Friendship Bread (39 page)

Jamie grins back, pulls the hood back on his head. “Great,” he says. “I’ll call you next week. Stay dry, Hannah.”

“You too. Bye, Jamie.”

She watches him dash into the rain and into his truck. The brake lights flash, and then he’s gone.

“Well, it’s official.” Tom walks in the front door, drenched to the skin, and drops a box into a corner. “They let me go.”

“Oh, Tom.” Livvy hurries over. They knew this was coming. The company cut 150 sales reps from across the country since abandoning plans to release their latest drug, some pain pill that obviously didn’t work or had too many side effects. “Like death,” Tom had snorted bitterly when the firings first started.

Livvy wants to hug him but he’s sopping wet. Plus he doesn’t really look like he wants to be touched. “Can I get you something to drink? A beer?”

“I’d like some coffee, actually.” Tom peels off his clothes right there in the entryway until he’s clad in only boxers and socks. “They should have just sent an email. It was completely pointless to make us drive out in this storm to give us the ax in person.”

Livvy tosses him a fleece throw from the back of the sofa and scoops up his clothes. “I’ll put some coffee on. And Mrs. Lowry stopped by to give us a loaf of that Amish Friendship Bread. Can you believe it?”

Tom wraps the throw around himself then pads into the living room. “Did you have it tested for poison?”

“Tom.” But Livvy is smiling, having had her own suspicions as well. “I actually invited her in and we each had a slice. You’ll like it.”

“Maybe she’s in cahoots with Julia.”

Livvy doesn’t say anything. In the past she appreciated the small jabs at Julia, at Tom’s attempts to stay loyal to his wife. But now she feels remorse at hearing Julia’s name, at their inability to make things right again. It’s no longer vengeful or funny, just sad.

Tom picks up the remote but then puts it back down and settles onto the couch. He look around, gives a shiver. “We need a fireplace.”

Livvy goes to the thermostat and turns the dial. “I’ll turn up the heat.” The lack of a fireplace in the house is the one thing that bothers Livvy. The house is relatively new and has everything else, but the real estate agent said the previous owner had run out of money before they could put a fireplace in, and Livvy and Tom couldn’t afford to put one in, either. She longs for the sound of a fire crackling and popping, the smell of wood burning. S’mores. That’s really what it is. She wishes they could make s’mores in their living room, as silly as that might sound.

In the kitchen Livvy hums as she cuts several fat slices of the bread and puts them on a plate. She makes a pot of coffee and chooses a container of nonfat yogurt for herself then gets one for Tom, in case he’d like one, too. She’s read about how husbands will sometimes gain sympathy weight, and she hopes that won’t happen to him. Both of his parents are a little on the heavy side. She puts everything on a breakfast tray with a nice cloth napkin and carries it out to him.

“You’re in an awfully good mood for someone who just became the primary breadwinner,” Tom notes as she puts the tray down in front of him.

Huh
. She hadn’t thought of that. Still, it’s not like they were blind-sided by the news. “I guess I figure there are worse things that could happen.” She breaks off a corner of the bread and pops it in her mouth.
Mmm
. She could eat this all day.

“We could lose the house, Livvy.” Tom is serious. He adds some cream to his coffee.

“I know.” The thought’s occurred to her several times over the past month. “Maybe we should sell.”

Tom stops stirring his coffee. “You’d sell the house? I thought you loved this house.”

She does. Lack of fireplace aside, it’s her dream home. It was a stretch for them to get it in the first place and it’s mortgaged to the hilt, but she wanted it so they got it. She always pictured it filled with family and laughter, but it’s still just the two of them and all this extra space only serves to echo their loneliness. The truth is that they would probably do fine in a smaller place, even with the baby coming. Livvy has no idea what they’ll get for the house but prices have appreciated since they bought it, even if it is a buyer’s market right now. There are a lot of nice features and they’ve done a good job of keeping up the place. “If we can sell it we can pay off the mortgage and maybe look at something more affordable. It can still be nice.” The idea of having a smaller, more manageable mortgage payment is very appealing. And there’s nothing wrong with having a smaller house. It’ll be cozier for all of them.

Tom nods in agreement, sipping his coffee slowly. “If we want to do this, we should probably do it sooner rather than later. I don’t want to get behind on our mortgage payments and lose the house altogether.” Livvy sees his eyes dart toward the garage, probably remembering what happened with the BMW.

“Do you think we’ll have a problem selling the place?”

Tom shrugs. “I don’t know. But we’ll probably have better luck selling it than me trying to find a job in this economy. Nobody’s hiring.” He takes a bite of the Amish Friendship Bread, his eyes registering surprise. “Hey, this isn’t so bad.”

“Told you.” She takes another little piece for herself. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to wait ten days before she can bake her own bread. She could eat it morning, noon, and night.

Tom stares into his coffee mug. “I’ve been thinking I should sell my golf clubs, too.”

“Really?” Livvy stares at him. Tom loves golf.

“Yeah. Well, okay, maybe not my clubs, but I think I should let the golf membership go.” He gives her a sheepish grin. “I can only play a few months out of the year and there are lots of good muni courses around. I shouldn’t have bought it in the first place.”

Livvy doesn’t know what to say.

“I figure that I won’t be playing much anyway. Any free time I have I want to spend with you and the baby.” Tom pats the space next to him.

Livvy scoots over and burrows into the crook of his arm. “Tom?”

“Mmmm?”

“Do you think …” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Do you think I’ll be a good mother?”

Tom looks at her and she knows he knows what she’s thinking. “Livvy,” he says. “I
know
you’ll be a good mother.”

She swallows. “Even after …”

“Even after what happened,” he finishes for her.

Tom wraps the blanket around them—all three of them, if you include their little bean in utero—and they continue to talk quietly and eat as the rain falls steadily against the house.

“Stupid mother—” Edie closes the lid of her laptop angrily.

Richard walks into the bedroom and frowns at Edie sitting up in bed. “You’re supposed to be lying down. As in completely horizontal.” Richard puts a tall glass of water next to the bed stand and picks up her laptop. “Drink.”

Water, water, everywhere. It’s pouring outside, a hazardous weather outlook according to NOAA, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, home of the National Weather Service. Rivers across the northern part of the state are flooding. Heavy thunderstorms are rolling through the area with nonstop rainfall. Residents of nearby towns have been evacuated and there’s reported damage to almost two hundred homes. Avalon, while wet, seems to have been spared.

“Since when did you become such a medical Nazi?” Edie grumbles, but she obediently takes a long sip of water.

“Since you were diagnosed with preeclampsia and the doctor put you on bed rest.” He folds back the covers and nudges her to lie down.

Edie sighs. “Oh, right.” She scoots down under the covers and lets her head fall back on the pillow.

Her last prenatal appointment with Dr. Briggs revealed hypertension and excess protein in her urine. Add to that the occasional dizziness and the nausea and vomiting (turned out it wasn’t morning sickness after all) and hello, preeclampsia. The only cure for preeclampsia is to have the baby, which is not a possibility since Edie still has twenty weeks to go. So Dr. Briggs has put Edie on bed rest until it’s time for the big day. As much as she’s dreading labor, being put on bed rest feels like a prison sentence.

“It’s not uncommon, unfortunately,” Dr. Briggs told her. “It happens with first pregnancies and women over forty.”

“But I’m thirty-six.”

Dr. Briggs lifted her shoulders as if to say,
What can you do?

“Patrick hired another reporter,” Edie says as Richard plumps a pillow. “I just saw her byline.
Lori Blair
. What kind of name is that? She doesn’t even have a degree in journalism. She was a poli sci major from some community college. Her last job was working at the Avalon Book Nook.”

“How do you know?”

“I Googled her and found her on Facebook.” Edie pulls the covers up to her chin. “She’s also on mySpace and is a food reviewer on Yelp.”

Richard zips up her computer case and puts it to the side. “That’s being a bit obsessive, don’t you think?”

“She also self-published some book about how to bond with your dog.” Edie rolls her eyes. “It’s four ninety-nine. You can buy it on Amazon. Amazingly she got ten reviews from …”

“Edie.” Richard interrupts and gives her a look.

“What?”

“Stop stalking the new hires at the
Gazette
.”

Edie rolls over onto her left side, her back to him. “I’m not stalking. I just wanted to find out why he hired her. She’s not a freelancer. Her byline says Staff Reporter.”

“You didn’t want to be on staff,” he reminds her. “You wanted your freedom. And Patrick’s got to figure out some way to get the news out while you’re laid up, Edie.”

“I’m not laid up. I’m working from home.”

“Fine. Tell yourself that if that makes you feel better. But we both know there’s only so much you can do from bed, Edie. Patrick knows that, too.” Richard rests on the edge of the bed and hands her the water glass. “Drink up. You’re only on your third glass of the day.”

Edie downs the water and hands the glass back to him. “I could really go for a plate of chili cheese fries. With a side of chili cheese fries. And topped with some chili cheese fries.” She pouts, frustrated.

“Hold on just a few more months and then I’ll make them myself if I have to. I am also going to make a bunch of meals before the baby comes so we can have something ready in the freezer. Let me know if you have any special requests, otherwise I’ll just make your favorites.”

Edie feels a swell of emotion. It’s her damn hormones, but it doesn’t help that Richard is so sweet. She knows that he would have the baby if he could, sparing her all of this. She watched four babies being born while living in Benin, and while the women were all remarkably calm and focused, Edie doesn’t feel quite so confident herself.

“I’m going to have to go in about an hour,” he says. Richard is part of an ad hoc medical relief team circulating through the county, helping hospitals and clinics that are trying to manage the influx of patients and flood-related crises. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I was thinking about hitting a couple of bars, but maybe I’ll just stay put.”

“Smart-ass.” He leans over and gives her a nice long kiss that takes her breath away. “I have something for you. Hold on.” He winks and bounds out of the bedroom.

She stares after him. What’s going on? He’s not going to …

No. Oh God. She’s not ready. She hasn’t showered in two days! And she has the worst case of bed head from having been horizontal for the past week. Knowing Richard, there’s probably a camera somewhere for the obligatory self-portrait. There’s no way he would propose without getting evidence of it on film.

Richard returns holding something large wrapped in brown paper. Unless he put it in a really big, flat box, it’s obviously not a diamond ring. “Okay, are you ready?” he asks, grinning.

Edie’s confused, but nods.

Richard tears back one corner and Edie sees a flash of color. He pulls back the rest of the paper and she instantly recognizes the wide swath of purple, white, and red—a Mark Rothko print that she loves to see every time they go to the Art Institute in the city.

“You bought the poster?” she gasps. She props herself up on her elbows, anxious to get a closer look.

“I bought and framed it.” He rips off all of the paper and leans it against the wall. Then he disappears and returns with two more, one with squares of orange and yellow and another of a green rectangle divided by a blue stripe. “Where do you want them?”

“Are you going to put them up in here?” She claps her hands, beaming. Their walls have been bare for so long, a function of neither of them having time or interest in doing more than was necessary. Personally, Edie thinks that home décor is way overrated. So why then is she so happy?

Richard looks proud of himself. “I figured we should make the bedroom as comfortable as possible for you, so we can put them wherever you like. And …” He disappears again and returns with another large box, this one square in shape. It’s a package addressed to her. “I’ll help you open it if you lie down again.”

“But I’m only up on my elbows!” she protests.

“Down.” He waits until she’s flat on her back again before cutting through the tape with a penknife. He removes some wadded up paper and then holds up a brightly colored throw pillow that instantly reminds Edie of Africa. “They’re from Malawi. It’s traditional potato
printing on mud cloth.” He tosses it to her and it hits her lightly in the face, making her laugh. He reaches into the box and pulls out another one with colorful glass beading. “Xhosa appliqué. I thought they’d look nice on the bed.”

“Where did you get them? I’m assuming you didn’t go to Cape Town to pick them up.”

“I found a place that sells them online.” At Edie’s raised eyebrows Richard adds, “It’s a fair trade organization that buys their products through African Home. Fifty percent of the profits benefit an orphanage in Malawi.”

Edie gives him a happy smile. “I love you.” She catches the other pillow as it sails in her direction. “Come here so I can kiss you.”

“In a minute. I’m not done.” Richard steps outside of the bedroom again and returns a second later with an armful of books. “I took the liberty of buying all of the books and music CDs on your online wish-list at the Avalon Book Nook, because I know how important it is for you to support the independent booksellers.”