The First Love Cookie Club (12 page)

“Mine’s Reese’s Pieces. Chocolate on the outside, peanut butter on the inside. Yum.” Jazzy rubbed her tummy.

“How about Reese’s peanut butter cups?”

Jazzy canted her head as if this was a matter for very serious discourse. “I like them, but they’re just not as good as Reese’s Pieces. Reese’s Pieces are crunchy.”

“I get what you’re saying.”

“So have you thought about it? Do you know what your favorite candy is? Daddy’s favorite candy is Tootsie Pops, right, Daddy?”

“That’s right.” Travis nodded.

“Tell Sarah how come they’re your favorite.”

His eyes met Sarah’s across the table. “They’re hard on the outside and while that might throw some people, I like how you have to lick and lick and lick to get to the soft, chewy Tootsie Roll in the middle. It’s two different candies in one.”

Sarah had the strangest feeling he wasn’t talking about Tootsie Pops. “You know, I’ve always had a weakness for Tootsie Pops myself,” she confessed, and wondered if it had anything to do with the time he cut across her grandmother’s front lawn after coming back from the grocery store, pulled a cherry Tootsie Pop from the sack he was carrying, and tossed it to her and said, “Here you go, squirt.”

“You know what we should do?” Jazzy asked.

“I’m getting an inkling,” Travis said.

“What’s that?” Jazzy feigned innocence.

“It means you’re dropping hints.”

“Who me?”

He ruffled his daughter’s hair. “You want to go by the Candy Bin on the way home.”

“Well, now that you suggested it,” she said, “I think that’s an excellent idea, Daddy.”

Travis’s eyes met Sarah. He cupped one hand around his ear. “Hear that?”

“What?”

“That’s the sound of me being wrapped tightly around someone’s pinkie finger.”

“She’s a master charmer.” Sarah grinned. “Takes after her father. I’ve heard payback is wickedly just.”

“Does this mean we’re going to the Candy Bin?” Jazzy asked.

Travis gave his daughter a rueful smile. “Was there ever any doubt?”

They walked from Pasta Pappa’s to the Candy Bin, which was right across the street, and picked out their selections. Reese’s Pieces for Jazzy, a grape Tootsie Pop for Travis, a cherry one for Sarah.

The walk back to the Merry Cherub was a quiet one. Jazzy was intent on Reese’s Pieces and Sarah was no longer so nervous that she felt the need to babble. The clock in the courthouse chimed nine times. When they reached the porch of the Merry Cherub, Travis stopped on the bottom step.

“This was fun,” he said.

“Even if we jump-started grapevine gossip?”

“I’m not worried about my reputation,” he said. “Are you?”

“No. I had a nice time.”

They stood looking at each other, Jazzy happily humming “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” And the moment felt completely and utterly perfect. It was so perfect, in fact, a hard knot of longing lodged itself tight against Sarah’s rib cage.

“Well,” Travis said. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Sarah raised a palm and leaned her head against the porch column, and as she watched them walk away she couldn’t help thinking it was the best date she’d ever had.

“Daddy?”

Travis kept his hand at her back, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing, reassuring himself that the exertion wasn’t too much for her as they walked home. “Uh-huh, sweetheart?”

“How come Sarah has two names? I thought she was Sadie Cool?”

“One name is her real name,” he explained. “The other is a pseudonym.”

“What’s a … pseudonym?” Jazzy said the word slowly, trying it out on her tongue.

“It’s a name that people like writers or actors take for their public image.”

Jazzy wrinkled her nose. “So it’s a fake name?”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

“But isn’t that lying? If you say it’s your name, but it’s not really your name?”

“No, it’s a business name. Like the people who run the Candy Bin are named Hollister.”

“Yeah, but the Candy Bin isn’t a person’s name.”

“But you can have a person’s name for a business name like Sarah does.”

“Why doesn’t she just use Sarah as her business name? It’s a pretty name.”

“For privacy reasons I imagine.”

“What does that mean?”

“So if people go looking for her, they can’t find her.”

“She doesn’t want to be found?”

“Not by bad people.”

Jazzy turned her head to look up at him, alarm written on her face. “Bad people are after her?”

Why had he said that? It was a stupid thing to have said. “No, no, I didn’t mean that. Not bad people … just, well … sometimes when someone is famous like Sarah is, there are other people who want to be around them all the time and the famous people don’t even really know them and wish they’d go away.”

“Oh, like Sarah was hiding from people at the scavenger hunt?”

“Yes, like that.”

“Sarah doesn’t like being famous?”

Travis paused, considering it. “No, I don’t think she does. She’s the kind of person who enjoys being by herself a lot.”

“Like Mommy?”

Travis snorted. That’s what Crystal had told Jazzy when she’d left. That she just needed to be by herself for a while. Well, four years was a long-ass while. “Did you eat all those Reese’s Pieces already?” he asked, trying for the misdirect.

“Yep.” She grinned up at him. “You know, if I was famous, I would never hide from people. I like people. Even the weird ones.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. And they all like you.”

“Except for Mommy. She didn’t like being around me.”

“No!” Travis said. Jazzy looked startled, and he realized he’d spoken too sharply and lowered his voice. “Mommy loves you very, very much. She just wasn’t ready to be a mommy.”

“But you were ready to be a daddy.”

“Yes, I was very, very ready to be your daddy.”

“How come you were ready and Mommy wasn’t?”

“People are different, Jazzy, that’s all. Not everyone is alike.”

They were walking up Lakeshore Drive now and the wind coming off the lake was chilly. He should have brought the car. Why hadn’t he brought the car? Jazzy might be doing well right now but something as slight as a cool breeze could cause her to start coughing. He stopped, crouched down. “C’mere.”

“What is it, Daddy?”

“Let’s do your coat up tight and tie the hood under your chin. We don’t want you catching cold.”

“I’m fine.” When she moved her head, the all-weather material of her pink and blue car coat made a swishing sound.

“Indulge your old dad, okay?”

“You’re not old.” Jazzy giggled as he pulled the zipper all the way to the top of her throat and secured the hood under her chin with the pink tie string.

“Thanks for that.” He kissed the tip of her nose and she giggled again.

They arrived at the house a few minutes later. Jazzy took a bath and got ready for bed, then he came into her bedroom to perform the ritual he performed every night—reading his daughter a bedtime story before tucking her in. Tonight, she asked for
The Magic Christmas Cookie.
Travis had read it so many times he knew it verbatim. He recited the story of a lonely little girl who wished on a magic Christmas cookie for a family of herown and got whisked away to the North Pole by a beautiful golden sleigh. Once there she found the love and happiness she’d always been searching for with Santa and Mrs. Claus and all the elves.

When the story was finished, he tucked the covers around Jazzy, gave her a good-night kiss on the forehead, and got up.

“Daddy?”

He paused at the door, his hand on the light switch. “Uh-huh?”

“Do you think maybe Sarah is ready to be a mommy?”

Do you think maybe Sarah is ready to be a mommy?

Jazzy’s question ate at Travis as he got ready for bed. He’d hemmed, he’d hawed, he’d hedged, and finally he’d just told her good night and turned off the light without really answering her question.

It wasn’t the answer to the question that bothered him so much. Honestly, he had no idea if Sarah was ready for marriage and motherhood. He barely knew the woman. Yes, he’d known her years ago, but to him she’d just been the kid next door, although to her, he’d clearly been her adolescent fantasy. But he was a different person now and so was she.

No, what troubled him about Jazzy’s question was the implication that his daughter saw her as mommy material. Not just that, but he could tell she was charmed by Sarah. Jazzy fell in love with people quickly and absolutely, and he was scared she’d fall in love with Sarah only to have Sarah go back to New York, leaving her just as Crystal did.

He didn’t blame Sarah, of course. She couldn’t help it that Jazzy was enamored. No, he blamed himself. He was the one who hadn’t seen this coming. He shouldn’t have invited Sarah to the Christmas pageant. Shouldn’t have taken her to eat pizza at Pasta Pappa’s or for Tootsie Pops at the Candy Bin. And he shouldn’t be feeling the things he was feeling for her. He was physically attracted to her, big time. Plus they had fun together. He enjoyed her quick-witted banter, and obviously Jazzy had picked up on that. But his job was to protect his daughter, and exposing her to Sarah on more than a superficial basis had been a huge mistake.

Sarah was only in town until Sunday. All he had to do was get through the pajama party at the bookstore on Saturday night and then he’d be home free. Until then, he’d do his best to just stay out of her way.

It was only a few more days. How hard could it be?

The First Love Cookie Club started their annual Christmas cookie swap at three in the afternoon and the party usually went on until nine or ten at night. Over the years, they’d learned if they started the party at six or seven, then everyone would linger until the wee hours of the morning, so they hit on the idea of starting in the afternoon and it had worked so well, they’d adopted it as their ritual.

Or rather that’s what Christine told Sarah when she arrived at Christine’s house at two fifty-five with the peppermint cookies she’d baked in Jenny’s kitchen at the Merry Cherub. The cookieswere wrapped up in a cheery blue box decorated with snowflakes. Jenny had made the box for her when she realized Sarah intended on simply using a paper plate and plastic wrap.

“Oh my, those smell delicious,” said Belinda, coming up the sidewalk behind Sarah. She wore a blue denim skirt and a thick Santa Claus sweater with a blue jean jacket over it, and she carried a huge festive holiday tin featuring Santa’s elves at a bowling alley.

“So do yours,” Sarah said, catching a whiff of cream cheese and apricots.

“They’re Winter Wonder Land Cookies. My great-grandmother’s recipe. Aren’t family traditions wonderful?”

Christine ushered them into the foyer, took their jackets, and hung them on the coatrack beside the door. From where she stood, Sarah could see into the living room. A large, fresh-cut pine tree sat in front of the window, tastefully decorated with red and white lights, candy canes, and red and white cooking-themed ornaments. There was a tiny red stand mixer, a Tom Thumb-sized carton of eggs, Mrs. Santa in an apron holding a platter of cookies, a curtsying gingerbread woman, and a red and white refrigerator with the door standing open and a little light inside.

The furniture was French provincial, the main color scheme sage green and eggshell with yellow accents. A big orange Maine Coon cat lay curled up in front of the gas fireplace. From the music system the sound of Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas” sent Sarah rocketing back to a childhood memory she’d all but forgotten. In that momentshe was thirteen again on the cusp of womanhood, but still excited by Christmas.

She was at Gram’s and her parents were supposed to arrive that Christmas Eve. She hadn’t seen them since Thanksgiving holidays and she was anxious to tell them about the straight A’s she’d gotten in English. The cookies were baked, the presents she’d picked out for her parents and wrapped herself were tucked under the tree. And then they’d called at the last minute. Hospital emergency. They weren’t going to make it to Twilight for Christmas.

Gram had been more upset than Sarah. “I’m proud of my daughter,” she’d said. “She came from working-class people who were lucky to graduate high school and she studied hard and pulled herself up by her bootstraps and became a heart surgeon. But she doesn’t know the first thing about being a mother. And on that score, I’m ashamed of her. She’s got something missing. Helen just doesn’t have the maternal gene.”

Sarah had pretended not to care as she stared at the packages underneath the tree. She’d withdrawn inside her head and started telling herself a story about a magical place where parents never stood their kids up on Christmas. Finally, when they had shown up two days later, they’d given Sarah a suture kit, a microscope, and a certificate of deposit with the money in it earmarked for medical school. What she’d wanted and specifically asked for was
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,
a CD by the Backstreet Boys, and a Mickey Mouse watch. She’d gotten none of those things.

Gram had picked up the wrapping paper off theliving room floor, looked at Sarah’s unhappy face, and muttered, “She doesn’t have a clue.”

“Sarah?”

She blinked, realized Christine had been saying something to her. “Yes?”

“Come on into the kitchen. Would you like red wine, white wine, or eggnog, or would you prefer something nonalcoholic?”

She didn’t normally drink at this hour of the day. In all honesty, she rarely drank alcohol at all, but a cup of eggnog or a glass of wine might help her relax a bit. Benny was always telling her she needed to let her hair down once in a while and enjoy herself. The thing was, she found it hard to relax when she had to be “on” socially.

“Eggnog sounds nice,” she said, trailing Christine into the kitchen.

Belinda had bustled in ahead of them and started laying out her cookies on the sideboard already laden with various nibbles. Artisanal cheeses—Stilton, Garroxta, Brie, smoked Gouda. Elegant crackers—sesame, pumpkin seed, cracked black pepper. Crudités—celery, carrots, cucumbers sliced long, cauliflower, and broccoli spears. Dips—hummus, French onion, black bean, avocado. Unexpected to find such a chic spread in a small country town.

The centerpiece was a floral mix of white and red poinsettias surrounded by sprigs of holly. Twinkle lights were strung around the inside of the windows, and on the kitchen counter, vanilla-scented candles flickered. In a silver tin beside the candles, several dozen iced sugar cookies lay nestled.

It was all so nice it made Sarah’s head hurt.

The doorbell rang and Christine went off to answer it. A minute later she came back with Raylene, Patsy, and Dotty Mae, carrying bags and packages. All three wore Christmassy outfits. Dotty Mae was dressed in a green crushed velvet pantsuit so much like something Gram would have worn it made Sarah nostalgic. Raylene had on one of her infamous short skirts (today it was red leather), topped with a white silk blouse under a holiday-themed knitted sweater vest. Patsy wore a sparkly burgundy top over tailored black slacks, with a diamond-studded snowman brooch pinned to her collar.

“Y’all ready to party?” Raylene asked and held up a bottle of peppermint schnapps.

“Marva and Terri aren’t here yet,” Christine said, but just then there was a knock on the back French doors.

Sarah looked over to see Marva and Terri standing on the patio.

“Gang’s all here,” Dotty Mae said.

Christine waved them in.

The French doors opened and Marva and Terri popped inside. Terri carried brightly colored, lunch-sized paper bags with handles and a clear plastic case stuffed with art supplies—green and red glitter, bottles of Elmer’s glue, pipe cleaners, construction paper. The wind scooted in with them, blowing autumn leaves, now crunchy and brown, over the threshold.

“Get back,” Terri said, and kicked the leaves back onto the patio. “You’re not invited.”

“What’s with the art supplies?” Patsy asked Terri.

“Vivian asked me if I’d decorate bags for the party favors for the PJ party tomorrow night at the Book Nook. Gerald is so excited. He can’t wait to wear his new Spider-Man pajamas in public.”

“Who’s Gerald?” Sarah asked Christine.

“Terri’s four-year-old son. He’s cute as a button, but be forewarned, he’s hell on wheels,” Christine whispered. “You’ll see for yourself tomorrow at the pajama party.”

“And you brought these paper bags to our party why?” Raylene eyed the art supplies with disdain.

Terri smiled brightly. “I figured if we got bored—“

“Honey, I’m gonna be drinkin', you don’t want me anywhere near scissors,” Raylene said. “Speaking of which, hook me up with some eggnog, Christine.”

Everyone laughed and dived into the drinks and food.

On the island counter in the center of the kitchen, Christine had busily arranged the cookie selection. Eight different types, eight dozen apiece— Raylene’s spice cookies and Christine’s pecan sandies and Sarah’s peppermint cookies and Dotty Mae’s fudge cookies and Patsy’s thumbprint cookies and Belinda’s cream cheese and apricot cookies and Terri’s molasses cookies and Marva’s lemon squares. It was a kaleidoscope of smells and colors and textures. An embarrassment of riches.

Food porn,
Sarah thought, and then she noticed what was missing. No kismet cookies. No one had made her grandmother’s recipe. Out of respect? Or because they thought Sarah was going to make them? She’d thought about it, but she hadn’t had the heart.

Once they were all seated around the room Christine picked up a little silver bell and shook it to produce a melodious tinkling sound. “Okay,” she said. “Who wants to go first?”

“Go first?” Sarah raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a tradition at the First Love Cookie Club for the members to tell stories about their first loves— both with cookies and with romance,” Belinda explained. “So at every cookie swap each December, we all tell a story about our first loves. And it’s got to be something we’ve never told before.”

Sarah shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t want to talk about her first love. Not to a roomful of people she barely knew. Especially a roomful of small-town people who liked to swap stories.

“Since I’ve never had a first love,” Christine said, “I’ll go first just to get us started and talk about the first time I realized the healing power of cookies.”

“Do tell.” Terri crunched a celery stalk loaded down with red pepper hummus.

“It was just after the accident.” She waved at her leg. “And the doctors had told my parents I would probably never walk again, much less run track. My dreams of Olympics glory were over. And Marva here …”—she paused to smile at Marva— “who was my math teacher at the time, came to see me in the hospital. She baked me a batch of cookies to cheer me up. I was sobbing my heart out because the only thing I’d ever wanted to be was an Olympic sprinter. Marva told me to stop feeling sorry for myself, that there were plenty of people much worse off than I was and if I couldn’t run anymore, I needed to find something else I loved just as much to take the place of running.”

Everyone swung her gaze to Marva.

Marva looked humble. “It wasn’t me. It was all you, Christine. I just pried your eyes open a bit.”

“That wasn’t all. After you left, I bit into one of those cookies and it tasted like heaven in my mouth. Butterscotch pecan, I remember it so clearly. Those cookies made me feel better. You put your love and concern for me into those cookies and it transformed me. Knowing that I could bake cookies like that and put all my love and devotion into them and now look where I am …” Christine swung her arms expansively, a beatific glow on her face. “Owning my own bakery, serving the community every day with my personal expression of love. I’ve forgotten all about running, but I damn sure walked again.”

“Um …” Marva said, “I don’t suppose this is the time to tell you those cookies were store-bought?”

“What?” Christine exclaimed.

Marva laughed. “I’m kidding.”

“Oh whew.” Christine pantomimed wiping sweat from her forehead. “And here I was thinking my whole career was based on a lie.”

They all laughed then, the room filling up with the sounds of their pleasure.

“So who’s next?” Christine asked.

“I’ll go,” Terri offered. “Did I ever tell you guys about the first time Ted kissed me?”

Everyone shook her head and Terri was off, talking about how Ted had kissed her underneath the bleachers after her team won the regional soccer tournament.

“Ooh,” Belinda said. “First kisses from our first love. That’ll be this year’s theme.”

The stories continued, and Sarah knew they’d soon get around to her. But she didn’t want to play the game. Didn’t want to admit that she’d been kissed by her first love just last week under the mistletoe at the Horny Toad.

Sarah sat watching it all unfold, the detached observer, not part of them, but feeling the warmth like a fringe dweller sitting on the outskirts of a campfire. In fact, she was sitting closest to the exit, a bit apart from the rest, a visitor to this fine world. That lonely, distant feeling she often felt in a room crowded with people pushed at her. Pushed her back, pushed her away, until it felt as if she was standing in the corner all by herself. Everyone else was laughing and talking and eating.

And as usual, she was on the outside looking in. An ill fit no matter where she went.

Observing the others, she felt herself sinking into the dark spiral that had plagued her since early childhood. A dark spiral she oftentimes found oddly comforting in its bleakness. It crept upon her like a cold, black hole whenever she tried to fit in where she didn’t belong. It was easier, preferable to just separate, detach, disengage.

In that moment her feelings were too big to process. Her need to belong, her fear that she never would. The childish, all-consuming love she’d once felt for Travis; the new feelings for him stirring inside her that she could not face.