eyes wide with incredulity, Lisa asked, "You would do that for me, teach me your baking secrets?" This had to be a dream. But if it was, she didn't want to wake up. Learning how to bake professionally had been her innermost desire for years.

  "Your mother's told me many times that she thought you were a very talented baker, Lisa, and Josephine always tells it like it is. One time she was too harsh about my bread being stale, but I've forgiven her."

  "My mother said I was a talented baker? I had no idea she knew I loved to bake."

  "Mothers know everything. As a woman, you should know that and be comforted by it."

  Skeptical as to the veracity of the baker's statement, Lisa's eyebrows went up. "Maybe."

  "So, do you want to learn how the professionals do it? It won't be easy. I can promise you that. Getting up at three in the morning is a killer. But I could use the help, if you think you can do it. I've got a touch of arthritis in my hands now and it makes kneading the dough difficult."

  Lisa's face lit, and without a moment's hesitation, she nodded enthusiastically. The opportunity of a lifetime was being dropped in her lap, and she intended to make the most of it. "I can work weekends. I'm off on Saturdays and Sundays. Would that work?"

  He nodded. "I'm open Saturday and a few hours on Sunday morning, for the church crowd. I quit the whole religious-thing myself, after Olivia died. I just didn't see the point. For God to have taken my wife…"

  Sol shook his head. "It seemed like a great injustice had been done. She never harmed a soul."

  The pain in the baker's eyes gave Lisa pause. How wonderful it would be, she thought, to be loved so completely and forever.

  "Sometimes God wants the good ones with him, Sol. Maybe he needed Olivia's help up in Heaven. You know how she was always donating her time to one charity or another."

  He seemed somewhat comforted by her words. "You're a good girl, Lisa. You come on Saturday and we'll bake. I think you've got what it takes to become a professional."

  A week later, Miriam Mackenzie faced her son's mother-in-law across a table at Starbucks. It was late in the morning and the restaurant was relatively empty of customers, save for the two women.

  Josephine had picked the location on purpose, knowing that no one in her family frequented this establishment at this particular location. What she had to say to Miriam Mackenzie she wanted to say in
private.

  "Your husband didn't come with you?" Josephine asked, stirring sugar into her cup while she sized up her opponent. For all her furs, jewelry and fake smiles, Miriam Mackenzie appeared to be a steel magnolia, like the women in the movie that Josephine had watched so many times—soft on the outside but hard as steel within.

  Alex's mother shook her head. "Rupert stayed at home. I told him I was visiting an old friend from school. I thought it best to come alone. Your phone call sounded dire and mysterious. My husband has no patience for such drama and, I must admit, neither do I. So, I hope I haven't wasted my time by coming." Pinky out, she lifted her paper cup to her lips and sipped the hot coffee, as if she were entertaining the queen in her front parlor.

  Josephine could practically smell the money seeping from this woman's pores. Mingled with the perfume she was wearing—Chanel, unless she missed her guess—it made her nauseous. "Since when is your son's happiness a waste of time? Most mothers wouldn't feel that way. I know I don't."

  Miriam sighed. "If I thought Alexander had been truly happy married to your daughter, Mrs. Morelli, I might agree. But I think everything has turned out for the best. In time, you'll see that I'm right."

  "I doubt that very much."

  "Alex and Lisa are from two different worlds. Your daughter left, so she must have realized that, too. Lisa might not have had much polish, but she seemed to be a sensible young woman."

  Gritting her teeth, Josephine counted to ten under her breath, and then replied, "My daughter left because she grew tired of you and your husband trying to sabotage her marriage. Lisa might be different, and she might not be as polished as the women you associate with, but she isn't a fool or a phony. She says what she believes and takes people at their word. She's not one to play games. In that, my daughter is a lot like me."

  "That's all very interesting, but I came here because you indicated on the phone that it was a life-or-death situation. If my son is ill, or something bad has happened to him, I want to know and I want to know now."

  "Alex was fine the last time I saw him, so you needn't worry about that."

  "Well, thank God! And since you prefer the truth, I will tell you that I am greatly relieved that Alex and Lisa are contemplating divorce. Your daughter could never have made my son happy. Lisa, I fear, was a bit too unconventional for Alex."

  Josephine cursed, and not beneath her breath this time. "Alex came to see me, to ask for my help. He loves Lisa and wants her back, unconventional or not. But she isn't willing to open herself up to the kind of abuse you and your husband heaped upon her and that your son tolerated."

  Miriam's eyes reflected false innocence, and Josephine added, "Don't look so surprised. Did you think my daughter was so stupid that she didn't know what you were up to?"

  "Why, I never—"

  "Cut the act, Miriam. I believe Lisa. And the only reason I called you is that there is something bigger at stake here than you or I, or even Lisa and Alex."

  The other woman's eyebrows drew together in con-fusion. "I don't understand what you're talking about."

  "Do you know what happens when two people have sex?"

  Miriam gasped, clutching her chest. "Why, I never— Mrs. Morelli, how dare you speak of such indelicate matters? I am a gently reared—"

  "Stuff the Southern belle routine, okay? My daughter could very well be pregnant with your first grandchild. Have you given any thought to that? It's been seven weeks since Lisa left Florida. There could be a baby growing inside of her." Josephine could see by the stupefied expression on the woman's face that she hadn't.

  "My first grandchild? But—"

  "Please, don't ask me how that's possible. You gave birth to a son, so you should know already about the birds and bees." Miriam blushed as pink as the raspberry wool suit she wore.

  "Lisa is almost two months late with her period. And though it's true that it could be from the stress of her breakup with Alex, I don't think it is. I'm positive she's going to have a baby. I feel it here." She patted her chest. "And if she is pregnant, then we must do everything in our power to get your son and my daughter back together. A child deserves two parents."

  Alex's mother began fanning herself with a napkin, and Josephine shoved a glass of water at her. "But we don't know that for certain," Miriam said, looking withered and somewhat pale.

  "Do you want to take that chance? If Lisa divorces Alex, and then has a baby, you will not be a part of that child's life. I know my daughter well enough to believe that. Not that I want my grandchild exposed to people like you and your husband, but I must do what's best for my daughter and help save this marriage. I wouldn't be a good mother if I didn't try."

  "But what can I do? Lisa hates me, and my son isn't talking to me, either, at the moment. I'm afraid that I did behave rather badly."

  Miriam looked genuinely distressed, and Josephine almost felt sorry for her. She knew what it was like to antagonize a child; she'd done it a time or two herself. But she'd had only her children's best interests at heart. And she was a mother, after all, which gave her the God-given license to interfere if necessary.

  "How are your knees, Miriam?" Josephine asked.

  "My knees? Why, I guess they're good. I play tennis and try to keep myself fit. Why?"

  "Because you and that husband of yours need to get down on your knees and beg your son's forgiveness, and then my daughter's. You must not only admit you were wrong, but you must ask for their absolution and pray they give it."

  She gasped. "Beg? I have never begged for anything in my life. And I doubt Rupert would do so. He's a very proud and stubborn man."

  "Time to start, Miriam. You owe it to your future grandchild, and you owe it to Lisa. And as for your husband, I'm sure you have ways to convince him."

  She arched a meaningful eyebrow and the woman blushed again.

  "But what would I say to convince Lisa or Alex? I don't have a very good track record with either of them, I'm afraid."

  "I would start with 'I'm sorry' and go from there."

  Miriam took a moment to contemplate Josephine's words. Finally, she nodded. "You're a wise woman, Josephine Morelli, though a bit bossy, I must say. But I like your strength. Are you certain you're not from the South? We've got alligators in Florida with less tenacity."

  Warming a little to her daughter's mother-in-law, even though the woman was affected and snobbish, Josephine replied, "Southern Italy, maybe. So, are you going to help me get Alex and Lisa back together? I can't do this alone."

  "Yes, but if I do and this doesn't work out the way you want, you must promise not to send any of those Mafia people after me or my husband."

  The Italian woman swallowed a smile. "Well, maybe just a horse head or two, but I promise nothing more than that."

  Alex walked into the Harley-Davidson store and felt totally conspicuous, like a duck out of water. Or maybe he was just quacked!

  But if he wanted to win Lisa back, he would have to dress to impress her. It was painfully clear that she preferred the macho type to the Ivy League variety of male.

  "Do you need some help?"

  He turned at the sound of the woman's voice and his eyes widened as he took in the very well endowed, scantily dressed red-haired salesclerk. He supposed she was what everyone referred to as a "biker chick." She sure looked the part.

  "Uh, yes. I'm looking for a leather jacket."

  "And pants," she added, matter-of-factly. "You can't ride a Hog without leather pants, or you'll scorch your balls all to hell."

  "Oh."

  The young woman squinted at him. "You don't look much like a biker, if you don't mind my saying so. I don't mean to be insulting, but…well, bikers tend to have a certain look about them. Are you sure you wouldn't be interested in buying a Vespa instead?"

  He sighed. "I'm not a biker. But my wife goes for that sort, so I'm—"

  Her face lit up. "That's so sweet! My old man couldn't care less about what I like. And Zip couldn't fit his fat ass into a pair of
leather pants if his life depended on it."

  Lisa, Alex thought, you had better appreciate this, that's all I've got to say.

  In the two weeks Lisa had been working at Smollensky's Bakery, she thought she'd died and gone to Heaven. She loved everything about working with Sol…well, with the exception of getting up at the crack of dawn. But the benefits definitely outweighed the drawbacks.

  She was becoming quite proficient at cake decorating, and her lemon-meringue pie was to die for. Sol was a genius in the kitchen and, as a teacher, there was none better. He was patient and kind, and seemed to take genuine delight in sharing his knowledge and expertise. He and Lisa had grown as close as a favorite uncle and niece.

  It was still early in the morning. They hadn't opened for business yet, and Lisa relished the time to get better acquainted with the older man.

  "So how come you and Olivia never had any kids, Sol?" Lisa asked, rolling out a lump of dough for the pecan pies she was making.

  "Olivia couldn't have kids. Female trouble, you know. We were content. But I know she would have loved to have a bunch of young ones underfoot. Olivia had a great capacity for love."

  "I guess the bakery became her baby, huh?" Lisa certainly understood how that could happen. If she owned part of the business, she wouldn't want anything to interfere with making it a success.

  Kids were highly overrated, anyway. At least, that's what she kept telling herself, since it seemed she wasn't likely to have any.

  Come to think of it, men were even more highly overrated!

  "She loved this place. Olivia was a real people per-son. I stayed in the back, for the most part, baking and taking care of the ordering, and she worked with the customers. It was her favorite part of the business."

  "I like that part, too, though I really prefer the baking end of it. I feel a real sense of accomplishment when something I create with my own two hands turns out well and others like it. Mrs. Semolina complimented me on my oatmeal-raisin cookies the other day."