Friendship Bread (43 page)

Bridget puts a hand on Lila’s cart. She gives Mona a hard look. “Now I know you wouldn’t be insinuating that a heathen like me can’t bake bread for Barrett. Are you, Mona?” Bridget knows Mona well. Aside from seeing her picture in the newspaper every Christmas under the special “Church Round-Up” section, she and Bridget used to be best friends in high school.

“I’m just saying that some of us are focused on how we can help the greater good, and not thinking about how to get a man in bed.”

Bridget’s eyes flash. “First of all, Moan-uh, I am baking bread for the greater good and since half of that greater good is of the male persuasion, I’m sure they won’t mind a little vanilla to calm their spirits. The women, too.”

“Vanilla
is
a calming scent,” Lila interjects. “It’s very relaxing. I have a few vanilla-scented candles at home …”

Bridget holds up a hand, silencing Lila. “And second, I don’t have to think about how to get a man into bed; I
know
how to get a man into bed. Unlike some people.” Bridget smirks.

Mona’s mouth falls open. “What … I … you …” she sputters.

“And third, I’m not doing this because I have some immature need to be recognized as a holier-than-thou person when we all know the truth!” Bridget says this last bit with flourish, crossing her arms and giving Mona a knowing look.

Mona snaps her mouth closed, her cheeks flaming red.

“I don’t know the truth,” says Roy Banes, a mechanic who’s
helping his wife with the shopping and has been watching this little incident unfold with interest.

“Me, either,” adds Wiley Brown. Wiley drives a water truck for the county.

Patsy Jones isn’t rooting for any one particular woman, although she has done a few church bake sales with Mona and the woman is annoyingly condescending. After all, we’re all God’s children—Bridget, too, even though she works in a store that clearly promotes the objectification of women and sin—but Mona acts like she’s the chosen favorite.

“Me,
neither
,” she corrects Wiley, and then wants to bite her tongue because it sounds as if wants to know, too, which she doesn’t. But if something is going to be said, well, it’s a public place, isn’t it? And she hasn’t finished her shopping yet.

“This is ridiculous.” Mona’s nostrils flare. “Nobody here expects to believe you, Bridget, as they are all good folk who aren’t interested in malicious gossip.”

Bridget doesn’t say anything, a look of utter satisfaction on her face as she watches Mona squirm.

“So? What is it?” Roy demands impatiently. “We don’t got all day.” His wife swats his arm, but she isn’t exactly dragging them away, either.

Bridget arches an eyebrow. “Well, Moan-uh, what’s it going to be? Think you can lighten up on your ‘I am better than you’ attitude or do I need to tell these good people what transpired—or, rather, what
didn’t
transpire—between you and our gym teacher, Mr. Grabowski, when we were in the tenth grade?”

There is a collective gasp among the shoppers.

“Bridget Avery Gholston, you promised!” Mona’s voice is shrill. “You swore you’d never tell!”

“What, are you kidding me?” Bridget stares at her in genuine disbelief. “You’re kidding me, right? We’re forty years old, Mona! You haven’t spoken to me since we were eighteen. You ignore me at reunion, or whenever you see me on the street. And we were best friends!”

“That’s not very Christian,” Patsy comments.

“And I
still
haven’t told your secret. After all these years. Have I?” She spins around to the crowd. “Have I?”

They all shake their heads, acknowledging that, indeed, Bridget has not yet told Mona’s secret.

“But she slept with him, right?” comes Wiley’s guess.

“No, she didn’t!” Bridget snaps.

“Well, then, did she …”

“I didn’t do anything,” Mona says loudly. “He didn’t want to. Wouldn’t.” She glares at Bridget. “Happy now?”

Bridget studies her fingernails. “No, not really. An apology would be nice. For all of those years of snubbing and putting up with your condescending crap.”

Mona casts her eyes to the ceiling, her lips pursed.

“Aw, come on,” Roy says. “Apologize. Some of us would like to watch a little TV this afternoon.” His wife elbows him in the ribs. “Ouch! I mean, make Amish Friendship Bread for Barrett.” He rubs the sore spot.

“Come on.”

“Say you’re sorry.”

“Apologize.”

“It
would
really be nice if you said sorry,” Lila finishes meekly. Even Ervin the clerk is nodding his head in agreement.

Mona blows out her breath, fidgeting in place. “FINE.”

Bridget taps her foot. “I’m waiting.”

“I’m … sorry, Bridget, for not having had a very Christian deportment toward you all these …”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Mona!” Bridget looks exasperated.

“OKAY! I’m sorry for being so mean.” The words come out in a rush, almost like a sigh of relief.

There’s a titter of approval as everyone breaks into a smile, including Bridget.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Bridget grins. “A few tears would have been nice, but that’s okay. I’d take an invitation to bake with you this evening, too, but I’m afraid I already have plans.”

Mona looks relieved.

Lila looks like she has actual tears in her eyes. “I’m so glad it worked out!” she cries.

Mona shoots her a look but Bridget gives Lila’s hand an affectionate pat. “You are such a sweetheart, but your cuticle beds are a mess. Why don’t you come in next week and we’ll get them fixed up nice and pretty? Maybe help you do a little shopping, too. We just got in a shipment of silicone rabbits. Do you know what they are?”

Lila shakes her head. She pushes her cart after Bridget as the two head for checkout, leaving Mona to look up toward the Pick and Save ceiling, annoyed but her heart a little lighter.

Wiley Brown watches the women check their shopping lists, all grabbing the same things off the shelves. Flour, sugar, boxes of Jell-O instant pudding. Their carts are already filled with milk and eggs, and there’s a murmur of talk about “Amish Friendship Bread.”

Wiley’s just here because he has a thing for condensed milk. He takes it in his coffee and adds it to his soup. It works good in meatloaf and mashed potatoes, too. As a bachelor he’s learned to cook for himself, and while he may not do anything fancy, he can feed himself well enough.

“What’s going on?” he asks the woman next to him. She hands him a piece of paper and explains what it is. It sounds interesting enough, but he doesn’t have that starter stuff, and either way it’s clear he’s too late in the game.

Cordelia Gutierrez senses his hesitancy. “We’re gathering a bunch of people together at the high school cafeteria,” she tells him. “Believe me when I say we have plenty of starter. Ingredients, too. What we need now are people to help mix and bake.”

Wiley straightens up. He knows about the flooding in Barrett as part of his route goes through there. “I can mix and bake,” he says.

“Well, if you want to spare us a few hours tonight, I’m sure it will be appreciated.”

“Yes, ma’am. When should I be there?”

Cordelia glances at her watch and sees it’s already five o’clock. “Now would be good, but we’ll be baking all night.”

He can swing past the deli and pick up some fried chicken, then head on over. He’s relieved that he thought to take a shower as soon as he got home today. “I’ll see you there,” he says.

Rhea Higbee, a cashier at the Pick and Save, has been scanning the same things all afternoon. She’s on break now, and rather than step outside for a cigarette, she calls her sister.

“Dawn, it’s me,” she says. “Something funny is going on over here …”

Travis Fields stands on the doorstep, fuming. “Now? Don’t you think it’s a little late to be canceling a date? I have reservations for eight o’clock!”

“Where, at the Pizza Shack? Or the sports bar over in Digby?” Dawn Perry says this sarcastically as she kicks off her heels and looks for her tennis shoes instead. She’ll need socks, too. She goes through the basket of clean laundry in the hallway until she finds a pair.

“I thought you liked the Pizza Shack!” Travis is about to step into the house when Dawn stops him.

“I’m on my way out, Travis, so don’t you be coming in.” Dawn pulls off her dangly earrings and scrubs some of the extra makeup off her face with a tissue. She doesn’t know why she bothers getting dressed up for these dates with Travis. Come to think of it, she doesn’t know why she bothers dating Travis at all. It’s a lousy way to kill time, that’s for sure.

“Well, you should have told me.” Travis is petulant. “It would have saved me the trip.”

“What, the five minutes from the copy shop? You didn’t even bother changing! And your hands still have glue on them!” She grabs a jacket from her closet. “Besides, I just found out. The whole town is pitching in.”

Travis pouts, as if he hasn’t heard her. “I was making notepads. The clinic ordered up a new batch of prescription pads. Twenty sets of one hundred sheets!”

“How nice for you,” Dawn says. She flicks off all the lights in the house. She closes the door behind her and locks it. Travis still looks flummoxed, picking strings of dried glue off his fingers. She has got to start dating better men. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go help bake some bread.”

“So you’ll be okay?” Frances Latham tiptoes quietly down the stairs, her husband behind her.

“We’ll be fine.”

“I should be back in a couple of hours. More, if they need me. I’ll send you a text message so the phone doesn’t wake up the kids.”

“Those guys?” Her husband, Reed, thumbs the kids’ rooms where their three children lay sleeping—ages seven, four, and two. All boys. “They’ll be out until morning.”

“Good.” Frances goes to lift the box of ingredients but Reed nudges her out of the way.

“Let me get that. I’ll get the other one, too.”

They go into the garage and Reed loads the boxes into the car. “Call if you need anything.”

“I will. I’m just over at Madeline’s, so I’m not far. I’ve left a few slices of Amish Friendship Bread for you on the kitchen counter.”

“Thank you.” Reed pulls his wife in for a kiss. Even after fifteen years, he loves her more than life itself. She’s been baking all afternoon for Barrett, even with the two little ones clinging to her legs, doing her best to make it fun and include them. Now she’s going over to some tea restaurant that’s the designated drop-off spot to bake some more and help coordinate.

Reed admires his wife, always has and always will, but something about this day is making him see her in a new light. Frances is willing to go the distance—for their kids, for their marriage, for this town even.

He helps her into the car, then closes the door. She starts the engine and rolls down the window, giving her husband a quizzical look. “What?” Reed has a funny look on his face, like he’s holding a secret.

“So you know all that information you’ve just been leaving around about adoption?” he says. “From China?” Articles and books about China adoptions have been strewn about their otherwise neat house for weeks.

Frances looks guilty.

“Well, I read it. All of it. And I think we should do it.”

“What?” Frances breathes, grasping his hand. “Are you serious?”

Reed laughs. “Well, we should look into it at least. I mean, we should talk to the boys first and go to one of those informational meetings …”

“There’s one at the public library in Rockport next month.”

Reed grins. “I know, I saw. Now go—we’ll talk about it later. I’ll sign up for the information meeting tomorrow. Call me when you’re heading back.”

“I will.” She kisses him hard. “I love you,” she says fiercely. Her eyes are wet.

Reed is surprised to find his eyes are a little wet, too. He watches his wife’s taillights as they disappear into the cool, crisp night. He was going to go through some papers for work, but maybe he’ll get himself a glass of milk and some of the Amish Friendship Bread and look through the brochures one more time.

By 10:00
P.M.
, there are six hundred and twenty-three loaves.