Friendship Bread (46 page)

“But we need other people, and it’s a gift when the people who have known and loved us since childhood are still a part of our lives. Your parents, your sister. You have to be the one to start it again, Julia. Not because they may not eventually try, but because you can see now how much you really want this and you don’t want to waste
another minute not reaching for joy. To be surrounded by people who love you. It’s an incredible thing, Julia. And I know you know this.”

There’s a long pause and Madeline doesn’t say anything more, just makes room for the silence that she knows holds promise.

Julia wipes her eyes and looks up at the blue, cloudless sky. “When I saw Josh’s friend the morning we were going to Barrett, I realized that’s what Josh would look like now if he had lived. And it makes me so mad, so angry, that he won’t have a chance to play football like Peter, or go to college, or fall in love. It’s just not fair.” Julia lets out a breath. “He was so beautiful, Madeline. Hair just like mine. A smile that would knock your socks off. He could get away with anything.”

“I believe it.”

Julia gulps. “When Mark and I were upstairs, I thought, ‘Oh God, I’m never going to be able to go back downstairs.’ In the past there was no way I could do it. But half an hour later, I was back downstairs, loading things up to go to Barrett. And I felt, well, not great, but okay.”

Madeline just nods, taking Julia’s hand in her own again.

Julia looks up and gazes at the sky, a perfect blue morning. “I remember so many nights where I was willing to do anything—
anything
—that would bring Josh back to me. I would have traded places with him in a heartbeat to give him a chance to grow up, to live his life, to find his own happiness.” Her voice falters. “To not have had a moment of fear or aloneness when he died. I wish … I wish …” Julia takes a deep breath, lets out a sigh. Madeline knows Julia’s been down this path so many times and each time the pain is still fresh, the anguish hitting her square in the chest, squeezing the breath out of her. “That’s the worst feeling in the world. To want to do anything to make it better, to make it right, but you can’t. You can’t.”

There is a long interminable pause as the women stare out into the garden. “Some things, perhaps, cannot be made better,” Madeline concedes. “But some things can.”

Julia is silent.

“Call your parents, Julia. Invite them home to Avalon. And go see Livvy.”

It’s a lot to ask, and Madeline knows this. But she also knows Julia can do it. When Julia manages a slight nod and there’s a small smile, Madeline knows it’s going to be okay.

They silently watch Connie talk to the gardeners and point to different spots around the grounds. Connie has managed their budget carefully so they can now pay someone to tend to the property, and it delights Madeline to see that this is finally happening—it felt negligent not to do more with what she had. They want to create more pathways and benches for people to sit on. They want to be able to accommodate more people and are figuring what they need to do to offer outdoor food service.

Madeline shields her eyes as she watches Connie explain what needs to be cut away and cleared. Connie turns at that moment and gives them a wave, her smile bright. Connie has been promoted to Tea Salon Manager, a title she proposed to Madeline, which Madeline readily accepted with a caveat: Should Connie ever choose to move from her dingy apartment above the Pizza Shack, Madeline wants her to know that she is always welcome to share the house with her.

“I know it’s not a very hip thing to do,” Madeline had said, not wanting Connie to worry about hurting her feelings. “But your landlord sounds like such an awful fellow and I wouldn’t charge much rent at all. I understand that you probably spend too much time here as it is and might not want to—”

“Yes!” Connie had said breathlessly, throwing her arms around Madeline. “Thank you!”

She moved in the next day.

Now Madeline waves her over, pouring her a glass of iced tea. The three women continue to sit, enjoying the waning afternoon, their minds filled with their own thoughts. Hannah emerges from the house, untying her apron and collapsing next to them with a happy sigh.

“Strawberry rhubarb pie,” she says. There’s a smudge of flour on her cheek. “You’re going to have to hurry if you want a piece.” She turns her face to the sun and smiles. “I can’t believe it was flooding last month. It’s amazing how quickly the weather can turn.”

Madeline couldn’t agree more, and she offers a glass of iced tea to Hannah as she lifts her own in a toast. She looks at these young women who surround her, women who have a lifetime of joy and love waiting for them. Not just for them, but for Madeline, too. As unpredictable as life is, as much as it pains her to think that Ben is lost to her, Madeline remains optimistic. There’s been no word from Ben, either because the letter never found him or he doesn’t want Madeline to find him. She could do more, hire a private investigator or the like, but she tried that before without much success. Instead she says a small prayer for him at night, that he’s safe and healthy and well, and that he’s found happiness. She hopes that if he were ever to think of her again, that he would sense that he is always on Madeline’s mind, and in her heart. He is the only piece of Steven she has left, and while that is important, it’s not just that. Ben is the closest thing she’s ever had to family, to having a child, and she can see now how much he really needed her, because she needed him just as much.

“All the more reason to make every moment count, girls.”

Hannah, Connie, and Julia look at Madeline and nod. This moment has been hard-earned by each and every one of them, their lives having converged in this place, in Madeline’s Tea Salon, in Avalon. They raise their glasses and toast one another, Madeline’s words echoing in their ears.

When Julia pulls up to Livvy’s house, she feels that familiar pinch in her gut. Even though she wasn’t here when Josh died, she can’t help but picture him on the lawn. She wants to look away, but she doesn’t. Instead she steps out of her car, her arms filled with containers of food.

There’s an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Perplexed, Julia rings the doorbell then peers through the windows.

The house is empty. The furniture is gone, the pictures taken down from the walls.

There is no one living in this house.

Julia feels a rise of panic, of dread. Something important has happened
and she missed it. She has the feeling of having arrived a moment too late, a door closing.

Livvy is gone.

“Livvy,” she whispers, and then finds herself calling her sister’s name again. “Livvy!”

“What?”

Julia turns and sees Livvy walking around the corner of the house, wearing an old T-shirt and shorts. She’s barefoot and holding a garden hose.

“Livvy!” Julia breathes. She feels a wave of relief and doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I thought … what happened to your things? Where’s your car?” She resists the urge to rush forward and hold Livvy tight.

“With Tom. That’s just a rental. It’s a long story.” Livvy tries to wind up the gnarled garden hose. “Tom got a job in Faberville. A really good job, so we’re moving. He’s already there.”

There’s a prickle in her chest—Julia never considered that Livvy might move, might leave Avalon, might leave her. “Were you going to tell me?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course. It’s just that everything happened so fast, and I knew you were busy with this whole Amish Friendship Bread thing …” Livvy tosses the hose to the side. “I always meant to get one of those hose hangers to mount on the side of the house, but whatever.” She gives the hose a frustrated kick.

Julia is about to say that she and Mark can help, but she sees it’s too late. Not for everything, but for some things, that much is clear. She swallows, then holds up the containers of food. “I made chicken enchiladas for dinner and remembered you liked them, too, so I made extra for you and Tom. There’s some Spanish rice, a salad, and dessert …” Her voice trails off.

Livvy hesitates but only for a moment. She steps forward and accepts the containers. “Thanks. I hadn’t figured out dinner tonight so this is perfect.”

They sit on the porch steps and Livvy opens the container with the enchiladas.

“The real estate agent is putting up the sign tomorrow,” she says. She picks at a tortilla with her fingers. “I didn’t want her to do it while we were still in the house.”

“What about your job at the
Gazette
?”

“Huh? Oh, I quit. I mean, obviously. I’ll find something else in Faberville. Eventually.” One hand flutters absently to her stomach while the other picks at her food. “Sorry I don’t have any utensils.”

“Don’t apologize. I made it for you—you can eat it however you want.” Julia looks around. “Gracie said you gave Patch away. What happened?”

“Oh, he kept going over to Mrs. Lowry’s yard, digging up her flower beds. He would jump the fence or find a way out, and it didn’t seem fair to keep him chained up while we were at work all day. He was really lonely. We thought he should be with a family that had time to play with him, take care of him.”

Josh loved that dog. “Patch was a good dog. Do you miss him?”

Livvy nods. “I do.” She looks at the food. “This is good, Julia. Thanks.”

Julia doesn’t say anything, just picks up a leaf from the ground. “Faberville, huh?”

Livvy says, “Faberville’s not too far away. Two hours if you drive straight through.”

Faberville is easily a three-hour drive from Avalon. “Maybe the way
you
drive,” Julia says. “You have a lead foot, if I recall.”

Livvy laughs. “That’s true, I do.” She eats a little more, then makes a face. “Oh, the cheese is going to give me gas.”

Julia doesn’t remember Livvy ever having a problem with cheese. “Why?”

“It’s just that with the pregnancy, dairy seems to wreak havoc on my digestive system.” Livvy looks for the container with the salad.

Julia blinks. “You’re pregnant?”

“Sixteen weeks tomorrow. That’s the other nice thing about Faberville. They have a good hospital. We toured the family birthing unit, and they have private rooms and labor tubs—everything. And we’re going to get a smaller house. Something more affordable than
this behemoth. We’re staying in a rental right now.” She offers to share the salad with Julia.

The two sisters sit side by side, picking at bits of lettuce and diced tomatoes in silence.

Julia looks at Livvy’s belly and there’s a small paunch. You’d never notice it to look at her, but now that Julia knows, she feels that careful delicacy you have around someone who’s expecting. She tries to remember what wasn’t safe to eat … was it honey? Or was that just for the first year after the baby was born? Spicy food would always make Josh fuss when he was in utero. Tuna fish was something Julia ate in moderation because of all the reports of elevated mercury counts. She had avoided peanuts because she didn’t want to risk either of the kids getting a peanut allergy. All of that seems inconsequential now. “So is everything going well with the pregnancy? Tests okay?”

Livvy nods. “They just did that AFP test to see if there are any genetic abnormalities. I couldn’t sleep until they called me and said everything was okay. I was driving Tom crazy with worry.” She catches herself and stops, then adds a bit meekly, “But everything came back fine.”

“Good.” Julia smiles. She knows Livvy is a natural worrywart, that people sometimes assume she doesn’t care much about things, but really Livvy cares deeply about everything. She’s more sensitive than people realize—more sensitive than Julia, that’s for sure. Julia feels a rush of tenderness. She takes a chance and puts her hand on top of Livvy’s and gives it a gentle squeeze.

Livvy starts, then relaxes, and offers back a small smile. But just as quickly Julia sees her sister’s eyes fill with tears. “Livvy? Is everything all right?”

Livvy shakes her head, looks away.

“Livvy, talk to me. Look at me.” Julia presses her palm against Livvy’s wet cheek, turns Livvy to face her. Her sister’s face is ashen.

“Julia?” she whispers. “What if I won’t be a good mom?”

Julia feels her sister trembling beside her. “You’ll be a wonderful mother, Livvy. I know you will.” She holds Livvy’s hand in both of hers.
“You will, Livvy.”

“But a real mother … I mean, if I were a real good mother … I wouldn’t have forgotten … I wouldn’t have locked the car …” Livvy starts to sob, then buries her face in her hands.

Julia swallows hard. She’s fighting back tears but loses, and she can’t stop herself, either.

“Julia,” Livvy says, crying. “I am sorry. I am so, so sorry …”

It’s those words that slow Julia’s tears, that give her a moment to gather herself together. Livvy had spent the whole first year after Josh’s death apologizing, and Julia never felt like it was enough. How can you sufficiently apologize for something like that?

She thinks of her conversation with Madeline and realizes,
you can’t
.

“Livvy,” Julia says, and she takes her sister’s hands—both of them—even though Livvy is still sobbing and her nose is running. “Livvy, it’s not your fault.”

“But I …”

“It’s not your fault, Livvy. We can’t control these things, even when we think we can. It’s impossible.”

“But if I had left the door unlocked or left him in the car …” Livvy starts to cry again. She falls into Julia, who wraps her arms around her sister.

Livvy’s familiar smell makes Julia close her eyes. She wishes they could rewind time so they can start all over again. How nice it would be if they had done this earlier, had time to create a new history other than the one they’ve lived for five years. But that, too, is impossible. All they have is this moment, and what’s ahead of them.

She pulls back and looks at her sister. Up close, Julia can see how Livvy’s face has changed over the years, the slight wrinkles around the eyes, her laugh lines more pronounced. But she is still beautiful, and she is still Julia’s sister. “I love you, Livvy. And I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner.”

This just makes Livvy start crying again. “I missed you,” she says between sobs.