Friendship Bread (37 page)

So far, there has been nothing. But Oma doesn’t say anything.

She checks the ingredients one more time. She’s a simple cook, she
knows exactly what she needs and the precise quantities. It’s perplexing as to why she’s going through this list again.

When the reason comes to her, Oma pauses. She crosses out the old quantities and slowly writes in the new. Then she goes to the freezer to rescue the rest of the Amish Friendship Bread starters.

If you were to look at the town of Avalon on a map, you’d see that it runs along Leaf River, a tributary of the Rock River which, in turn, is part of the Mississippi River watershed. Flash floods and heavy rains are common occurrences in northern Illinois, and Avalon has had its fair share of torrential thunderstorms and rising water. Many of the residents still remember the floods of 1996, when the river spilled over sixteen-foot levees and flooded neighborhoods. The governor had declared the county a state disaster area and flood waters kept students out of school for two weeks.

Now the rising water has the town concerned again. Heavy rains have been pushing water into all the neighboring counties and high winds have knocked down trees and tree limbs, causing many homes to be without power.

Mark stares out the living room window. Rain is streaming down the window like a waterfall, completely obscuring his view of the
yard or road. “God, what rotten luck.” Their follow-up meeting with Bruno Lemelin is scheduled for today.

Mark sees Julia walk by with several plastic mixing bowls to put under leaks in the upstairs bathroom. He knows that Gracie is camped out in front of the TV, snuggled inside of a sleeping bag. Julia has taken out all of the camping and emergency gear, just in case.

His cell phone rings. It’s Vivian.

“Why is the office closed?” she demands. “No one’s here.”

“Because we called everyone early this morning to tell them to stay home.” He and Victor made the decision shortly after dawn when it became clear that the roads were starting to flood. “Didn’t Dorothy call you?”

“She did, but I thought it was optional.”

“You need to get back home and stay inside,” he tells her. “I’m about to call Lemelin to postpone the meeting.”

“Postpone the meeting? Mark, I have worked my ass off these last three weeks—we can’t just throw it all away! You know he’s talking to other firms.”

Mark is aware of all of this—Vivian wasn’t the only one working around the clock. “I know, Vivian. But no one should be out in this weather. I doubt Lemelin will even show up.”

“Oh, he’ll show.” Mark detects a snicker in her voice. “Guys like him always show. And they expect everyone else to, too.” Vivian’s meaning is clear: If Mark had any balls, he’d be in a car en route to Chicago right now, weather be damned.

Mark looks outside again. The sky is dark. Troubled.

“Let me call Lemelin,” he says. “In the meantime, you need to get back home.” Vivian is still protesting when Mark says goodbye and disconnects.

Mark dials Lemelin’s number but it goes right to voice mail. Well, of course. Only a madman would be out in this weather. He leaves a message, telling Lemelin to please call when he gets a chance.

A crack of lightning makes the house lights flicker, and there’s a
squeal of alarm from Gracie. Julia rushes in, cuddling up to Gracie, who seems more excited than scared.

“I should have gone shopping yesterday,” Julia says over the top of Gracie’s head. “I thought about it, but then I didn’t. We don’t have a lot of food in the house.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Mark assures her. “Let’s go look. Come on, spark plug.” He scoops up Gracie.

They troop into the kitchen. Mark deposits Gracie on the counter then goes through the cabinets taking inventory. Julia’s right: There’s not much. This could be a problem if the weather continues this way or worsens.

Mark opens the last cabinet door and a barrage of starter-filled Ziploc baggies tumbles out. They fall into his arms, then spill onto the floor. Each bag is marked with different dates in permanent pen. There has to be at least twenty bags.

“Well, at least we have plenty of Amish Friendship Bread starter,” he jokes as he starts to put them back. The scary thing is that all these bags are just Julia’s. He’s been disposing of the anonymous ones that are still being left on their doorstep. “If we don’t lose electricity, you can bake and keep us well stocked in bread and muffins.”

“I should just pour this all down the sink,” Julia says as she helps him. The bags aren’t cooperating, not wanting to be stacked on top of each other, slipping out of their grasp. “I’ve run out of people to give it to, especially since the article came out.” She passes a bag to Gracie who immediately starts to give it a squeeze.

Mark hears the disappointment in Julia’s voice. “We’ll figure it out,” he reassures her. Mark knows how important the Amish Friendship Bread is to her. It’s become a ritual for their family, the squeezing, the baking, the discussion of what to make next. If it were up to him, he’d tell couples to forgo marriage counseling and try friendship bread instead. “We just need to cut back. Didn’t you say you could freeze this stuff?” He goes to the freezer and opens it. “Oh.”

Julia comes up behind him. One whole shelf is filled with frozen starter. She reaches out and closes the freezer door with a shake of the
head. “I obviously have an Amish Friendship Bread addiction. They need to come up with a twelve-step program for this stuff.”

Mark starts to laugh—he can’t help it. It’s contagious, and Gracie bursts into giggles. Even Julia cracks a smile.

“Okay, laugh it up, you two.” Julia goes back to the cupboard and checks the dates on several bags of starter before pulling two out. “I think you’re going to be right about the electricity. I may as well see if I can bake a few loaves now, just in case.”

“Can I help?” Gracie asks.

Julia smiles. “Of course. Turn off the TV first.”

Mark helps Gracie down and she races out of the kitchen. Julia turns to him, the look on her face suddenly shy. “Would you like to help, too?”

Mark would love to help, but at that moment his phone rings. He sees Lemelin’s name flashing in the display. “Sorry, I have to take this. I’ll be right back.” Julia gives a halfhearted shrug as he walks away.

Lemelin’s voice is cheerful. “Mark, my man. Sorry I missed your call. Enjoying this lovely weather?”

Mark is encouraged by Lemelin’s casualness. At least he knows the weather sucks. “So long as I don’t lose electricity, I’m good.”

“Ditto, ditto. I like to keep my restaurants open. People still have to eat, right?”

Right
. Mark clears his throat. “I called to see if we can reschedule for next week. The roads here are starting to flood.”

“Really? Vivian didn’t mention that when we talked.”

Does Lemelin not watch the news, not look out the window? He’s either clueless, careless, or Chicago has just been airlifted to Hawaii. “Well, we just made the decision.”

“In the past ten seconds?” Lemelin chuckles. “Interesting, seeing how I just got off the phone with her.”

Mark frowns. “You just got off the phone with her?”

“Not even a minute ago—that’s why I missed your call. She said she spoke with you, said she was already on the road but you might not make it. What’s going on, Evarts?”

Evarts
. Lemelin’s calling Mark by his last name—that’s not a good sign. “Just some crossed wires, Bruno. I’ll sort it out with her.”

“Sure.” There’s a pause. “So I’ll see you in bit? We can have a good meal, talk business.”

Mark can sense that this is not so much an offer as a request. Lemelin knows Mark is trying to cancel but he’s not going to let him go without a fight, or at least make Mark feel like a complete wimp.

Maybe he is being a wimp—maybe he should bite the bullet and go. Try, at least. But a glance out the window tells Mark that would be insane. “Thanks, but I think rescheduling makes more sense. What about next Tuesday? Same time?”

“Hmmm, next Tuesday,” Lemelin balks. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. I don’t have my calendar in front of me.”

Lemelin’s backing out. Mark can feel it. He glances out the window again. Even if Avalon doesn’t flood, there are two counties between him and Chicago. The closer he gets to the city, the worse the weather. It’s always that way. He’ll be stranded, and then Julia and Gracie will have to be here alone. Lemelin is single, thrice divorced. He spends all his time in his restaurants because he has nowhere else to go. He’s got nothing to lose.

“Hey, I’d love to be there,” Mark says, feigning regret. Lemelin is a guy’s guy, but Mark knows he has a thing for Vivian and tries to appeal to Lemelin’s soft side. “But the weather sucks and I don’t think anyone should be out in this weather, least of all Vivian.”

“Vivian?” There’s a pause, a beat, and then a snicker. “You don’t have to worry about Vivian, mate. That girl can take care of herself—I’m not worried about her. You, on the other hand …” He trails off, letting Mark fill in the blanks.

Mark is about to offer up another excuse when he realizes it’s futile. He’ll be doing backflips for Lemelin forever, and Lemelin doesn’t care if Mark does it at his own expense or at the expense of his family. Mark is an architect and a damn good one. He’s given Lemelin plenty to go on, a ton of great ideas that he knows Lemelin will use. But Mark is no longer interested in being someone’s paid companion or lackey.

Not even for the project of a lifetime.

“If you want to meet next week, I’ll have Dorothy call and get it on the calendar,” he says.

Lemelin’s voice is flat. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Then good luck to you, Bruno,” Mark says. And he hits
END
on his cell phone.

Mark can’t believe he just let the Lemelin project go. But on second thought, he thinks that maybe Vivian was right, that they’d already lost it weeks ago. They held on to the hope that they could change his mind at the last minute, but Mark thinks both he and Vivian know the truth inside. It’s easier to kid yourself into thinking that you still have a shot.

He dials her number to tell her the news. There will be other projects, other opportunities that will be much less of a headache for both of them.

“Hey there,” she says cheerfully. He can tell that she’s toked up on caffeine, running on adrenaline. “I’m on my way to Chicago. The streets aren’t so bad.”

Vivian doesn’t know the first thing about flash floods, but Mark does. “I canceled the meeting, Vivian.”

“What? But I can go, Mark! I’ll be there in an hour, hour and a half tops.”

“Vivian …”

She continues, unabated. “I can represent Gunther & Evarts, I know what Bruno wants to hear. I can close this deal, Mark. I have everything with me—”

Mark frowns, not comprehending. “What do you mean, you have everything with you? I have the plans and final bid proposal right here with me.” He glances over at his desk and sure enough, there they are.

Vivian lets out an impatient sigh. “Look, don’t be mad but I made a copy of everything yesterday because I wanted to show it to a girlfriend of mine. She has an amazing eye for color and had some fabulous suggestions about how we can tweak the fire palette to more of an orange than a red, which I didn’t agree with before but
when you couple it with the blue tones Bruno wants near the entryway …”

Mark stops her. “Vivian, you can’t go showing our work to somebody outside of the firm, especially if we’re still bidding on a project.”

“I know, Mark, but it was just a casual thing, nothing that she’s going to charge me for or mention to anyone. I’ve known her forever and she’s completely professional. I mean, my God, she works for Perkins Eastman—”

“Perkins Eastman?” Mark suddenly feels cold. Perkins Eastman is huge. They’re an international firm, an architecture-interior-design-project-management-you-name-it kind of company. They play at a whole other level, and because of this Mark doesn’t see them as competition, though in this business, everybody is. And while he doesn’t suspect they’re bidding on Lemelin’s project, you can never be too sure. Either way, it’s a conflict of interest and a massive breach of company policy for Vivian to show their work to anybody outside of the firm, much less a potential competitor. He’s stunned that she would do this, that she doesn’t know better. And then it occurs to him that maybe she
does
know better, but just doesn’t care.

Mark closes his eyes. Victor had warned him of exactly this sort of thing, of how Vivian’s ambition exceeds her actual authority in the firm. She’s not a partner at G&E, not even a principal. His admiration for her savvy may have colored his objectivity, but it’s becoming clearer by the second what’s at stake.

Vivian must be sensing that something’s wrong, because there’s a shift in her tone. “Mark,” she says softly. “I just thought that under the circumstances it would be good to talk to someone else in the industry, you know? Somebody who plays with the big boys all the time, who knows what clients like Bruno want. I don’t want to lose this project …”

“You don’t want ‘us’ to lose this project, you mean.” His voice is wary.