by Susan Wiggs
“And what about Philip?” Did Mariska even know him? Laura wondered. Did she know he saved the middle of his pain au chocolat for last, that he’d seen the Allman Brothers at the Fillmore East before Duane Allman got killed, that his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed?
“What about Philip?” She sighed. “He’s—Laura, you have to promise not to say anything...”
“About what?” Laura frowned. “Where does he fit in with all the traveling and shopping?”
“That’s just it. Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll get bored with him.”
Laura wanted to shake her. “If you’re afraid of that, then why are you planning a future with this man?”
“God, I swear, you’re like an old, wet blanket,” Mariska said with a frown. She bent to check her reflection in the side-view mirror of the truck, feathering her hair out at the temples. “I never should have told you about us.” She fixed her lipstick and leaned back against the white panel truck. “That’s not so. I had to tell somebody. This secret is just too good to keep to myself all summer long, and you’re the only one I can trust.”
Despite her yearning for Philip, Laura felt privileged that Mariska had entrusted her with the details of her clandestine love affair, because that was probably as close as Laura would ever get to a love affair of her own. She had the dullest life on the planet. Her best source for drama and romance was Mariska, who lived her life as though she was a character in a soap opera.
Unfortunately, characters in soap operas usually ended up heartbroken and alone, or at least with a bad case of amnesia.
“Listen,” she said to Mariska. “I really hope everything works out.”
“But what?”
“I didn’t say but.”
“You didn’t have to. I heard it, anyway. But what?”
Laura took a deep breath. “I’m just worried about what’s going to happen with you now that summer is over and Philip’s going back to Yale. He might...well, you know what can happen. It’s where the term summer romance comes from. When summer ends, so does the romance.”
“Not for Philip and me,” Mariska insisted.
Laura bit her tongue. Mariska and Philip were from two completely different worlds, and they were fooling themselves if they thought it would be easy to fit their lives together. Laura had seen this kind of thing before. People with such different backgrounds simply didn’t have enough in common to stay together. Cinderella and Prince Charming was a fairy tale. In real life, princes married their own kind, not household servants.
“Besides,” Mariska added, “I have an insurance policy.”
“I don’t get it.”
Mariska smiled mysteriously. Her hand strayed down to her stomach and rested there. “I haven’t told him, so don’t say anything.”
Laura felt as though someone had punched her.
Mariska’s smile blossomed into laughter. “You should see your face. You’re more surprised than I was, that’s for sure.”
Because you planned this, thought Laura with a sudden clarity of understanding. Although Mariska claimed love was all she and Philip needed, she’d hedged her bets by getting pregnant. And while Laura didn’t know much about Philip, she did know that not only was he the handsomest guy on the planet, he was also extremely decent. He brought Fresh Air kids from the city, and he was getting a special leadership award from President Carter for working with New Haven’s poor. And now that Mariska was pregnant, he would never leave her.
“I, um, don’t know what to say. I mean, I’m happy for you.” Her heart sank, because she couldn’t fathom a way to see this working out. Mariska hadn’t even finished growing up. Having a kid this young was a mistake.
Laura felt a little sorry for the Majeskys. They had wanted a big family, but according to Laura’s mom, Helen had so much trouble having Mariska that she almost died, and she was unable to bear any more children. Maybe that was why Mariska was so spoiled. They lavished all they had on her. And here was the trouble with spoiled people. No matter what you gave them, they were never content. They always wanted more.
“So when are you going to tell Philip?” she asked.
“I haven’t thought about that yet.”
“Mariska, you have to—”
“I will, I swear, I will. I just found out myself. You’re the first person I’ve told...well, almost.”
“Almost?” Laura did not like the sound of that.
“I was kind of in shock when the clinic called with the results. I sort of blurted it out to some of the customers in the bakery.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh is right.” Then Mariska laughed again. “You won’t believe who they were—Mr. and Mrs. Lightsey.”
Laura could only shake her head. Clearly, blurting out the news had been no accident. “Pamela’s parents.”
“Philip says they’re best friends with his parents. They came up for the closing ceremonies of the camp. He told me they do every year.”
“And they know you’re pregnant.” Laura felt a chill despite the summer heat. This was the way Mariska operated. She was going to manipulate the situation, Laura just knew it. Making sure Pamela’s parents learned the score was all part of some plan Mariska had up her sleeve. “Do they know it’s Philip’s?”
“It doesn’t matter. As soon as he sees Pamela, which will be next week at Yale, he’s going to tell her the engagement is off. He’ll marry me before the baby comes, and everything will be just fine.”
“Except for Pamela Lightsey.”
“She’ll be all right after the BMW,” Mariska said airily.
* * *
Two days later, Laura was trimming the asters in the planter boxes in front of the bakery when she heard the train whistle, and remembered that Mariska had gone to the station to say goodbye to Philip. Minutes later, Mariska returned to the bakery, looking pale and defeated, a stranger Laura had never seen before.
Sweat beaded Mariska’s upper lip. She swayed a little and clutched her stomach as if she was about to throw up.
“What happened?” Laura demanded, setting aside her gardening shears. “You look awful.”
Mariska lowered herself to a chair at one of the bistro tables on the sidewalk in front of the bakery. “I broke up with him.”
“I don’t understand.” Laura’s mind swirled with confusion. “Did he take it badly? Did he not want anything to do with the baby?”
“I didn’t tell him about the baby.” Desperation shadowed Mariska’s eyes. “He can’t ever know, do you understand? Ever.”
“Don’t be crazy. He has a right to know.”
“Stop it, Laura. I swear, if you say a word...” She rubbed her temples. “I need to think.”
“Listen, a couple of days ago, you were planning a future with him. Did he change his mind?”
“No. He begged me not to break up with him.”
“Then why did you?” Laura demanded, trying to figure out what had really happened.
Mariska took a deep breath. She looked at her reflection in the big window of the bakery. “I got a better offer.”
“What do you mean, a better offer? From whom?”
Mariska didn’t answer. She gave a bitter laugh, got up from the table and strode away. Although Laura called after her, she didn’t respond as she walked along the sidewalk with her head held high. She took something out of her purse, ripped it down the middle, threw it in the green enamel trash bin and kept walking.
Laura couldn’t resist. She pulled out the paper her friend had ripped. It was an enlargement of the beautiful shot of Mariska and Philip, torn neatly down the middle. Without hesitation, Laura rescued it from the trash. Mariska was surely being too hasty.
Food for Thought
BY JENNY MAJESKY
Friendship Bread
/>
At the Sky River Bakery, a lot of our breads begin with a sourdough starter, and Friendship Bread is one of the favorites. It’s called that because the starter can easily be shared among friends, who are invited to create breads of their own. It seems a little counterintuitive to let a vat of ingredients ferment for days on end, but ultimately, it gives the bread a special depth of flavor. This makes enough starter to share with your friends, along with a copy of the recipe.
This particular recipe is very flexible. You can add dried fruit, nuts, almond extract or sweet spices.
FRIENDSHIP BREAD STARTER
3 cups sugar
3 cups flour
3 cups milk
Day 1: In a nonmetal bowl, combine 1 cup sugar, 1 cup flour and 1 cup milk. Stir with wooden or plastic spoon (don’t use metal spoon or electric mixer). Cover bowl loosely with a tea towel. Keep at room temperature, not in fridge.
Stir mixture once each day on days 2, 3 and 4.
Day 5: Add 1 cup sugar, 1 cup flour and 1 cup milk, and stir.
Stir mixture once each day on days 6, 7 and 8.
Day 10: Add 1 cup sugar, 1 cup flour and 1 cup milk. Remove 3 cups of mixture and give 1 cup each to three friends, with instructions. Save remaining starter for yourself.
FRIENDSHIP BREAD
1 cup starter
1 cup oil
1 cup sugar
½ cup milk
2 teaspoons cinnamon
½ teaspoon baking soda
2 cups flour
1-½ teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 eggs
1 large box instant vanilla pudding mix
Combine starter with all the other ingredients, mixing thoroughly. Grease 2 large loaf pans and dust with mixture of cinnamon and sugar. Spoon batter into pans. Coat top of batter with butter and sprinkle with remaining cinnamon/sugar mixture. Bake at 325°F for 50-75 minutes, or until done.
Chapter Twelve
There was something melancholy about Greg Bellamy’s new home. Jenny sensed a curious press of sadness immediately as she stepped inside the boxy Victorian house on Spring Street. From the outside, it was fairly typical of the homes in Avalon, a tall, gabled house surrounded by white snow and bare trees, like a blank canvas waiting to be painted.
Inside was a different story. Items were placed haphazardly here and there—moving boxes, the odd article of furniture, a stack of mail on a windowsill. It reminded her of a hotel. Except she knew it was not. Greg and his two children, Max and Daisy, were here to stay.
“Let me take your coat,” Greg offered, greeting her in the vestibule.
Philip was already there, seated on a stool at the counter, nursing a glass of wine. Rourke had been invited tonight but he’d declined, saying he was working late. And he probably was, but she had the impression that family gatherings weren’t his thing. Offering Philip a tentative smile, she wasn’t sure they were her thing, either, but at least she wasn’t afraid to give it a shot. The whole idea of having relatives blew Jenny’s mind. She’d grown up believing herself to be the only child of an only child. Now there was this whole undiscovered family of strangers.
“This is for you.” She handed Greg the parcel she’d brought. “Friendship bread. It’s said to bring good luck to a new home.”
“Hey, thanks.” Greg flashed her a boyish grin. “I need all the luck I can get.”
Daisy and Max came thumping down the stairs, Max swinging around the newel post with a flourish. “Hey, Jenny,” he said. “Hey, Uncle Phil.”
Jenny was looking forward to getting to know her uncle and cousins. They had the trademark Bellamy looks—straight hair and straight teeth, good posture and natural charm.
A senior in high school, Daisy was understandably complicated. She was blond, beautiful and quiet, and her manners as she greeted Jenny and Philip were more than adequate. Max was in fifth grade. He was tall and lanky and filled with a marked exuberance, evident in his ready smile and restless enthusiasm.
Jenny gave them a container of bread starter and explained how to cultivate it and share with friends. “So in theory, you can send it on in an endless chain,” she concluded.
“What if you don’t feel like making bread every ten days?” Max asked. “Is there, like, a curse if you break the chain?”
“Yes, how did you know?” Jenny asked. “The youngest member of the household gets a rash on his scalp and has to shave his head.”
Max’s hand went to his thick, sandy-brown hair. “Very funny.”
“I suppose you could ignore it and find out,” Daisy said.
“Honestly,” Jenny said, “you can put the starter in the freezer and leave it there indefinitely.”
Connor and Olivia arrived in a swirl of snow blowing on an icy wind. As they greeted everyone, Jenny stood back and quietly observed the family dynamics. She was such a novice at this. Olivia effortlessly exuded affection for her uncle and cousins, and particularly for her father. The two of them shared an easy bond that could only have come from a lifetime of intimacy. Jenny felt a pang, not of envy or resentment, but of regret that she had missed out on this part of her family.
She felt someone watching her and looked up to see that it was Connor. He was a big, ruggedly handsome man who, Jenny knew, had endured a difficult childhood of his own, yet he seemed supremely content with Olivia, and comfortable in his own skin. “Don’t worry,” he said as if he’d read her thoughts, “you’ll get used to it.”
“Housewarming gift,” Olivia said to Greg, handing him a voluminous shopping bag.
“This is the third one since we moved here,” Greg protested. “You have to stop.”
“Not until this house is warm,” Olivia said with a teasing laugh. “It still looks like a transit station.”
Jenny could easily pick out Olivia’s other contributions around the house. There was a fringed blanket of warm, moss-colored cashmere, flung over the back of a chair. Next to it was a pillow covered in a rich brocade. Both items bore the stamp of Olivia’s exquisite taste. Her current gift was a small reading lamp with a shade of leaded glass, clearly intended to turn the plain brown armchair and end table into a reading nook.
“I have to admit,” Greg said, “you’re good at this. You ought to do it for a living.”
“Good plan.” Olivia surrendered her coat and muffler to Max.
It was more teasing, of course. Olivia did do this for a living. She was a real estate expert, or what was known in the business as a house fluffer, specializing in preparing property for sale. She was so adept at decluttering, repurposing and remixing that she had founded her own firm in Manhattan, called Transformations.
The current decor of Greg’s house, if it could even be called a decor, was early frat house. In place of a dining table, there was a massive pub-style pool table in the middle of the room, with a piece of plywood over its surface. The light fixture featured a colored plastic shade with Enjoy Budweiser spelled out in the faux-leaded glass. On the wall was a dart board and in the fireplace was an electric barbecue grill.
“For fixing hot dogs,” Greg explained.
“And marshmallows,” Max chimed in. “We call it indoor camping.”
Jenny couldn’t decide which was stronger—the frat house theme or the camping theme. Instead of regular bedding, they had down-filled sleeping bags. On bare mattresses.
“I am so taking you sheet shopping,” Olivia murmured to Daisy as they checked out the upstairs. Jenny lost count of the bedrooms, closets and bathrooms. Most were empty and unheated, the doors shut.
“Thank God,” Daisy said. “My dad forgot a few things. It’s kind of okay, though, starting over from scratch.”
“There’s plenty of room for you to come and stay w
ith us, Jenny,” Greg said. “For as long as you need.”
She felt a surge of warmth and gratitude. This was what a family did. They pulled together, helped each other out. Still, she couldn’t quite put her faith in the process. Without a shared history, it was hard to buy into the idea of family.
“That’s incredibly nice of you,” she said. “Everything is crazy right now.” She suspected there could be problems with such an arrangement, however. Greg was her uncle by birth, but they were still virtual strangers. He was newly divorced and his ex was a lawyer. Too many complications, she thought. “I’m all right for the time being,” she said.
“True,” Olivia agreed. “Who wouldn’t be all right with the chief of police?”
Jenny’s cheeks instantly stung with color. “It’s only temporary. Very temporary.”
“We know,” Olivia said.
Jenny was surprised when Laura Tuttle showed up. Apparently, Philip had invited her. “I brought a pie,” Laura said, moving easily into the kitchen. And just like that, everyone pitched in to get dinner on the table. It was strange and wonderful for Jenny to feel the rhythm of a family once again. Dinner was spaghetti, bag salad and bread from the bakery, nothing fancy but served with great generosity. The camping theme continued with paper plates and plastic flatware, though Greg had actual wineglasses for the adults.
Afterward, there was more wine, along with coffee and dessert—a chess pie from Sky River. The kids were excused to go watch TV, and the others discussed Jenny’s situation again. Everyone wanted to help out, and none more sincerely than her father.
“I don’t want to rush you or push, but I know this is a crucial time for you,” he said.
Understatement, she thought.
“Maybe you’d like to give more time to your writing,” Philip said. “You’re an excellent writer.”
“You’ve been reading my column?” she asked.
He nodded. “I ordered a subscription to the Avalon Troubadour to be mailed to me in New York so I could read ‘Food for Thought’ every Wednesday.” He smiled at her stunned expression and helped himself to another slice of pie. “Anyway, in the city, you could meet people in publishing, determine whether or not you want to pursue writing as a career.”