by Karma Brown
The front door slammed shut and then Nate was in the living
room, his helmet still on and his messenger bag slung across his
chest. He was soaking wet from having biked home in the rain.
“Oh! You should have called me,” Alice said. Her tense voice
betrayed her nerves. “I could have picked you up at the station.”
Nate stared at her, incredulous. “Are you smoking?”
Alice held up her hands, tried to think quickly. Denial was
not an option. The smell of smoke still hung heavy in the room.
“I had one. I never told you this, but I used to smoke, in college, for like, a second. ” She sounded a touch hysterical and so took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry, I know this probably seems crazy. But this
book . . . it’s making me do things I wouldn’t normally do. The
writing is harder than I thought and the saleswoman at that
vintage shop in Scarsdale offered me one and, well, in my re‑
search everyone smoked in the fifties, so I figured it was part of my due diligence. I mean, I didn’t plan to actually smoke the
cigarette. I swear, Nate! Please, stop looking at me like that.”
Nate continued staring at her like he wanted to throttle her.
“I have writer’s block and it seemed like maybe it could help?
Like, maybe it would give me some insight or something stupid
like that. It’s only this one. I promise.” She pointed to the glass of water, the half‑ finished cigarette bobbing on the surface, to‑
bacco strewn like loose‑leaf tea. Then she noticed the cigarette
carton on the edge of the desk, slightly hidden by the stack of
magazines. She shifted to block Nate’s view.
Nate still hadn’t moved. Like a statue in the living room’s
255
9781524744939_RecipeFor_TX.indd 254
9/4/19 11:24 PM
9781524744939_RecipeFor_TX.indd 255
9/4/19 11:24 PM
Karma Brown
doorway, rainwater dripping to the floor under his feet, his ex‑
pression one of disbelief. “You smoked in college?”
“Barely. Here and there. Come on, Nate. It’s just one lousy
cigarette.”
“What the hell is going on with you, Ali?” Nate asked—
yelled, actually— and that was when she realized whatever made
him come home early was worse than finding your nonsmoker
wife sucking back a midday cigarette.
Alice frowned. “Wait. Why are you home early?”
“You want to know why?” Nate said, his voice rising.
That’s why I asked. Alice’s hands had started to shake and she clasped them together. “Yes, Nate. I want to know.” She quickly
ran scenarios in her mind: he was sick (he didn’t look sick, not
exactly); his dinner got canceled and he decided to work the rest
of the day from home; he was still worried about her after the
whole cyst incident (except she was perfectly fine now, and they
both knew it). However, none of those explained why he was
clearly very upset.
Nate fiddled with the clasp on his bike helmet, not taking
his eyes off Alice’s. “I met Jessica Stalwart at lunch. Remember
her? Because she remembers you.”
She nodded, kept her face blank and curious even though
the picture was taking shape in Alice’s mind. “How did that
happen?” Nate’s and Jessica’s paths had never crossed before,
and Alice couldn’t sort out how this had transpired.
“She’s dating Jason Cutler.” Jason worked at Nate’s firm,
and he was a part of Nate’s social group. “She came to the office
to meet him for lunch.”
Jessica Stalwart started at Wittington about six months
before Alice was fired. She liked her immediately— a go‑ getter
like Alice, Jessica was quick‑ witted and confident, and Alice
thought they could have been friends if things had turned out
differently. Alice heard Jessica got her job as Georgia’s lackey
256
9781524744939_RecipeFor_TX.indd 256
9/4/19 11:24 PM
Recipe for a Perfect Wife
after she left, which meant she would without a doubt know
things. Private things only Georgia could tell her. Like, say,
about a potential lawsuit and a certain famous author. Damn it.
“How is she?” Alice finally managed, which was when Nate
lost the fight to keep himself contained. He exploded into the
living room, threw his messenger bag onto the floor, and un‑
clipped his helmet, tossing it down as well. Alice winced as the
helmet hit the hardwood, the floor’s tremors of displeasure
rolling under her feet.
“Jessica is fine. She recently left Wittington, apparently. But
what was most interesting was her concern for how you were
doing.”
“Me?” Alice did her best to look perplexed. “Why?”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Ali?” Nate stepped closer, his body
tense and fired up. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the
bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me
about James Dorian?”
Her mind raced, trying to determine exactly how much
Jessica had told him. “Nate, there was nothing to tell.”
Nate shook his head, pressed his lips together. “He assaulted
you, Ali.”
Oh. So, this wasn’t about Alice exposing James’s secret and losing her job and, more important, lying to Nate about it. “It
wasn’t that serious. I was never in danger or anything. I mean, yes, he put his hand on my knee, and no, I didn’t tell him he could. But that was it. As far as things went.” She took a breath. “He’s a
drunk, and a misogynist, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.”
“Not anything you couldn’t handle?” Nate’s eyes went wide
and his voice dropped. “You need to get the police involved, or
something.” He huffed, pacing the room in circles. He kicked
his helmet by accident, and it skidded farther across the floor.
“Sue Georgia, for putting you in that position. And the Wit‑
tington Group for lack of employee protection.”
257
9781524744939_RecipeFor_TX.indd 256
9/4/19 11:24 PM
9781524744939_RecipeFor_TX.indd 257
9/4/19 11:24 PM
Karma Brown
He was enraged, but not with her, so Alice relaxed. There
would be no police or lawsuit; she had already taken care of
that. And it was good he ran into Jessica Stalwart. Her reve‑
lation meant Alice could keep up appearances— James Dorian’s
perverted ways the ideal explanation for why she left Wittington
when she did. She would explain her silence on the issue as not
wanting to worry Nate about something she had a handle on,
but before she could say anything, Nate asked, “Were you fired?
Because Jessica said you were fired.”
“No. I— ”
“Did Georgia fire you over this? Because if so . . .” Nate
grabbed at her hands, squeezed her fingers gently in his. God,
he looked so sad. And yet, the anger simmered in his eyes, in
the way his jaw shifted back and forth, his teeth clenching.
This was the moment to tell Nate. But it was certainly easier
not to, Alice decided, the details of what had unfolded with
James Dorian and W
ittington irrelevant now. Besides, the whole
IUD thing was still fresh and raw and Alice wasn’t sure either
of them could deal with yet another revelation right now. “This
is why I couldn’t work there anymore. It was a toxic envi‑
ronment and I needed to get away from James Dorian and
Georgia and Wittington.” She squeezed his fingers back. “I’ve
let it go, so you have to let it go, too. There’s nothing to be
done. Okay?”
Nate took a deep breath in through his nose and released it
with a hiss. “Okay, Ali, okay,” he finally said, and Alice whis‑
pered a thank‑ you and leaned into him. “I’m just glad you got
out of there.”
“Me too.” There was a vibration between them, and Alice
pulled back as Nate took his phone from his pocket to see who
was calling. Drew Baxter. Alice noted Nate’s sudden but subtle move away from her, eyes on his phone.
“Ah, sorry, I should take this. It’s Rob,” Nate said, referring
258
9781524744939_RecipeFor_TX.indd 258
9/4/19 11:24 PM
Recipe for a Perfect Wife
to his boss, Rob Thornton. He glanced up from his phone to
Alice’s face, not realizing she had seen Drew’s name on the
screen. Nate appeared conflicted about what to do— keep his
focus on Alice, who had just verified a serious and upsetting
experience, or answer an incoming call from his study partner.
It shouldn’t have even been a choice. “But I can let it go . . .”
As Nate’s phone continued to ring— he clearly wanted to
answer it— a numbness moved through Alice’s limbs, but she
forced a smile. “No, go ahead. You should take it.”
He smiled and put the phone to his ear, walking toward the
stairs, which he then took two at a time. Alice stood at the base
of the stairs, hoping to catch a snippet of the conversation, but
all she heard before Nate shut the bedroom door was, “I know
this is hard . . . same for me . . . ,” in a tone that was too in‑
formal, too intimate for Alice to believe it was a work‑ related
call. With a sick drop in her stomach, Alice realized, as she had
feared, that something other than studying was going on be‑
tween Drew Baxter and her husband.
259
9781524744939_RecipeFor_TX.indd 258
9/4/19 11:24 PM
9781524744939_RecipeFor_TX.indd 259
9/4/19 11:24 PM
36
q
Nellie
septeMber 13, 1956
Tansy Tea
1 to 2 teaspoons dried tansy flowers
1 teaspoon sugared orange rind
1 cup boiling water
1 teaspoon honey
Steep flowers and orange rind in boiling water until it becomes a
golden hue. Add honey and drink quickly. Repeat as necessary.
ELSIE MATILDE SWANN
BELOVED MOTHER, GONE TOO SOON
SEPTEMBER 2, 1907— OCTOBER 5, 1948
I t had been six months since Nellie had last visited her mother, and things were quite unkempt around the headstone. The grass
grew wildly— some blades longer than others, some greener,
260
9781524744939_RecipeFor_TX.indd 260
9/4/19 11:24 PM
Recipe for a Perfect Wife
some fatter. It was as though the grass didn’t know how to grow
uniformly without Elsie Swann, and her green thumb, alive to
coax it. Nellie yanked a few unruly tufts from the ground,
shaking free the loose earth. She set the bouquet of dahlias— a
most harmonious flower, the vivid petals springing from its
center like a work of art— at the base of the headstone, the pink and white blooms cheery against the day’s overcast dreariness.
Dahlias were long bloomers (Nellie had even seen them survive
an early frost) and signified an unbreakable commitment be‑
tween two people. While Nellie found the flower too gay for
such a profound meaning, Elsie had insisted that was why dahlias
were so enchanting. “Just as powerful as they are pretty. Like
you, my sweet girl.”
“Hello, Mother. Happy belated birthday.” Nellie ran her
fingers across her mother’s name etched into the cool, mauve‑
tinted stone, lingering on the date of death. “I’m sorry it has
been so long, but it was difficult to get here. Though I do think
soon it will be easier to visit more often.” She tucked her dress
under her and sat beside the grave, the grass prickling her calves.
As always, Nellie tried not to think about the last time she had
seen her mother, though it never got easier. The horrible scene
she’d come home from school to find that day, almost seven
years ago. The bathtub. The water, to the brim. Her mother fully clothed under its surface with eyes wide yet dull. Nellie was too
young to navigate life alone, but her mother had left her no
choice in the matter.
Elsie never met Richard, was not at Nellie’s wedding, and
would never read the letters her daughter had been penning. For
whatever reason, it was important to Nellie to keep the truth
about Elsie from Richard, even in the beginning, when things
were decent between them. Perhaps she was embarrassed— most
would agree taking one’s own life was a sin, and Nellie didn’t
want Elsie’s memory tarnished. But more likely it was fear that
261
9781524744939_RecipeFor_TX.indd 260
9/4/19 11:24 PM
9781524744939_RecipeFor_TX.indd 261
9/4/19 11:24 PM
Karma Brown
the darkness that took Elsie might one day come for Nellie, too.
And if Richard knew this, well, perhaps he would have used it
against his wife.
Elsie Swann, Richard believed, was in nursing home care
outside Philadelphia, suffering dementia. The nursing home
staff recommended brief visits, and Nellie alone, which was why
Richard had never accompanied her. However, Nellie had never
been to Philadelphia, as her mother was buried in Pleasantville.
Only a short trip from where Nellie and Richard now lived.
“Things have become . . . unmanageable with Richard,”
Nellie said. “But I’m hoping that improves once I go back
home.” She had told Miriam she would be out of town for the
night, visiting her mother in Philadelphia. Miriam had asked if
Nellie wanted to take the letters with her on this trip, but Nellie had said, “No, sadly, my mother won’t be able to read the
letters.” Miriam had hugged her tight, her arthritic fingers
rubbing Nellie’s back in soothing circles. Said maybe Nellie
would find her mother more lucid this time, and that she’d pray
for her. Nellie didn’t enjoy lying to Miriam, but it was easier
that way.
Richard had initially resisted the trip, citing the pregnancy
and Nellie’s responsibilities at home. But she had insisted— her
mother wasn’t doing well at all. This could be her last visit.
Richard finally relented, making her promise to stay only the
one night despite the distance.
“I’m pregnant again,” Nellie said now, speaking to her
mother’s headstone. “Richard’s over the moon about it.” She
&nb
sp; sighed deeply. “I tried, I really did, Mother, but he was too strong.
Too . . . determined.” Nellie rearranged the dahlias, though they
didn’t need it.
“However, not to worry,” she added, her voice brightening. “I
know what to do and everything will be all right in the end.”
Nellie closed her eyes to picture Elsie’s beautiful smile,
262
9781524744939_RecipeFor_TX.indd 262
9/4/19 11:24 PM
Recipe for a Perfect Wife
knowing her mother would be proud of her resilience and
courage if she were here. “I was thinking about your friend,
Mrs. Powell, the other day.” There was a low growl of thunder,
and Nellie looked to the sky, where ash‑ gray clouds clustered
together. The hairs on her arms stood on end, the electricity of
the looming storm making its presence known. “Remember
that gorgeous pearl cigarette holder she gave you? Even though
you didn’t smoke, you carried it around with you everywhere. . . .
It’s funny, the things that stay with us, isn’t it? Anyway, I use it all the time now. It was a lovely gift.”
Betty Ann Powell had been a stunning woman— tall, an‑
gular, never without rosy lips or glossy nails or a cigarette in her mother‑ of‑ pearl holder— and to Nellie, at thirteen, was the
most exotic woman she had ever seen. Nellie had been a
mother’s helper to the Powells’ two young children and had
always enjoyed her conversations with Mrs. Powell. She was
bright, in both mind and energy, at least until the day she found
out she was expecting again. Betty Ann Powell stopped smiling
then.
When Nellie asked her mother what was wrong, Elsie ex‑
plained that while it might be hard for her to understand, Mrs.
Powell did not want another child. “Women have so few choices,
Nellie. Our gender can be our greatest strength, but it is also
our greatest weakness.” As her mother predicted, Nellie didn’t
understand— neither the lack of desire for a child (didn’t every
woman want children?), nor the comment on strengths and
weaknesses— but she’d nodded as though she did.
That was also, perhaps, the moment when Nellie began to
see her own mother differently. Was having Nellie a choice Elsie made, or something her mother had been forced to do? “My heart continues beating, Nell‑ girl, only because you can hear it,” Elsie had once said. It had scared Nellie— not yet mature enough at