Cupcakes & Chardonnay (15 page)

On the last morning of the conference, she was awakened by a soft kiss on her forehead. She opened her sleepy eyes to see Daryle, already dressed in his suit and tie, leaning over her. She sat up with a start.

"I overslept!"

"I let you sleep in. It's the last day. Relax a little this morning."

She let herself fall back against the hotel's fluffy pillows. "I'd rather be relaxing with you," she murmured sleepily. Daryle dropped another kiss, this time on her gently curving lips. The last thing she heard before falling back into slumber was the hotel room door quietly closing.

Suzanne slept for another hour, then got up to check her email. Her assistant manager, Karen, had been sending her sales figures all week.
And lots of inquiries about when the Napa shop is opening,
Karen wrote. Yup, vacation was about to end, she thought as she showered and got dressed. Her mind raced with everything that needed to be done before the new shop could open. Appliances installed, new people hired and trained, press releases written and sent out, ads placed ... the list went on and on.

She was still adding to the list as she rode down in the elevator, picked up a cup of coffee from the conference coffee bar, and strode into the exhibit hall. Daryle was leaning against the wall of the Iris Vineyards booth, his back to the aisle, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. When Suzanne set her coffee down on one of the booth's tables, he turned around. Suzanne was shocked to see the stricken expression on Daryle's face, his cheeks completely drained of color, his eyes watery.

"What's wrong?" she mouthed to him.

He handed the phone to her. "It's Alanna."

Suzanne lifted the phone slowly to her ear. "Alanna? What's going on?"

Daryle slumped in a chair while Suzanne listened to Alanna's news. Iris Catterton had been taken to the hospital late last night. Her condition was not good. Alanna was in the Denver airport, waiting for a connecting flight to San Francisco.

"I'll get your brother on the next flight out of here," Suzanne promised before hanging up.

She handed the phone back to Daryle and sat down next to him. He was struggling to regain his composure. Suzanne reached out and touched his hand. "I'm sorry, Daryle. You go home. I'll stay here and finish up."

He shook his head. "I can't go."

"Yes, you can," Suzanne insisted. "You will go. You need to be home. I can get the booth packed up and ship everything home." She leaned over and hugged him, tightly. "You need to be home," she whispered in his ear.

It all came back to her the instant she walked through the hospital's wide automatic doors. The sounds, the smells, the interminable nights she spent by her mother's side. She remembered every little detail, as though it had happened just last week, just yesterday. The acrid scent of disinfectant. The way the fluorescent lights flickered and hurt her eyes. The way a hospital could be constantly noisy and utterly silent at the same time. The futile cheerfulness of the gift shop with its balloons and stuffed animals.

When she stepped off the elevator, she stopped and closed her eyes for a moment. This wasn't that hospital. She took a deep breath and headed straight for the nurse's station, to ask the location of the waiting room. Alanna had said to check there first.

The waiting room door opened with a slow whoosh. Inside, the lights were dimmed. A soccer match played on a television in the corner, the audio muted. Magazines were strewn across a wooden coffee table. The room was empty, save for one pleather wingchair in the very back of the room. In it was Daryle, sound asleep, his arms crossed over his chest, his head nestled awkwardly against the back of the chair.

Suzanne took in his wrinkled shirt, his messy hair, the dark shadows beneath his eyes. Even in sleep he looked exhausted and sad. She wasn't used to thinking of Daryle as vulnerable, but that was how he looked at that moment. She was filled with an overwhelming urge to bundle him into her car, drive him back to her apartment, run him a steaming hot bath, and take care of him. It had been nice, pretending to be Daryle's wife at the wine conference. Nicer than she had expected, frankly.

She touched his hand gently and he awoke with a start, then grimaced at the dull ache in his neck.

"Suzanne! What are you doing here?"

"I came straight from the airport. Alanna said you were here."

He could see she was telling the truth there. She was still wearing one of her new suits from Chicago, the one that was the color of butterscotch icing. He was tired but not too tired to take note of how well it fit her. He watched as she dragged a chair across the room and positioned it next to his. He was touched by the look of concern on her beautiful face.

"How is she?" Suzanne asked.

He made a so-so gesture with his hand. "Hanging in there. She's only awake for brief periods of time. They have her pretty heavily sedated."

She reached over and entwined her fingers with his. "I'm sorry, Daryle."

He smiled ruefully. "It's hard, isn't it? For all the times I've resented her control over my life—and that's been a lot of times—I can't really imagine life without her."

Suzanne said nothing. She didn't want to spout all the platitudes people say at times like this.
Life goes on. She'll be in a better place.
All true, except for the people left behind. She hadn't been in a better place after her mother died. And it took a long time for life to go on.

"I'm sorry, Suzanne."

"For what?"

"For not being there when your mother passed away. I was a selfish boor back then. I'm sorry about that, too."

She smiled sadly at him. "You had the luxury."

"I misused that luxury." He shook his head. "I was a disappointment to my mother, too."

"You seem to have redeemed yourself lately, though."

"All those years wasted. What was I thinking?" He sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes. "I apologize for laying all this on you. I'm feeling my mortality, I guess."

"Well, who else would you lay it on? I'm your wife, right?"

"That you are."

For now
, Suzanne thought. But this was the arrangement. Stay married until Iris Catterton passed on. Then they would part, cleanly and simply. No strings.
Yeah, right.
No strings except my heartstrings, she thought.

The last time Suzanne prayed had been right after her mother fell ill. But in the months that followed, as her mother got sicker and sicker, Suzanne had lost her faith completely. How could some higher power just take her mother away from her like that? But now, she closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer that Iris Catterton would hang on, would somehow miraculously recover.

Chapter 11

When Suzanne unlocked the front door to her new cupcake shop, it was still dark outside. The Grand Opening banner flapped gently in the predawn breeze. After hours of tossing and turning, she'd given up on sleep and drove into town. Today was the big day. The Napa location of The Cupcakery was opening at 11 am, just in time for lunch. Suzanne wasn't sure what to expect. Would people actually show up? Would they show up today because of her connection to the Catterton family—and then never come back? The butterflies in her stomach were relentless.

Iris Catterton had been tenaciously clinging to life for the past two weeks. Suzanne had wanted to postpone the opening but Daryle and Alanna insisted that the shop open as planned.

"I know that's what mother wants," Alanna said. "She made me promise her a month ago that I would see to it that you opened the shop before she died. She wants you to have a strong tie to Napa."

Suzanne had tried to keep a poker face as the conversation with her sister-in-law veered into dangerous territory.

"Yes, I know why you and Daryle married," Alanna answered Suzanne's unanswered question. "Personally, I didn't think it was a good idea but that's between Daryle and mother."

Standing in her brand new kitchen, waiting for a pot of coffee to brew, Suzanne wondered just how many other people knew the details of her marriage. Would a prurient curiosity bring people into the shop?

She splashed some cream into a mug then poured in the dark, strong coffee. She closed her eyes and let that first hot sip calm her nerves. There was nothing more she could do at this point. Right now, she needed to focus on baking. The new chardonnay cupcakes were getting their debut today.

She uncorked several bottles of wine, then set to measuring and mixing. By the time the first large batch came out of the ovens, the shop was fragrant with the aromas of baking. Brown sugar, vanilla, butter. Suzanne inhaled deeply. Normally, she didn't sample the goods this early in the morning but she couldn't help herself today. She bit into one of the chardonnay cupcakes and let the moist cake melt into nothingness in her mouth.

"Mmm," she said out loud. "If these don't sell, I'll eat them all myself."

It was comforting to be back in the kitchen. As each tray of cupcakes cooled, she spread thick white frosting on the pale yellow domes and then piped a delicate purple iris flower on each one.

When Karen and the morning to afternoon staff arrived at seven, Suzanne had one hundred chardonnay cupcakes baked and frosted, with half of them neatly arranged in the antique pastry case.

"You know, with anyone else, I'd say I'm surprised to see how much you've gotten done already," Karen said. "But I've known you long enough not to be surprised by anything you do anymore."

"I couldn't sleep last night so I just got up and came in."

Karen winked at her. "That's what all the newlyweds say, eh? Couldn't sleep?"

In reality, her and Daryle's paths had not crossed much in the past two weeks. Daryle had been spending his nights at the hospital, returning to the winery for a few hours in the afternoon to take a quick nap and dispatch any pressing business matters. Then he went straight back to his mother's bedside. Suzanne saw him only during the hospital's evening visiting hours.

"Marriage agrees with you," Karen said.

Suzanne leaned on the top of the pastry case and began writing on a white card, pretending to concentrate on her penmanship more than she really needed to. Karen was mistaking the flush on her face for that newlywed glow, when really it was just from the heat in the kitchen. She wondered what Karen was going to think after the divorce. What was anyone going to think after the divorce? What explanation could she possibly offer?
We fell out of love ... again? Daryle turned out to be just like he was when we were together before? I married him for a large sum of money?

She capped her marker and leaned down behind the pastry case to place the card in front of the cupcakes. Karen watched from the other side.

"The Iris Cupcake," Karen read from the card. "Sweet, sophisticated and infused with the subtle flavor of Iris Vineyards' renowned chardonnay."

"What do you think?" Suzanne asked, hopefully.

"I like it," Karen replied. "And I think people up here will like it, too."

I hope so
, Suzanne thought.
Please please please let this shop be a success.
She'd been praying a lot lately, it seemed.

At eleven o'clock sharp, Suzanne opened the double wooden doors to the shop. The head of the local chamber of commerce cut the pink ceremonial ribbon and customers began to stream in.

"Here they come," Karen whispered excitedly into her ear. "Some of these people have been waiting outside for forty minutes."

Suzanne gave her manager an eyebrows-lifted look of surprise. She'd been too busy in the kitchen, troubleshooting a cranky oven and finetuning the frosting technique of the new girls, to notice what was going on outside. But the crowd coalesced into an orderly line and her new staff efficiently and gracefully handed out cupcakes, poured cups of coffee and tea, offered napkins and the "Buy 3, get a 4th cupcake free" coupons that had come back from the printer just last night.

At one point, Suzanne simply stood in the doorway of the kitchen and mentally pinched herself. Her second location! The shop looked exactly the way she had envisioned it. Daryle's crew had done a superb job painting the walls a bright, cheery yellow, the trim a crisp white. She had hired some design students from San Francisco to paint the tabletops with The Cupcakery's signature pink and brown stripes. On one wall, hung a large chalkboard listing today's flavors. Barely audible over the din, the sound system was playing Suzanne's favorite jazz singers.

She'd wanted the store to have a happy vibe. That's what they were selling, after all. Happiness, a few minutes of pleasure bak
ed into the form of a cupcake.

She repeated that line when a television news crew from San Francisco showed up at one o'clock to interview Suzanne and several customers. Suzanne was ninety-nine percent sure that the reporter, a tall blonde with a stunning figure and pillowy lips, was an old girlfriend of Daryle's. The reporter seemed disappointed when Suzanne said he wasn't there.

The news crew was packing up, when someone suddenly grabbed Suzanne by the waist and twirled her around. "You're way prettier than she is," a man's voice whispered low in her ear.

"Brent! I can't believe you drove all the way up here," Suzanne exclaimed. "Would I miss the grand opening of your new shop? No, I would not." Brent leaned in and kissed Suzanne on the cheek. "Besides, I had to check out
my handiwork on that trellis."