Bowled Over (36 page)

Becca grumbled some more about Jaymie being a commitment-phobe, then was silent for the rest of the drive. Jaymie watched the summer landscape slip by outside the car window.
If only
haunted her, like a bad dream, and it was getting worse.
If only
she had made a more concerted effort to mend her fences with Kathy, maybe all of this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe Kathy wouldn’t have been so alone in her last days, when her world was crumbling around her. Heidi had learned from Joel, who was walking the tightrope, now, of being friends with both Matt and Craig, that Kathy had indeed found intimate text messages on Craig’s phone from Lily, and a photo of them kissing. Kathy and Craig had it out on July Fourth, finally, and were going to break up.

Even as that happened, even as she learned about her husband’s betrayal, Kathy still reached out to try to help Ella. Jaymie sighed. She shouldn’t have had to do it alone.

Becca reached over and squeezed her arm. “It’s over, Jaymie. I know you wish you could have helped, but it wasn’t meant to be, and Kathy is gone. I feel bad too, but in a lot of ways, she made her own bed, alienated people, you know?”

Jaymie didn’t reply. The pain she felt in her heart was not going to go away quickly, she feared. And maybe it shouldn’t.
It would always be a reminder to not let a day pass with misunderstandings between her and others.

They pulled into town and swung onto a back street in Wolverhampton, pulling up to the back of a row of shops. Becca grabbed her purse and said, “Come on. Let’s shop!”

“Okay. What are you looking for?”

“A dress.”

“Okay.” She followed Becca through a back door of a shop called Her Special Day. As the back hall opened out to the shop floor, Jaymie glanced around and got a sinking feeling.

Becca surged forward and snagged a saleslady. It was a wedding-gown shop.

“Becca.
Becca
!” She raced after her sister and grabbed her sleeve, tugging it. “I told you, Daniel and I aren’t serious. We’re just going to see where dating goes!”

Becca, diving into a line of pretty white dresses, fingered a lace sleeve and looked over at her sister. “Who said this is for
you
?”

“What?”

“Kevin asked me to marry him.” She blushed bright pink and studied the row of dresses, clanking the hangers along the rod.

“But…” Jaymie grabbed her arm. “Becca, please tell me you haven’t said yes! You haven’t known him that long.”

A saleslady hovered, listening in.

“I haven’t said yes,” Becca admitted, shooting the woman a glance. “But I haven’t said no, either. How much is this one?” She held up an ivory skirt suit with pearl detailing.

“Isn’t it just lovely? Perfect for the older bride. That is twelve hundred dollars,” the woman said, and went into a long sales spiel.

Jaymie was in enough shock that she was pretty much
speechless for the rest of the shopping trip. Becca did not buy a wedding outfit, which Jaymie took as a hopeful sign. She had nothing against Kevin, but it had only been a couple of months!

Later that afternoon, Jaymie sat at the trestle table in the kitchen with a mound of cookbooks. The last couple of weeks had been so unhappy and off track that she needed to reconnect with part two of her project,
More Recipes from the Vintage Kitchen
.

Becca was doing laundry and texting back and forth with Kevin. When their phone rang, she grabbed it. “Hello?” After a moment she handed it to Jaymie. “It’s for you. An Alexander Engle?”

The name vaguely rang a bell. Jaymie took the phone. “Hello?”

“Ms. Jaymie Leighton?”

“Yes.”

“This is Alexander Engle, cookbook editor at Adelaide Publishing.”

Her heart thudded. “Mr. Engle!” He was an editor at the publisher to whom she had sent
Recipes from the Vintage Kitchen
.

“Jaymie? What’s wrong? You look sick,” Becca said.

She waved her sister away. “So nice to hear from you, Mr. Engle!” Heart thumping, she got up and paced the length of the kitchen. An editor didn’t just phone to say he didn’t want to publish you, did he?

“I received your proposal for
Recipes from the Vintage Kitchen
. It’s very interesting.”

“You find my cookbook interesting? Thank you so much.” She repeated his words so Becca would stop looking at her with concern. Her older sister’s expression changed to one of shock and hope.

“Unfortunately, though it’s very interesting and, may I say, entertaining, it is nowhere
near
what it needs to be, for it to be publishable.”

Her heart sank and she sat down. “Oh.”

“But I am still
tentatively
interested. I have some questions for you, if you have a moment?”

“I have all the time in the world,” she said.

“Good. We get a lot of cookbook proposals. Right now on my desk I have a few dozen. I’m accepting two for publication.”

She sighed, trying to quell the disappointment that welled up within her. “I understand. It’s a very competitive business.”

“But very popular. I do like your concept, but there just isn’t enough here right now to carry a book.”

“What does it need?”

“A lot, to be frank. It needs more of everything: more recipes, more tips, more anecdotes, more history. I’d like some personal narrative from you about your vintage kitchen, and how the tools and kitchenware you collect influence the cooking. I’m assuming you collect?”

“I do.”

“And do you write?”

“Write? Uh, what do you mean?”

“Do you write a cooking column for anyone?”

“No.”

“You should. You need more seasoning, Ms. Leighton, to use a pun.”

“What do you look for in a cookbook writer?”

“Very good, right to the point. Well, a proposal should include information on how you plan to promote your cookbook. Do you have any TV experience? A cooking show? Even just guest spots? What connections do you have in the
industry? Have you even
considered
doing a cooking column? In other words, what are your plans, and what is your background? How does it make you a salable cookbook author?”

“Oh,” she said, her voice small.

“I know, it sounds like hard work, and it is. Are you willing to work hard?”

“Yes, yes I am.”

“I think you could do it, if you’re as passionate about it as you seem in your cover letter.”

“I am! I love everything about vintage kitchenware and recipes. That’s what I’m doing this moment, looking at my grandmother’s old handwritten recipes.”

“You need more than passion, though, and more than just mulling through old recipes. You need to prove yourself, and you need an agent, one who knows the cookbook genre. Not a romance agent, or a science fiction agent—a
cookbook
agent. And you need to sharpen your focus. I couldn’t really tell from your proposal whether your book would just be recipes that are clarified for the modern cook or if they will be reinvented.”

There was a difference? She’d have to think about that. “Which do you think is best?”

“Oh no, that’s not up to me,” he chastised. “You need to be able to give me a precise answer to that question. I have to go. I have a conference call in two minutes. Good luck, Ms. Leighton, and I hope I hear from you again with a new and improved proposal.”

“Mr. Engle, may I e-mail you with a question from time to time?” she asked, speaking rapidly. “I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“Certainly. I’ll do my best to get back to you. Alexander Engle at AdelaidePub dot com.” He hung up.

Her head was reeling as she laid the phone down. It had all happened so fast!

“Well? Well?” Becca said, grabbing her wrist. “Talk to me! What did he say?”

She told Becca everything. Her sister was disappointed, and went back to her laundry and texting, but the more Jaymie thought about it, the more hopeful she became. An actual editor took the time to call her from New York City to say he liked her idea and to give her advice and encouragement. That surely didn’t happen to everyone!

She had hope, and a lot of work to do, if she was going to build a career as a cookbook author. Sighing happily, she glanced around her cluttered kitchen. “Six months,” she muttered. “If I can figure out in that time whether I’m interested in Daniel long-term, then I can certainly get further on in the cookbook publishing game. Starting now.”

1—Boil potatoes in salted water until just tender. Cool to room temperature. Dice, however small you want the chunks, and place in a large bowl.

2—Mix mayonnaise, cider vinegar (or pickle juice), mustard, garlic powder, celery salt and pepper in another bowl.

3—Pour mixture over potatoes. Add celery, grated carrot and onions, and mix well. Stir in chopped eggs.

4—Turn into a pretty bowl, and sprinkle a little paprika and chopped chives on top.

Victoria Hamilton
is a pseudonym for national bestselling author Donna Lea Simpson, who is also a collector of vintage cookware and recipes.