The Good Wife (11 page)

Her parents were awesome.

Her sister was awesome, too, but Lisa hadn’t come home after college, choosing to remain in L.A., working as an administrative assistant for a law firm specializing in the entertainment business. Lauren envied her sister’s glamorous life and the adventures that awaited her. It’d been hard becoming a mother at seventeen. Lauren knew she’d missed out on so many opportunities.

Lauren was twenty when her mom said it might be okay for her to start dating again.

She was twenty-one when her dad casually mentioned that the valley was full of decent young men who might make good husband and father material.

Lauren wasn’t interested. She couldn’t imagine dating anyone.

Her grandmother sat her down one day after church and, holding Lauren’s hands, told her not to hate, that it wasn’t good for her to hang on to anger. “Let the bitterness go, dear,” Grandma Summer had said. “Don’t let it fester inside.”

Lauren let her grandmother talk, keeping her expression blank. How little her family knew her.

Lauren didn’t hate John. No, at twenty-one, she was still hoping John would come back and claim her, and their son.

He didn’t. But she hoped. And dreamed.

Lisa moved home almost a year later, after an office romance soured, leaving her brokenhearted.

Dad and Mom welcomed her home. For a summer they all lived together: Dad, Mom, Lauren, Lisa, and Blake. By fall they were all getting on each other’s nerves.

Lauren had her jobs in town, and Lisa had been working with Dad on the ranch, but the small farmhouse just wasn’t big enough for them to continue as they were.

One evening in late October, after Blake and their parents had gone to bed, Lisa and Lauren sat bundled in jackets by the outdoor fire pit talking smack and drinking wine.

It felt good to let their hair down a little. Things had been stressful all month. Lisa had begun missing the freedom she knew in Los Angeles and Lauren was exhausted juggling two jobs and an active little boy.

“Something has to give,” Lisa said restlessly, holding up the wine bottle and discovering it was nearly empty. “Can’t stay here much longer. But don’t really want to go back to L.A.”

“Are you thinking of moving?”

“I’m twenty-four, almost twenty-five. It’s embarrassing being back home, living with Mom and Dad.”

Lauren sighed, shoving a hand through her long hair to push it off her face. “I feel the same way.”

“Would you want to move with me to Los Angeles?”

Lauren couldn’t imagine taking her son away from Napa. “Mom and Dad would miss Blake, and he’d miss them.”

“So you’re going to just stay here forever?”

Lauren didn’t answer immediately. “I’m thinking when Blake starts kindergarten next year, I’m going to try to get my own place.”

“Can you really do that . . . financially?”

“I’m hoping. It’s a stretch.”

“Kind of hard on part-time jobs, huh?”

“Yeah. But it is what it is. And at least this way I get to spend a big chunk of each day with Blake.”

“You’re a good mom.”

“He’s a good boy.”

Lisa glanced over her shoulder, back at the house, where everyone was tucked in bed, sleeping. “Yes, he is. And he’s beautiful, you know. His dark hair, those blue eyes.”

Lauren smiled wistfully. “He looks like his dad.”

“Hopefully that’s all he inherits from his dad, because Meeks is a first-class asshole.”

Lauren shrugged. “People change.”

“John Meeks hasn’t changed.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Oh, has he finally called? Decided to acknowledge his four-and-a-half-year-old son?” Lisa caught sight of Lauren’s unhappy expression and groaned in exasperation. “What? It’s the truth!”

“It’s just . . . harsh.”

Lisa swore under her breath and kicked at the fire pit with the toe of her boot. “I’ve tried to respect your feelings. I try not to judge, but, Lauren, come on. He’s not a good guy. He’s given you nothing but heartache, and he’s not ever going to magically transform from jerk into prince!”

“Maybe not.”

“Maybe?”

“I don’t know, Lisa. I just can’t help thinking that if John saw Blake, if he saw how amazing Blake is, and how sweet he is, he’d want to be part of his life—”

“You mean, John would want to be part of
your
life.”

Lauren flushed and closed her eyes, tucking her chin into the collar of her coat, not saying anything.

Lisa couldn’t stand it. She swore and leaned forward. “John Meeks is a self-centered asshole who can’t love anyone but himself. You deserve better. You and Blake both deserve more.”

“I just want Blake to have a family,” Lauren whispered.

“Blake has us. What more does he need?”

The pressure grew in Lauren’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. “A father.”

Lisa didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She refilled her wineglass and took a sip, and then another, and another, struggling to contain her anger.

“I had no idea you were still so hung up on him,” Lisa said when she was finally able to speak.

“I wasn’t. Not until this last summer, when all the local papers when nuts about him, you know, making the jump into the big leagues, and I think . . . I think . . . it got to me.” Lauren stared into the fire, watching the flames dance. “I sent him a picture of Blake. In a card.”

“Tell me you didn’t, Lauren!”

“It was of Blake’s T-ball photo from spring, you know, the one where he’s wearing his little blue baseball T-shirt, and he’s got the bat on his shoulder?” Lauren bit down her lip, working it over. “I thought, maybe John would see it, and . . . care.”

“You’re killing me, Lauren,” Lisa whispered.

One of the logs in the fire pit cracked, shifted, popping and falling, sending up a shower of orange and red sparks. Lauren blinked back tears and sipped her wine, watching the bright hot sparks shoot high and then burn out and disappear. She had waited all summer for John to e-mail or call. She waited for him to do the right thing. “He didn’t respond,” she said, voice faint.

“Of course he didn’t.” Lisa grabbed a poker and savagely jammed the end into a glowing log, twisting it. “That’s because he’s a piece of shit.” She jammed it again, ferociously crushing the log. “And I hate, hate,
hate
that you contacted him, but”—she took a breath, and looked at her sister with tears filling her eyes—“I understand why you did. You want the fairy tale. You want the happy ending. I get it. I do, too.”

Lauren struggled to smile and Lisa poked the fire once more.

“So,” Lisa said slowly. “I don’t know if this is the right time to talk about this, but I think we should go into business together.”

This was a rapid shift and it took Lauren a second to follow. “You do?”

“Yeah. We need to be our own bosses. Call our own shots.”

Lauren could feel the wine in her veins. She was definitely buzzed, but not drunk. “What would we do? Mow lawns? Clean houses? Open a day care?”

“Good God, no.” Lisa shuddered and dropped back into her chair, crossing one cowboy boot over the other. “Have a shop. Something upscale and trendy.”

Lauren eyed her sister’s tattered Wranglers and scuffed-up boots, knowing she was wearing the same outfit. Neither of them had ever been fashionistas. “Trendy and upscale . . . you and me?”

“Not talking clothes or shoes. Talking cupcakes.”

Lauren coughed, choking on her mouthful of wine, thinking her sister had to be kidding.

Lisa’s chin jerked up and the crackling flames cast a golden, flickering light over her face, revealing the set of her jaw and her determined expression.

Oh, dear. Lauren recognized that expression. Lisa was serious about her proposition.

Although they were two years apart, even as children, Lauren and Lisa had looked so much alike that people thought they were twins with their long, light brown hair, blue-gray eyes, and their stubborn mouth and chin.

“Yes, cupcakes,” Lisa repeated firmly. “They’re the big thing in Los Angeles right now. Big, fat, beautiful cupcakes with lots of big, fat, pink frosting.”

It crossed Lauren’s mind that Lisa had been living in L.A. too long. “Lisa. This is Napa. New York and Los Angeles are big cities. Maybe they can handle a cupcake-only business, but there’s no way we’d survive on just cupcakes here.”

“We could make cakes, too,” Lisa said, reaching for the wine bottle but discovering it was empty. “Damn.” She looked at Lauren. “Should I open another bottle?”

“Good God, no. I think we’ve had enough.”

Lisa pursed her lips, disappointed. “It helps with brainstorming.”

“We’ve got to keep it real, though. We need to make money, Lisa, and cupcakes aren’t going to pay the bills.” Lauren gave her glass a swirl, watching the rich red liquid spin. “Furthermore, where would we do this? And do you have any idea what commercial spaces go for?”

Lisa dropped her feet. “I’ve already found a spot.” She smiled. “And it’s free.”

“Where?”

“Grandma’s.”

Lauren pictured her grandmother’s little Victorian on First Street and started shaking her head. “No. No.”

“Why not? First Street is already being developed into a commercial district. Two of the bigger historic houses near Grandma’s are B-and-Bs and another one is an art gallery.”

“That makes it okay to kick Grandma out?”

“She’s moving in with Mom and Dad later this year. She needs help and Dad’s not going to put his mom into a nursing home. He’d cut off his right arm first.” Lisa rose, headed for the house. “I’m going to get another bottle.”

“Not going to drink it,” Lauren called after her.

Lisa turned, marched back. “Grandma is leaving her house to us. It’s going to be ours anyway—”

“I just can’t kick her out, and where would she live here anyway? I’ve got a room with Blake. You’ve got a room. Mom and Dad have the master.”

“We’d go live there. We’ll live in the back and operate the business from the front. We’d need to make changes to the living room and kitchen, but it’d work. Think about it. It could work. Our bakery would be small, inviting, easy . . . it’s perfect.”

Lauren was thinking about it, and her head, already fuzzy from the wine, was beginning to buzz with something else. Curiosity. Possibility.

“There’s no mortgage,” Lisa added. “The house is paid for. Grandpa made sure of that years ago.”

Lauren wasn’t ready to admit it, but she could see the bakery, could see the possibilities, and Grandma’s house would be perfect. But they’d need start-up money and there was risk, and God help her, she didn’t like failing, and people talking. “If we do this, it’s got to be legit, Lisa. Can’t do handouts and massive loans we can’t pay back. I hate owing people, you know it.”

“This is a John Meeks thing, you know that, don’t you?”

Lauren pressed her lips together. “Maybe. But I won’t go through life apologizing anymore.”

“Totally a John Meeks thing.”

“Great. We’ve established that. But I’m serious. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it, you and me. Our money, our muscle, our tears, blood, and sweat.”

Lisa grimaced and dropped back down into her chair by the fireplace. “You’re not making it sound very appealing right now.”

“You know what I’m saying.”

“I do. But we’re going to need some help, Lauren. At least in the beginning. A loan to help us get on our feet. Construction help to make changes to the kitchen and living room. New appliances for Grandma’s kitchen. Commercial ovens and stove. Dishwasher. Big refrigerator.”

Lauren snuggled deeper into her jacket and drained what was left in her glass. “Cupcakes won’t do it, though. No one is going to line up at our door at eight or nine for a cupcake. We’ve got to offer something in the morning that has substance. Something folks can grab on their way to work or school.” She set her glass down on the ground, stared into the fire, lost in thought. “Remember that place in Fresno you loved when you were going to school there? You loved their sweet cream-cheese croissants.”

“And their scrambled-egg-and-cheese ones.” She made a face. “I think I gained fifteen pounds that year eating at Le Croissant all the time.”

“Le Croissant,” Lauren repeated, still thinking. “They were popular, weren’t they?”

“Very. Both breakfast and lunch. Always drew a crowd. Plain croissants, chocolate croissants, breakfast ones, lunch ones—”

“That’s what we should do.” Lauren sat forward, held her hands out to the fire. “Not cupcakes, but croissants. We could open early for breakfast, and make croissant sandwiches for lunch, and then we could close midafternoon and I’d have the rest of the day free with Blake.”

Lisa mulled it over. “I like the idea. But I think we could do more than just croissants. Maybe a variety of breads and baked goods to give people options and a reason to keep coming back.”

“Cinnamon rolls.”

“Grandma’s coffee cake.”

“Aunt Virginia’s lemon meringue pie.”

“Would she share her recipe with us?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

Lauren rubbed her hands, getting excited. “We could do this.”

“The Summer Sisters’ Bakery and Café,” Lisa said.

“‘Summer’ for Dad and Grandma, who have been here forever.”

“Summer for
us,
” Lisa retorted.

Lauren grinned. “I think we might want to open another bottle of wine after all.”

Bottle open, glasses full, they toasted new ideas and opportunities. “To the future,” Lisa said, clinking glasses.

“It’s going to be good,” Lauren said.

“It’s going to be bright.”

And it was.

Thirteen years had passed since that Halloween night and the Summer sisters had succeeded far beyond their wildest dreams.

Owning a business with Lisa had given Lauren flexibility and income.

But even more important, it’d gone a long way toward restoring her self-respect.

But now, as she rinsed her empty cereal bowl before leaving it in the sink, it crossed her mind that the restaurant had served its purpose.

It’d been a wonderful experience for the first twelve years, but a big part of her was ready to move on.

Seven

L
auren woke at four, just as she did every morning to be at Mama’s Café by five. She needed to be there early to get her cakes and pies in the oven before the café’s doors opened to the public at six. Mama’s Café had never featured homemade desserts before Lauren started working there, but she couldn’t stand the idea of ordering cakes and pies and serving them as her own, and so within a month of starting at the café, she’d taken over the baking, adding her signature desserts from Summer Bakery, and it’d given her a sense of accomplishment, offering something truly fresh and delicious made with her own recipes, with her own hands.

Today, Lauren worked the morning shift, stayed through lunch, made sure her staff was fine closing, and then packed her favorite knives and cooking utensils into a cardboard box and headed to her car to make the drive home.

Just before pulling away from the restaurant, she sent a group text to her mom and Lisa.
Leaving Alameda now.

It was the middle of the week, and there was no traffic. Leaving the city, Lauren rolled down the window, welcoming the fresh air.

The afternoon was sunny and warm, and it felt good to drive with the breeze blowing through the car, catching at her hair. Now and then she reached up to untangle the long brown strands that snagged on her eyelashes or the tip of her ear.

The drive from Oakland wasn’t particularly interesting, not until she’d reached Sonoma County and then cut over to Napa. It was around Sonoma that the land turned into undulating hills with secret valleys, hiding and then revealing farms and ranches, turn-of-the-century farmhouses, and dark green vineyards. Lauren smiled at one of the weathered farmhouses tucked back off the road, shaded by the massive gnarled limbs of a majestic oak tree. As a girl, she’d thought oak trees ugly; now they represented home. For many, Napa was synonymous with wine, but for her it was farmland, cattle, and trees, funny, bumpy, ugly-beautiful oak trees. The cattle would lie beneath them, seeking shelter from the sun, and rub up against them, scratching their backs.

Her parents, Rick and Candy Summer, owned sixty-five acres just outside downtown Napa. Her dad ran cattle on part of the land, and the rest had been turned into fruit and nut orchards. A couple of years ago he had been approached about planting grapes on one hillside. He wasn’t interested. The ranch had been in his wife’s family for two generations, and he thought they already had a good thing going.

They did, Lauren agreed, crossing the big iron cattle guard marking the entrance to their property just as the sun went down behind the hills. It was twilight as she pulled up in front of the house, and the lavender and gray shadows made the old single-story, three-bedroom house look even smaller and plainer than it usually did.

Her parents weren’t fancy people. They didn’t spend money on luxuries. Their biggest splurge in years had been adding some premium movie channels to their cable package.

Dad was on the porch waiting for her. Mom came bustling out when Lauren’s tennis shoes touched the front steps.

“How was the drive?” Dad asked, giving her a quick hug and taking her overnight bag from her.

“Easy. No traffic,” Lauren answered, turning to kiss her mom. “How are things here?”

“Good. I’ve a roast in the oven. Dinner’s almost ready.” Mom opened the screen door leading back into the house. “Lisa and Matthieu were going to join us, but Matthieu called a little bit ago saying Lisa wasn’t feeling so good and has gone to bed.”

“Is she okay?” Lauren asked, following her mom into the kitchen, where she appeared to be in the middle of mashing potatoes.

“Just overtired,” her mom answered, adding some more melted butter to the potatoes and turning the mixer back on.

“Two people didn’t show up for work today,” her dad added, entering the kitchen behind them. “So Lisa had to cover.”

Lauren peeked into the oven, spotted the garlic-studded roast, admiring its rich brown color. Mom was a great cook. She’d taught Lauren almost everything she knew about food and flavor. “I wish she would have called me. I would have come up earlier.”

“She didn’t want you worrying,” Mom said, adding a good shake of salt and pepper to the bowl. She looked up at Lauren. “The salad’s in the refrigerator, honey. Would you mind putting it on the table?”

“It’s time she cut back,” her dad said. “It’s not good for her, or the baby, to have that kind of stress.”

Her dad wasn’t looking at her, but Lauren knew the comment was directed at her. Meant for her. He was not happy she’d moved to Alameda last September, and even unhappier that she’d stayed. No one could believe she’d just up and left Napa. She had so much history here, as well as a thriving business. But she did go, and it felt good to go, and honestly, Lauren didn’t know if and when she’d ever come back.

“I’ll be at the restaurant early tomorrow morning,” Lauren said as she carried the salad bowl to the dining room table. The table was already set for five. Lauren went about removing Matthieu’s and Lisa’s settings. “I can handle everything so she can take the day off and just rest and stay in bed.”

“And what about this event you’re catering tomorrow?” her dad demanded gruffly, following her into the small, plain dining room with its faded lavender-sprigged wallpaper and oak trim. “How are you going to do that?”

“Easily.” She put the extra dishes in her mother’s china hutch, the silverware in the chest, and was sliding the place mats into the hutch’s drawer when she glanced at her father over her shoulder. His broad, weathered face was creased, his bushy gray eyebrows drawn. “I’m serious, Dad.” She softened her tone, went to him, putting a hand on his arm. “The shopping’s done. Everything’s organized. I’ve got the staffing—”

“Not the restaurant’s servers?”

“No. My catering staff. The ones I use for outside events.”

“And the rentals?”

She squeezed his arm. “Booked and being delivered tomorrow morning right to Meg’s house.”

“What about all the cooking?”

“I’ve got that under control, too.” Lauren rose up on tiptoe, kissed his cheek. “Relax. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

No, it wasn’t her first rodeo, but she wasn’t entirely comfortable doing all the cooking and prep for the reception without Lisa to assist her. Things, though, were what they were, and Lauren, not Lisa, had been the one to make the commitment to Meg.

She would make it work. She’d find a way. And no matter how stressful it might be tomorrow, it was only a day. It’d pass. She’d survive. Experience had taught her that.

After dinner, Lauren washed the dishes and stayed up late, making small talk with her parents. Her mom was the first to turn in.

“Aren’t you tired?” her dad asked as the clock on the mantel chimed eleven. “You’ve been up since four.”

“I’ll go to bed soon,” she answered, kissing him good night and then listening as he locked all the doors and walked down the hall to his room.

Lauren changed the TV channels, trying to find something to watch.

Her eyes felt gritty and dry. Her head ached. She was tired. She’d slept badly last night, but she dreaded turning off the TV and going to bed in her parents’ house. It was easier here than at Grandma’s house, which was actually still her house, filled with her clothes and Blake’s things, which was why she was staying here and not there.

But still . . .

Still.

Lauren changed the channels again. No murder programs. No scary horror things. She needed safe, she needed soothing, she went to the Food Network.

But she couldn’t stay focused. Her attention wandered from the cake competition on the TV to the framed pictures on the wall of the living room.

Lisa’s baby picture.

Lauren’s baby picture.

Blake’s.

Christ.

She forced her gaze back to the TV, aware that there were other framed photos on that wall, too. Lisa’s high school graduation photo. Lauren’s. But not Blake’s. Because Blake would never graduate.

Lauren turned off the TV and headed to her room, knowing that there were no photos there to haunt her. She’d made sure of that earlier.

In her pajamas, she turned out the lights, climbed into bed, willing herself to sleep.

Instead she thought of Blake. This had been his room, their room. Her dad had painted it yellow and put the Toys “R” Us crib in the corner.

For four years she and Blake had shared this room. It had been so hard for both of them, getting him used to his own room when they moved to Grandma’s house. Lauren missed sleeping near him. Missed the sounds he made in his sleep. Missed hearing him breathe at night.

Lauren turned over in bed, dragged the pillow against her chest.

It’d been such a shock to find out she was pregnant. It was still the beginning of her junior year in high school, and she’d only just turned seventeen a few weeks earlier. She hadn’t been worried at first when she was late. She was often late. But as the weeks passed, she got nervous. Scared. She didn’t tell anyone, not even Lisa, who was away at college, a freshman at UC Irvine. Just hoped against hope her period would come.

It didn’t.

Lauren took the pregnancy test the day before the big homecoming parade and game. Positive.

She wanted to call John Meeks, her boyfriend, immediately, needing to talk, needing his support, but she knew even before she called him what he’d tell her to do.

John Meeks wasn’t familiar with compromise. A senior at Napa, he was a standout in football, basketball, and baseball, having lettered in each sport his sophomore year, and Division I schools wanted him for both football and baseball, dangling scholarship offers, but John had his eye on something greater. He didn’t want to go to college. He wanted to go pro right out of high school.

Lauren used to listen to him talk, awed and impressed by his vision for his future. He was going to be big, and he was going to make a lot of money, and nothing and no one would stand in his way.

She’d never dated anyone like John before.

In fact, when he’d first asked her to the winter formal the year before, she’d laughed nervously, thinking he was joking. Even as a junior, he was a big man on campus. Girls loved him. Guys wanted to be him. And Lauren couldn’t believe he would be interested in her.

He was, he insisted, telling her he loved that she was sweet and natural, thinking it cute she did all the aggie stuff like 4-H and Future Farmers of America. Then, once they were a couple, he immediately set about changing her.

Gone were her boots and Wranglers. Gone were the silver belt buckles she’d worn with everything. Gone were the long ponytails. John liked his girlfriend to be feminine, pretty, which meant that every morning Lauren fussed with her hair before school, and wore shoes that hurt her feet. It was a lot of work being John’s girlfriend, but it was also exciting.

People knew John, they followed him, keeping track of his stats and what he’d achieved in his last game—the points, the turnovers, the plays—and now they knew who she was, too.

And her parents, who weren’t easily impressed, liked John. A lot. He was tall, handsome, polite. A star.

A polite, charismatic star, he charmed the pants off his teachers, his coaches, even the school administration.

It wasn’t long before he charmed the pants off Lauren, too.

It actually took more effort on his part than he’d anticipated. Lauren was shy and conservative. But John was persistent. After spending all June and much of July trying to put brakes on John’s advances, she gave in one day late in July, and they made love for the first time in the tiny shed that reeked of the chlorine and chemicals the Meekses used for their pool.

They’d done it standing up, not the most comfortable position for a first time, but he’d gone down on her and made sure she was wet, and Lauren wouldn’t say it hurt badly. It just wasn’t fun. He kissed her after, assuring her it’d be better next time, and he was right. When they did it the next day, back in the hot, sweaty, chlorine-drenched shed, it was . . . okay. She didn’t come, but neither did she bleed. A definite plus.

For the rest of the summer, the pool house was “their spot.” It was set back from the house, and John even added a padlock to ensure they had privacy.

Lauren liked kissing, and got used to the sex, but sex was never the romantic thing romance novels and movies made it out be.

It was a relief when school finally started in September. Lauren loved John, but she was finding it tough studying and helping out on the ranch when she was always so tired.

The exhaustion became almost all-consuming. Lauren couldn’t stay awake. She started to doze off in class. She played hooky one day just to stay in bed and catch up on sleep.

“This isn’t normal,” her mom said, inspecting Lauren’s eyes, touching her face and then her forehead. “Good.”

“Why?”

“I wondered if you had mono.”

“Mono?”

“The kissing disease.”

But no, it wasn’t the kissing disease. It took a home pregnancy test to rule that out.

John didn’t take the news well.

He liked Lauren—she was a very pretty, sweet girl, a very pretty, sweet, accommodating girl—but he wasn’t about to settle down, and had absolutely zero interest in fatherhood.

His parents agreed with him. The Meekses offered to pay for the abortion.

Lauren’s parents told the Meekses to back off and let Lauren decide what she wanted to do.

The Meekses offered her some serious money if she’d end the pregnancy soon.

“John doesn’t need this distraction right now,” Mr. Meeks had said, appearing at the Summers’ house one October evening. “This has to be handled immediately.”

But Lauren couldn’t get an abortion, and after a week of sleepless nights, she announced she’d give the baby up for adoption instead.

Mr. Meeks worked with a prominent attorney who handled adoptions, and a couple was found for John and Lauren’s baby.

Everything went as planned.

Lauren attended school until Christmas break and was then homeschooled her second semester. She went into labor, a week and a half early, on April 25. After twenty-six hours of labor, the baby arrived, weighing six pounds eight ounces and measuring twenty inches long.