Friendship Bread (21 page)

Hannah finally puts down the tray and crosses the living room. “Do I need to sign or …”

Jamie shakes his head. “Nope, you’re good.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, thank you,” she says. Julia notices the tips of Hannah’s ears have turned pink.

“My pleasure.”

“It’s a KitchenAid stand mixer,” Hannah says to no one in particular, pretending to inspect the shipping label on the box. “I just thought, since I’ve been baking so much …”

“Oh, you bake?” Jamie looks interested.

Julia doesn’t know how this fact is particularly riveting, but she can feel something stirring between these two young people. The kettle in the kitchen starts to whistle. Relieved to have something to do, Julia volunteers to take care of the tea and hurries off before Hannah can respond.

In the kitchen, Julia turns off the stove and takes the kettle off the heat, then leans heavily against the counter.

Fifteen years old. That’s how old Peter is, the age Josh would be if he were alive. She stares out the kitchen window. There are rumors of more bad weather, but today the sky is a clear blue, the sun shining. It’s an easy seduction, one that lures you into thinking that everything is all right.

Is it or isn’t it? Julia isn’t sure anymore. She’s readied herself for a lifetime of hopelessness despite the little bursts of good moments here and there, but maybe it’s really the other way around.

Hannah enters the kitchen, her face flushed. She reaches for a loaf of Amish Friendship Bread cooling on a wire rack and fumbles, almost
dropping it. She manages to wrap it in plastic, then grabs a bag of starter, and dashes back out of the kitchen.

Julia edges to the doorway to take a peek. She sees Hannah give the loaf and bag to Jamie, trying to explain what it is and how to prepare it.

Jamie wears an amused look on his face, but he’s also gracious as he thanks her and waves goodbye.

Hannah returns to the kitchen. Her eyes are bright. “I just thought he might like it … for his mother maybe …” She’s stuttering a bit and Julia sees the tips of Hannah’s ears grow pink again.

“Hannah,” Julia says gently, because she knows where this is going. Jamie is a nice boy—a nice young man—and Hannah an even nicer young woman, but Hannah is still married. Julia wants to say something, wants to offer advice before things get too complicated. She pauses. “I think you’re right—you need to see Philippe.”

“Oh.” Hannah flushes as she fiddles with a drawer pull. “Well, yes. It’s just that …” She takes a deep breath. “It’s just that I don’t think he’s coming back to Avalon.”

“Then you need to go see him in Chicago. Find out where things really stand.” Julia can’t believe she’s handing out marital advice, but she doesn’t want Hannah to do anything she might regret. “Just go see Philippe,” she urges again. “Chicago isn’t that far away.”

“I know.” Hannah looks up, her eyes filling with tears. “But what if Philippe doesn’t want to see me?”

“What the fresh heck is this?” Clyde Thomas, Avalon’s lone pharmacist, spits into a napkin. He looks inside a large ceramic bowl sitting on the kitchen table and grimaces. “I thought this was my oatmeal, for crissake!”

His wife, Hazel, swats his hand. “Don’t touch. And don’t swear. I’m going to be baking today.” She hums as she hands him a clean bowl and spoon from the dishwasher. She picks up the bowl of starter and tucks it under her arm.

Clyde pours the oatmeal into the bowl and adds hot water. He dutifully eats it every morning and recommends it to anyone who comes to pick up their cholesterol medication, but he can’t stand the stuff, truth be known. He picks up the
Avalon Gazette
and starts reading. “What are you baking?”

Hazel is pulling out flour, a carton of eggs, a tin of sugar, and some other ingredients. She lines them up on the counter, frowning as she inspects them. “Amish Friendship Bread.
Delicious
. I had some last
week at our Bunco club. Mary Winder was hosting and she made three kinds. Only difference was the pudding, so I’m going to try the same thing.” She holds up a handful of pudding boxes. “I’ve got vanilla, devil’s food, and a banana cream.”

Clyde looks up, suddenly interested. He does love banana cream pie.

Hazel preheats the oven, then starts combining ingredients. The pharmacy doesn’t open until nine, but Clyde likes to get there early even though he has an assistant who checks the packages and makes sure everything’s in order before they open.

“When’s it gonna be ready?”

Hazel shrugs nonchalantly as she greases two medium-size bundt pans and then dusts them with sugar. “In about an hour.”

An hour! He could easily wait an hour. Clyde folds the paper and brings his empty bowl to the sink. “I’ll just go check the weather channel,” he says.

“That’ll be fine.” Hazel watches him leave out of the corner of her eye. She isn’t surprised when a yelp comes from the living room.

“What’s this?!”

“That would be the church’s volunteer form for the Easter potluck.”

“I can read, Hazel. What I want to know is what is it doing in my chair?”

“They need big strong men to help set up tables and chairs, then go out and hide the Easter eggs for the kids. Pen’s clipped right there on the top and your spare reading glasses are on the side table.”

Clyde groans. “Hazel!”

She pours the first batch of batter into the pans and slides them into the oven. “Should be ready in about forty-five minutes,” she calls out to him. “And I’m putting on a fresh pot of coffee for you. I got that vanilla-flavored kind that you like. On sale.”

Clyde grumbles as he slips on his reading glasses. He works six days a week as it is, and he likes to keep his Sundays free for sleeping in. He’ll go with Hazel to church so long as it’s the 10:30 service and not the 8:30 service, but this is really pushing it.

He holds the form out in front of him and reads the long list of volunteer duties. This is an all-day gig! Well, forget it. Hazel can keep her banana-Amish-whatever bread. He doesn’t appreciate being coerced into anything.

He stands up, ready to march into the kitchen and give her a piece of his mind when the smell of cinnamon and bananas hits him. There’s a hint of walnuts, too. Hazel is humming, and there’s the sound of coffee percolating. Suddenly his entire house smells too damn wonderful for words. He sits back down with a sigh and begins filling out the form.

Dang that woman.

“Tell me again,” Livvy says eagerly. Her eyes are lit up with interest.

Edie tears off a piece of pizza. “Okay. Supposedly there’s all this cake batter floating around Avalon. Amish Friendship Bread, though it has nothing to do with the Amish.” She picks off the pepperoni slices then takes a bite of her pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “I did some research online and apparently it’s pretty popular. It’s like a chain letter, except it doesn’t say anything bad is going to happen to you. Just that you’re supposed to take care of this batter and then, ten days later, split it up into four cups. You bake with one and give the remaining three cups to three friends.”

Edie holds up a plastic bag filled with the starter. She got it from Bettie Shelton at last night’s scrapbooking meeting. Turns out the women of the Avalon Scrapbooking Society know more about this town than she’ll ever find out on her own so she plans on attending their meetings for just a little while longer. For research.

“Got another meeting,” she told Richard last night as she headed
out the door, letting out an exaggerated what-can-you-do sigh. “It’s for work.” Under her jacket she hid the small plastic box that contained an X-Acto knife, plastic erasers, glue erasers, scissors, an assortment of colorful eyelets and mini brads. The group is always happy to share supplies and paper, but Edie already favors certain scrapbooking tools over others and just figured it would be better for her to get her own. It’s a legitimate business expense because, of course, she wouldn’t be doing this otherwise.

“Whatever you say,” Richard had responded good-naturedly.

Now, Livvy takes the plastic baggie from Edie and stares at it in wonderment. “This is the same thing that Miss Sunshine—I mean, Cora Ferguson—had at the police station?”

Edie nods. “And, given the way this stuff proliferates, it probably came from the same original starter somewhere down the line.”

“Where?”

“Or, more precisely, who? That’s what I want to find out. Nobody was doing Amish Friendship Bread in this town when I arrived, and now everyone’s got a bag.”

“I don’t.” Livvy looks disappointed.

Edie grins as she helps herself to another slice of pizza. “Well, you’re in luck. In nine days I’ll have to split this, so you can have one of my bags. How does that sound?” She begins to pick the rounds of pepperoni off this slice, too, adding it to the pile, then looks up to see Livvy beaming at her.

Judging by the pleased look on Livvy’s face, Edie can tell that it sounds pretty good.

Livvy is grinning. “That sounds great, Edie.” Livvy likes that their friendship has evolved beyond the office, that Edie has taken her into her confidence. She doesn’t quite understand what the big deal is with this Amish Friendship Bread thing, but she likes that Edie wants to include her. She wonders what she can do for Edie in return. “Thanks!”

Edie barks out a laugh. “Don’t thank me yet,” she says. “From what I’ve read, plenty of people will disown blood relatives if they
show up with a bag of this stuff. You’ll hate me in a month when your house is overflowing with starter.”

Livvy knows that Edie is joking, because Livvy could never hate Edie, never hate anyone. Not even Julia who has been freezing her out for so long that Livvy is starting to think that there’s no real hope of reconciliation. It’s sad and unfair, but Livvy still doesn’t hate Julia. She feels her eyes getting wet so she blinks quickly as she clears her throat. She wants this friendship with Edie to work. “What is it that you want me to do?”

“Help me ask some questions—you know this town better than I do. We’ll start tracking when people started getting bags, who they got it from, when they got it, and so on. Eventually we’ll find the source. I know we will.” Edie takes a swig of soda.

“Okay.” Livvy tries to remember what Edie just said. Maybe she should have taken notes. “And, um, why again?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you writing this? Is it like a cooking piece?”

Edie shakes her head. “No, no. It’s like … a reminder of how we waste our time doing things that don’t matter, when there are things we could be doing that
do
matter. I mean, if you’re going to have a chain letter thing going on, why not ask people to give a dollar a day and ask three other people to give a dollar a day and so on? Or plant a tree? Or give up some useless piece of crap that just clogs up our landfills and depletes our ozone? I think we could all do well to have one less lipstick in our purse, you know?”

Livvy makes a note never to let Edie look inside her purse.

Edie continues on, talking about social mores and how, if they do this article right, they’ll be able to set an example for how people can better use their time and resources to help the greater good. “I mean, you should have heard the women last night. It’s all they talked about! And then you factor in the time to shop, bake, care for the thing, pass it on to others. There are so many other ways people can make a bigger impact on the world in much less time. It’s like, get real. This is
cake
we’re talking about here.”

“Okay.” Livvy nods. This could be fun, an adventure almost. She
wants to help, wants to make this into the great story Edie is talking about. “Patrick must be pretty excited. He loves human interest stories.”

Edie lowers her voice, suddenly serious. “Livvy, I’m not doing this for the
Gazette
. I mean, I might if it turns out to be nothing, but I think I can really angle it and get some of the larger metropolitan papers interested. That’s why he cannot know, okay?”

“But why?”

“Because even though Patrick knows I want to write for other publications, he may want this for the
Gazette
. I think it’s a much bigger story. A piece that goes beyond this small town.”

Livvy winces. Is being in a small town a bad thing? “But it’s about Avalon …”

“Look, Livvy, you don’t have to help if you don’t want to.” Edie gives her a look, then shrugs.

Livvy feels a rise of panic, not wanting Edie to find someone else. “No,” she says quickly. “I do want to help. I was just asking.”

Edie raises an eyebrow as she chews on some crust. “Are you sure? What about Patrick?”

“What about him?” Livvy forces herself to give an indifferent shrug. Livvy still doesn’t get what the fuss is about, but she doesn’t have a problem doing something behind Patrick’s back, especially after he praised Tracy for the Web-based advertising proposal that Livvy wrote. “I’m in sales. He doesn’t care what I do so long as I show up at the meetings and make coffee.”

Edie nods, at ease again. “Great. So I’ll take care of this bag and see what happens. If you want, you can come over when I’m baking and tell me what you’ve found. Each starter bag makes two loaves, so you can take one home.”