Recipe for a Perfect Wife (ARC)

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Recipe for a Perfect Wife (ARC) Page 31

by Karma Brown


  tears. “Let me offer you the same gift, Alice, and tell you that

  your only job— more important than any book writing or

  rosebush tending or meal preparing— is to uncover your answer to that question.”

  “I think I would have liked your mom,” Alice said.

  Sally laid a hand on Alice’s knee. “And she would have liked

  you. She had a soft spot for the restless ones.”

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  But in case of an occasional lapse on the part of the husband—

  there a bit of advice may prove acceptable. And my advice would

  be: forgive and forget. Or still better— make believe that you

  know nothing. An occasional lapse from the straight path does

  not mean that he has ceased to love you. He may love you as

  much; he may love you a good deal more.

  — William J. Robinson, Married Life and Happiness (1922) Alice

  septeMber 23, 2018

  W hat will it be? My treat.” Bronwyn set her notebook on the small corner table at H& H Bagels and pushed back from the

  table, ready to go order. She had convinced Alice to come to

  Manhattan for the day, joking that her friend’s blood was

  probably running too suburban, the only fix being an H& H

  injection and manicure. Bronwyn had planned a full schedule,

  including a venue visit for her post‑ wedding party, then dinner

  and drinks with a few friends from Alice’s former life. But

  nothing would happen until bagels had been consumed, because

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  Bronwyn was unpleasant when her blood sugar got too low.

  “The usual?”

  Alice had been mildly nauseated all morning but knew she

  needed to put something in her stomach, which was empty aside

  from a coffee and banana she’d had early on. “The usual is perfect.

  Thanks.”

  While Bronwyn ordered— the number seven for Alice (egg,

  avocado, and pepper jack cheese on a sesame bagel), and lox and

  scallion cream cheese on pumpernickel for Bronwyn— Alice

  glanced out the window, touching the pearls about her neck.

  She’d chosen black cigarette pants in addition to a polka‑ dotted

  sleeveless blouse and the pearls, her hair held back in pin curls.

  Bronwyn had gushed that she looked amazing— and thin!— and

  Alice beamed at the compliment, glad she’d chosen this outfit

  over her usual, more casual picks. She had lost weight since the

  move— the stress, lack of eating out, and probably her recent

  smoking habit all contributing to shrinking her to a size she

  hadn’t been for a while.

  They tucked into their bagels, Alice taking small bites and

  assuring Bronwyn she was fine when asked. After a mostly quiet

  lunch, Bronwyn leaned elbows on the table and looked search‑

  ingly at her friend. “Ali, what’s up?”

  “With what?”

  They knew each other well, and Bronwyn could see right

  through Alice’s attempts to feign ignorance. “With you, obvi‑

  ously.”

  “Nothing new, really. Writing, gardening, trying not to burn

  the house down when I cook.” Alice smiled at her friend, wiping

  her fingers on a napkin. “All the things a good housewife does.”

  “See, I know you’re making it sound like you’re joking, but

  you’re not actually joking.” Bronwyn reached out, put a hand

  on Alice’s arm. “Talk to me, Ali.”

  Alice wasn’t in the mood— she wanted to enjoy this blue‑

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  skied Sunday and her lunch and skip the probing conversations.

  Coming in on the train that morning, Alice had believed every‑

  thing was back on track with her and Bronwyn: she had apolo‑

  gized; Bronwyn had forgiven her. Yet, as soon as she saw her

  it felt to Alice as though remnants of the fight lingered, the

  way someone can clean up a sticky spill and still have it grab

  their socks days later. Despite the hugs and Bronwyn’s excla‑

  mation of “Now all is right with the world!” when she met Alice

  at the station, something fundamental had shifted between the

  women— like the excitement and proclamations were more for

  show.

  “Honestly, there’s nothing to tell. I feel good.” She sipped

  her water, wiped the condensation ring from the table with her

  napkin, thought of Nate and Drew. Held back her scowl. “All is

  well, Bron. Don’t look so worried.”

  “Well, I am worried. You just seem different.”

  “How so?”

  “For starters, you aren’t wearing jeans . . .”

  “So it’s my outfit?” Alice glanced down at her clothes,

  shrugged. “I’m immersing myself in the fifties, for my book. It’s

  research. Isn’t that what all great authors do?” She hadn’t ex‑

  pected to like the vintage clothing as much as she did, but Sarah

  the saleswoman had a great eye, and Alice felt well put together

  in her outfit. Besides, because she’d lost some weight none of

  her old clothes fit quite right anymore.

  “I don’t know . . .” Bronwyn gesticulated to her pearls, the

  hair pins. “Don’t get me wrong. I like it, but it’s not you.”

  Alice threw up her hands. “You just told me I looked good!”

  Bronwyn nodded, murmured that was true, she did.

  “It’s not really about the clothes, Ali,” Bronwyn said, more

  quietly now. She bit her bottom lip, something she did only

  when deciding whether to speak freely or not. “And Nate’s

  worried about you too.”

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  Alice narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, he’s ‘worried’

  about me?”

  “Okay, look. Full disclosure. Yes, I desperately wanted to see

  you— I’ve missed you, and Darren’s gluten‑ free and so he never

  comes to H& H with me— but Nate called me. Said he wanted

  to give you a day in the city, that things had been a bit stressful recently.” She put air quotes around the word “stressful,” which

  Alice knew referred to the undisclosed IUD and subsequent

  emergency room visit.

  “He asked me to lure you here with bagels and manis and

  my unfailing charm.” Bronwyn smiled wide, but it faded at the

  look on Alice’s face.

  “You two are unbelievable,” Alice muttered, pushing her

  chair back quickly. It screeched as she did, and the people at the

  neighboring tables looked over in surprise.

  “What? Wait, Ali. It’s not— ” But Alice was already at the

  door. Bronwyn cursed under her breath, following her onto

  the sidewalk. She watched helplessly as Alice riffled through her

  handbag looking for something, ignoring Bronwyn’s pleas to

  tell her why she was so pissed o
ff.

  “You know what, Bronwyn?” Alice said, head still down as

  she dug around in her purse, finally pulling out her phone. “In‑

  stead of worrying so much about me, you two should be wor‑

  rying about yourselves.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Alice let out a harsh laugh, finally looking at Bronwyn. “You

  married a guy you barely know— in Vegas, no less— because he

  promised to build you a walk‑ in closet and you were tired of

  being single. Marriage is fucking hard, Bronwyn. I give you

  guys a year, tops.” It was a cruel, awful thing to say, but Alice

  couldn’t help herself. She hated the idea of Nate and Bronwyn

  discussing her, sharing their worries with each other rather than

  Alice. Like she was a child in need of coddling.

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  Bronwyn took a step back, her expression one of shock and

  hurt. “You don’t know anything about him.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. Because you didn’t even tell me you

  got married— your best friend— until days later. When was I

  supposed to get to know him?” Alice trembled, and Bronwyn

  watched her, looking like she might cry. “And Nate should

  worry more about his study partner and the fact she’s clearly

  trying to break up our marriage, and that he’s going along

  with it.”

  Bronwyn frowned. “Come on, Ali. Nate wouldn’t do any‑

  thing like that.”

  Alice snorted. “Because you know him so well? I guess

  maybe you do, as the two of you have been colluding behind my

  back.” Bronwyn started to protest, and Alice interrupted. “He’s

  been lying to me about her. So don’t tell me he would never do

  anything like that. People can surprise you, and not in a

  good way.”

  “Nate is one of the good ones. You two are like a flipping

  storybook romance, okay? He would not cheat on you. Never,

  ever, never.” Bronwyn grabbed for Alice’s hands, tried pulling

  her closer. “She’s just his study partner. That’s it, Ali. Don’t

  turn this into something it isn’t.”

  “Have you two talked about this? About Drew?” Alice tugged

  her hands free, took a couple of steps back.

  “No! Alice. Stop it. This is ridiculous.” But despite her

  words, Bronwyn looked . . . nervous. What did she know that

  Alice didn’t?

  She wanted to go home, to get away from Bronwyn and this

  conversation that was degrading by the second. Then she re‑

  membered Nate was in the house studying— or so he claimed.

  Alice wondered if when she walked through the front door,

  early and without warning, she would find him alone. Or if this

  plan he’d concocted with Bronwyn to get Alice out of the house

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  was about more than simply giving her a stress break. Either way,

  she needed to know.

  “Um, I’m not feeling great. Don’t think that bagel agreed

  with me,” Alice said. “Sorry about the spa and everything, but

  we’ll do it another day.” She turned and walked away quickly,

  Bronwyn calling after her to wait up. But she didn’t stop.

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  Food prepared with a light heart and in a happy frame of mind is

  often the best food. Preparing the special foods that are favourites of those you love . . . making just a little effort to garnish the salad with a sprig of parsley, a bit of grated cheese, or a wild

  strawberry from the nearby meadow. This says “you cared enough

  to do the little extra things.” This makes cooking pleasant and

  satisfying. Make the food look as pretty as it is good to eat.

  — Betty Crocker’s Picture Cook Book, revised and enlarged (1956) Alice

  septeMber 23, 2018

  W hat happened?” Nate asked, putting his computer to the

  side and standing quickly from the living room sofa, where he

  had been studying. It had been only a few hours since she had

  left, and Alice could tell Bronwyn had already called him— he

  didn’t seem surprised to see her. She saw no signs of Drew,

  though she would have had time to clear out after he got Bron‑

  wyn’s call.

  “Think I’m coming down with something.” Alice hung her

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  coat and took off her shoes, then picked up the stack of Nellie’s

  letters from her desk, along with her laptop, which she tucked

  under her arm.

  “Oh. Can I get you anything?” Nate asked. “Tea maybe?”

  But Alice was already at the staircase. “Think I’ll just lie

  down for a while.” If Nate said anything else, Alice didn’t hear

  it as she climbed the stairs quickly.

  She had fumed all the way back on the train, incensed about

  Nate and Bronwyn conspiring and trying to make it seem like

  she was the one to worry about. Her thoughts ping‑ ponged be‑

  tween Bronwyn’s comments and Nate’s lie about Drew and the

  phone call he took from her the other night. It was hard to know who to trust.

  With Sally away, Alice realized she had no ally, no kind ear

  to hear her frustrations and anxieties. She would never call her

  mother to vent, and her other city friends had quickly turned

  into mere acquaintances once she moved to Greenville.

  Desperate for a distraction— she really didn’t want to think

  about Nate, or Bronwyn, or Drew— Alice reached into the stack

  of Ladies’ Home Journal magazines beside the bed. She leaned against her pillows and thumbed through one she hadn’t yet

  read. After a dozen pages of advertisements and articles aimed

  to help the modern housewife be her best self, she came across

  an envelope. Yellowing, not unlike the pages of the magazine,

  nestled deep into the crease. Nothing written on its outside.

  She sat up and set the magazine beside her, sliding a finger

  along the envelope’s seal. Inside was another “Dearest Mother”

  letter, from Nellie to Elsie. This one quite short compared to

  the others, only half a page. Alice’s eyes widened as she

  scanned the words, written in Nellie’s flowing hand, and once

  she got to the end, she read them again. Her breath quickened

  along with her pulse.

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  From the desk of Eleanor Murdoch

  September 15, 1956

  Dearest Mother,

  Richard is dead.

  I am fine, so please don’t worry. There is plenty of

  money and I have a dear friend, Miriam, to look out

  for me. I believe I am better alone, Mother, as we both

  know Richard was not the good man I had ho
ped

  for. The one you wished for me. But that matters

  little now.

  I should also thank you for the tansy tea recipe. I was

  careful, like you taught me to be, and though it made

  me quite ill both in stomach and at heart, it worked as

  promised. I am free, which is a great blessing. These

  truths will follow me to my grave, when I’ll see you

  again.

  Your loving daughter, Nellie xx

  Alice flipped the paper over, but the back side was blank, of‑

  fering no further clues. She read it again. These truths will follow me to my grave . . .

  For whatever reason, Nellie hadn’t included this letter in the

  stack she’d left with Miriam. She had obviously placed it inside

  this magazine to keep it hidden. Though if she had really wanted

  it to never be read, Alice thought she would have destroyed it.

  No, Nellie must have wanted this letter to be found by the right

  person. Someone like Alice Hale; this letter had been waiting

  for her all this time.

  Alice opened her laptop, the glow of the screen illuminating

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  her face, and typed “tansy tea” into the Google search box.

  Scanning the results, she read “medicinal” and “digestive tract

  benefits” and the words “toxic” and “abortifacient herb.” Alice

  typed “abortifacient” into the search box and stopped breathing

  at what popped up, though she’d had an inkling. Now Alice

  understood why Nellie had been expecting but never delivered

  a baby.

  An abortifacient is a substance that induces abortion. . . .

  Springing to her feet, Alice shut her laptop and grabbed the

  laundry hamper, setting the most recent letter underneath a pile

  of towels to be washed. She headed to the basement, taking

  only a moment as she passed by Nate to tell him that she was

  going to do a load of laundry. He asked if she was feeling better

  and she said, “A little,” before shutting the basement door.

  Undeterred by the shadowy corners and certain arachnids,

  Alice walked quickly down the stairs and to the laundry ma‑

  chines. She started the load, then crouched in front of the box of

  magazines and pulled out as many as her hands could hold. It

  took three dips in to get them all, and she sat on the bottom

 

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