Recipe for a Perfect Wife (ARC)

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Recipe for a Perfect Wife (ARC) Page 17

by Karma Brown


  melt. Place in very hot oven (500°F) for 3 to 5 minutes, or just until meringue is lightly browned. Slip dessert onto serving tray and serve at once.

  Checking her phone (no messages) Alice saw it was close to

  three. She had promised herself she would write for at least an

  hour before starting dinner, so she left the cookbook open at

  the dessert recipe and sat at the desk, determined to make

  progress.

  Alice set her hands on the laptop keys and waited for some‑

  thing to happen. She thought about her interaction with

  Georgia— what could be more Devil Wears Prada– ish than that?— but all that came to mind was Nellie, and what she might

  have been doing on a Wednesday afternoon. Based on the letters

  so far, Alice envisioned a predictable trifecta of cleaning, cooking, and gardening. She wondered what that would have been like—

  when a clean house and a meat loaf in the oven fulfilled expecta‑

  tions. Would it have been a relief, the simplicity of it? Or

  dispiriting to know that’s all there would ever be?

  Pushing thoughts of Nellie aside, Alice forced her fingers to

  type, words turning into sentences, and soon enough she had

  her first two pages written. But when she paused to reread, she

  scowled and promptly deleted all of it. Discouraged, she closed

  her laptop and headed back to the kitchen.

  Having already settled on a dinner of chicken thighs in a

  pineapple‑ barbecue sauce, she thought the Baked Alaska dessert

  would be a nice surprise for Nate— he loved ice cream. The

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  marinating. After washing her hands, Alice donned an apron

  and started on the Baked Alaska.

  She was worried about the dinner. Not the meal itself, but

  the conversation she planned to have with Nate after it. While

  she gathered the dessert ingredients, she rehearsed what she’d

  say: she wanted to wait a few more months before they got

  pregnant. She would barely be thirty by that time. Nate would

  likely be upset, but she hoped he’d come around to see things

  from her point of view. Like Sally had said, they were still young.

  Alice opened the freezer to see if there was enough ice

  cream. No strawberry, but there was a quart of chocolate. As for

  the cake, she opted for a premade Entenmann’s loaf, which she

  trimmed and stacked onto a baking sheet until she had some‑

  thing resembling a round base. The ice cream was solid, so she

  set it out for a few minutes, using a spoon to scrape off the top

  layer, letting it melt on her tongue while she waited for the

  rest to soften. Alice flipped through the cookbook, noting

  that jellied salads seemed particularly popular in those days, and

  shuddered at a recipe that called for lemon gelatin and canned

  tuna.

  Fifteen minutes later she had eaten the top third of the ice

  cream and the remainder was soft enough to pack into a small

  mixing bowl. She placed the bowl in the freezer and padded

  back to her desk, where she sat staring out the window for an

  hour, making no progress on her book.

  Nate was supposed to be home at six thirty, seven at the

  latest. An hour later he still hadn’t arrived, and Alice texted him.

  On your way? Dinner about to come out of oven.

  No response, and still no Nate by eight thirty. Alice fumed

  as she poured her second glass of wine and pushed the over‑

  cooked, cold chicken and shriveled pineapple chunks around her

  plate. She called him, but his phone went straight to voice mail,

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  which was when worry overtook irritation. Alice checked for

  news of train delays or accidents. Nothing. Maybe he had been

  hit by a car riding his bike home from the station? Rattled and

  anxious, she paced the living room while she finished the wine.

  Just as she thought maybe she should go look for him— but she

  couldn’t drive, two glasses of wine in— a text came through.

  Sorry, babe. Study session went late, grabbing bite here.

  Rain check on dinner?

  She stared at the text for a full minute. Rain check? She

  imagined Nate at the office with Drew, who probably had plenty

  of important things to do each day, eating takeout and laughing

  between bouts of focus. Nate having completely forgotten about

  his wife and dinner waiting for him at home.

  She seethed about Nate’s lack of consideration as she whipped

  the egg whites until glossy peaks formed. With some difficulty,

  as it was frozen solid, Alice transferred the dome of chocolate ice cream onto the loaf base. As she covered the whole thing with

  the egg‑ white meringue, trying to make the cloud‑ like layer

  even, despite her heavy‑ handedness, she fervently whispered the

  things she would say to her husband when he finally came home.

  I would have appreciated a call. I was worried.

  Did you have a nice time with Drew?

  Rain check? You don’t “rain check” dinner with your wife!

  I hope you don’t mind your pineapple chicken cold . . . also, I don’t want to have a baby right now.

  Still mumbling in frustration, Alice bent to keep an eye on

  the meringue dome in the oven. At four minutes the peaks were

  golden, but there was also a pool of brown liquid seeping out

  from under the cake base. Alice promptly took the dessert out

  and frowned as she poked the droopy meringue. Surely this was

  not what Nellie had labeled “Success!” It looked inedible. Using

  a large kitchen knife, she cut a slice in the dome’s surface and

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  quickly transferred it to a plate. The piece itself was relatively

  intact, but the moment she removed it, the rest of the dessert

  collapsed. She tried to hold one side up with the knife, but the

  other side buckled, and so she let it go.

  Alice took her plate and stood at the kitchen sink, staring

  into the darkened backyard while she finished the piece of Baked

  Alaska. Then she left her plate and fork, unrinsed, on the counter

  beside the remainder of the dessert— by the time Nate arrived

  home, hours later, all that would be left was a pool of melted choc‑

  olate ice cream with a sodden cake island in its center— and went

  to bed, her mind made up.

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  20

  q

  Nellie

  July 7, 1956

  Mint Sauce

  11⁄ 2 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar

  3 tablespoons hot water

  1⁄ 3 cup finely minced mint leaves

  1⁄ 2 cup very mild wine vinegar

  A couple drops of green vegetable coloring

  Dissolve sugar in hot wa
ter. Cool sugar water then blend in minced

  mint leaves and wine vinegar. Add green vegetable coloring. Let stand for half an hour and serve cool. Makes 1 cup of sauce.

  T he best time to harvest herbs was after the early‑morning dew dried, and Nellie had a long list of things to do, starting

  with her herb garden. While the sun rose higher and Richard

  kept sleeping, Nellie used her kitchen shears to trim leaves and

  stalks from her herb plants to later dry for her seasoning mix.

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  Rosemary. Sage. Parsley. Dill. Lemon balm. Mint. Marjoram.

  Snip, snip, snip went her nimble hands, swathed in gardening

  gloves to prevent scratches.

  It had been nearly a week since Richard had hit her, and Nellie

  had since accepted her marriage was at best unsustainable, at

  worst perilous. The Richard she met at the supper club— the

  charming man who showered her with attention and gifts and

  made her believe happiness was ripe for the taking— no longer

  existed. In truth, he had vanished on their wedding night, when

  Richard roughly pushed himself inside her, his small hands selfish

  as they ripped her beautiful pale blue nightgown in his haste, the

  delicate pearl buttons flying off like popped corn. That was the

  moment Nellie began her education on what it meant to be

  Richard Murdoch’s wife. This would be a life where the most

  important thing she could do was stand by his side, take care of

  him, give herself over to him bit by bit. He needed her to look

  pretty, cook him hot meals, open her legs to him without feigning

  a headache or lady troubles. She was to keep her opinions to

  herself while also keeping his dozen or so white dress shirts spar‑

  kling and clean of other women’s lipsticks. But Nellie had wanted

  a baby badly enough that despite all this she remained patient if

  not vigilant, hoping her efforts wouldn’t be for naught.

  Nellie knew leaving Richard would not be simple; it came

  with repercussions, both financial and social, and therefore, she

  needed a plan.

  Satisfied with her work, she stood and arched back slightly to

  stretch her cramped muscles. It was turning out to be a beautiful

  day, and Nellie, not quite ready to go inside, slid a cigarette from the carton and set it between her lips. She sat on the grass and

  smoked languidly, the herbs piled on a dish towel by her feet.

  Tomorrow, Sunday, was Richard’s thirty‑ fifth birthday. She

  was planning his favorite meal— lamb chops with mint sauce,

  which she would make today, along with mashed potatoes,

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  green peas, and peach cobbler. Nellie would wear her prettiest

  dress, adding to it a spritz of perfume and her most convincing

  smile, and they would have a nice meal.

  As she smoked the cigarette, the sun adding another layer of

  tan on her outstretched legs, she decided Monday would be the

  day. She would tell him she had to go visit her mother, whom

  Richard had never met— her dementia made her incredibly agi‑

  tated with strangers, Nellie explained when Richard had asked

  once about joining her. She would pack only a small valise for

  the trip, into which she would bury the envelope of dollar bills

  she’d been squirrelling away.

  Nellie had been clever, and careful, the way her mother

  taught her to be. Whenever she went to the market, she would

  buy only what was on sale, pocketing the extra from her weekly

  budget and sliding it into magazine spines, where Richard would

  never think to look. Sometimes when he had too much to drink,

  or was ill and delirious with stomach pains, Nellie would help

  herself to a little more as she emptied his pockets to launder his

  clothes. And when she went to the bank to get money for her

  dresses or beauty items or necessities for their home— areas

  Richard allowed Nellie to have near complete control over— she

  would take slightly more than she needed. It was amazing how

  much one could save with careful scrimping.

  Yes, she would leave Richard on Monday. She would go see

  her mother and, after that, figure out what to do next. Nellie

  was resilient and capable, and she would land on her feet.

  Leaving her beloved house and cherished gardens and dear

  friend Miriam would pain her greatly. But it had been Miriam

  who had given her the idea, and Nellie knew she would under‑

  stand.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Nellie. Smart too,” Miriam had

  said, pouring them both a coffee after she rescued Nellie from

  her backyard standoff with Richard. “And my Lord, can you

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  cook! There isn’t a thing you can’t do, dear, if you put your

  mind to it.”

  “Thank you for saying that, Miriam,” Nellie had replied, the

  shaking finally subsiding, though her jaw continued to throb.

  Miriam had made a chamomile poultice, heating the dried buds

  in warm apple cider vinegar before squeezing out the liquid and

  wrapping the moistened flowers in layers of cheesecloth. Nellie

  held the soothing, fragrant compress to her cheek. “But I’m not

  sure that’s entirely true.”

  Miriam had frowned, regarded Nellie with a look that was

  sympathetic but not at all pitying. “You can always stay with me

  if you need to. I’d love the company.”

  Nellie nodded, wrapping one hand around the warmth of

  her coffee cup. Knew that could never happen because of how

  much it would anger Richard, putting Miriam at risk as well.

  “You could say I needed the help, for a few days anyway.

  Maybe I’ve caught my death of a cold, or my arthritis has flared

  so badly I can’t boil water?”

  “You’re a good friend.” Nellie grasped Miriam’s hand,

  squeezed lightly.

  “I have some savings,” Miriam said, reaching into the drawer

  of her buffet table. She handed her a thick envelope, Nellie’s

  name written in black ink on its surface. Nellie felt ashamed at

  her own weakness, wondered how long Miriam had been

  keeping this envelope of cash for her.

  “I’d like you to have it, honey. I want to help.” Nellie was

  filled with gratitude at the offer but would never take Miriam’s

  money, despite the older woman’s insistence. Nellie assured her

  she had some savings of her own tucked aside— not a lot, but

  enough to get her away from Richard.

  It was nearly ten in the morning when she took the last drag

  on the cigarette. Nellie wanted to get the herbs drying and the

  mint jelly started so there was still time to market before she

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Wife

  had to get ready for their evening. They had a dinner party to

  attend, at the Graveses’. Richard had been sulking about it all

  week, knowing he’d have to talk to the “shuckster” Charles,

  who was surely invited, as the Goldmans and Graveses were

  close friends. Nellie wasn’t any more interested in socializing

  with Kitty, but she did enjoy Martha’s company and at least it

  meant she and Richard wouldn’t be alone.

  That only left Sunday— his birthday— to get through. They

  would attend church, and after the luncheon Richard had plans

  to go bowling with a few of the men in the neighborhood.

  While he bowled, Nellie would prepare dinner and then treat

  Richard like a king all evening, ensuring he suspected nothing.

  The next morning, she would leave under the guise of a quick

  trip to visit her ailing mother, and that would be the last time

  she ever saw Richard Murdoch.

  Nellie stubbed her cigarette out on the patio stone and took

  the herbs inside, bundling them loosely with string so they had

  space to breathe while they dried. She laid the newspaper‑ lined

  tea towel flat along the top of the refrigerator, setting the

  bundles of herbs gently on the towel. Turning her attention to

  the mint sauce for Richard’s birthday dinner, Nellie chopped

  the fresh mint, adding a few other green herbs for flavor. After

  dissolving the sugar into the hot water, she smoked another

  cigarette while she waited for the mixture to cool. Then she

  added the finely chopped mint and herbs along with the vinegar

  and vibrant green coloring. She managed to get slightly more

  than a cup of sauce, and after pouring it into a jam jar, tucked it into the back of the refrigerator.

  Later, they got ready for the dinner party in silence, both of

  them seemingly lost in thought. At the last minute, Nellie

  switched her shoes, preferring a higher heel with the dress she’d

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  chosen. Richard wasn’t pleased, his mouth taut, his hands

  shoved into his pockets as he watched her slip on the heels. He

  didn’t like her added height, as they would be nearly eye to eye

  now. But he didn’t say anything, simply gestured for her to walk

 

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