Friendship Bread (11 page)

Meanwhile Mark and Julia are in the OB-GYN annex, staring dreamily at the milky image of their unborn baby, their cell phones off so as not to interfere with the equipment. The doctor asks if they want to know the sex, and they both demur. Should it be a surprise? Julia thinks it’s a girl. They decide to wait, so Josh will be surprised, too.

Julia’s doctor prints out several 3-D pictures of their baby, then strings them together to produce a 4-D ultrasound—the baby’s first video. A video! It’s amazing what technology can do, they all marvel. They spend a few more minutes chatting about walking epidurals and how it’s a relief the long, hot summer has finally passed.

Back in the ER, doctors are able to get Josh’s heart going again but the excessive swelling of his larynx has severely slowed the flow of blood to his brain and has caused a massive stroke. Josh is comatose.

Brain dead.

By now Julia and Mark have left the doctor’s office and are in the car driving away when Julia checks her messages. “Turn the car around!” she screams.

This all happened on a Tuesday. On Saturday they disconnected Josh from life support and watched him slip away.

Circulatory collapse. Respiratory arrest. Cerebral hypoxia, fatal anaphylaxis. Julia knows his throat closed up in seconds, but that doesn’t stop her from hearing him, calling to her for help.

This is what Julia sees. And hears. Over and over again.

Julia pushes herself out of bed, stares into the empty hallway. There are spots on the walls, bright rectangles that have been shielded from sunlight for many years. Julia meant to replace the pictures that once hung there but hasn’t gotten around to it—she hadn’t realized how many pictures there were of Livvy until she started taking them down. Livvy appears almost everywhere, at every turn. From the moment Julia got her wish for a baby sister, there was not a moment in her life where Livvy was absent, no such moment until the day after Julia buried her son.

And then it starts, the hurt and anger that washes over Julia like a wave. It’s not like before when it would consume her so she couldn’t see straight, but still Julia can hardly bear to think of it. When Mark and Julia were deciding where to live, Avalon was an easy choice because Livvy and her parents were here. Mark’s family lives in St. Louis, but he’s not close with them, not the way Julia is with her family.

Was
. The way Julia
was
with her family.

Julia decides to forgo a shower and drifts down the stairs, grateful for the quiet house but feeling the dull melancholy of loneliness, too. It’s like this for the next hour as she pulls herself together, going through short “to do” lists in her mind.

By the time the phone rings, Julia’s changed into a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved knit top, her hair knotted into a ponytail.
Nobody really calls anymore, and Julia debates whether or not she can be bothered to answer it. Before Josh’s death she and Livvy would talk several times a day, about everything and nothing. Julia hasn’t let herself miss those calls, those long and sometimes pointless conversations, but today Julia finds herself thinking that if it is Livvy who’s calling, maybe she won’t hang up the phone this time, maybe she’ll just listen to whatever it is Livvy has to say.

But what would Julia say to her?

“I don’t think I’m doing this right.” It’s Hannah, the young Asian woman Julia met last week at the tea salon. She sounds discouraged. “I found your name in the phone book—I hope it’s all right that I’m calling.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Her first words of the day. Julia coughs, clearing the sleep from her throat. “You’re not doing what right?”

“The Amish Friendship Bread. It’s so runny! Should I add more flour? My roommate had a breadmaker in college and I remember it being more doughy …”

Julia realizes she’s been holding her breath as she listens to Hannah talk, her voice anxious through the telephone line. It’s such a small thing—this simple telephone conversation—and yet Julia can’t quite believe it’s happening. A normal conversation that has nothing to do with her, or Gracie’s school, or Mark coming home late from work. There’s no hint of concern, no careful treading around Julia. In fact, Hannah is speaking in such a rush that Julia finds herself in the unusual position of stopping another person from getting worked up into a frenzy.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Julia says. She hears the amusement in her own voice and it makes her smile. “I should have told you. It’s called Amish Friendship Bread but it’s a sweet bread, more like a cake. Like banana bread.”

“Oh!” Hannah breathes. “So this is okay, then?”

“It’s okay. Did you put it in the oven yet?” Julia leans against the kitchen counter, the phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder.

“No. I thought I should call you first.”

“Put it in and then call me in an hour when it’s ready,” Julia tells her.

Hannah hesitates. “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out.”

“You won’t.” Julia can’t remember what she was going to do this morning—as usual her plan was no plan. “Talk to you soon.”

They hang up and Julia turns to look at her own bag of starter, which is ready to be divided. They’ll bake when Gracie comes home. They’ve already copied the instructions and Gracie has preselected more friends at school she wants to give the extra bags to. They’ll bake a loaf to keep and maybe one for Mark to take to work. If he wants to.

Julia is restless, checking the clock to see if the hour is up yet. She has a burst of energy and finishes organizing
and
wiping down the refrigerator with bleach in record time. When was the last time she’d done that? A year ago, maybe, and it had taken her forever. She did a shelf a day, then the door, then the freezer over another three days. A week. It took her a week. And now she’s done in just under an hour.

Julia thinks back ten days ago, when she first met Hannah at Madeline’s. She had no idea what Hannah was crying about that day, but Julia was grateful. For once she didn’t feel like the only person in the room with a tragedy.

When the phone rings, Julia practically leaps at it. “Hello?”

“Hi, Julia. It’s Hannah. I’m so sorry to have bothered you. You were right—the bread came out perfect! I’m waiting for it to cool and then I’m going to have a slice.” Hannah sounds pleased, and Julia feels oddly proud.

“That’s great to hear. I’m glad it turned out okay.”

“Me, too. I’ve got two left thumbs in the kitchen so I was sure I’d done something wrong. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“Anytime.” Julia doesn’t want to hang up the phone but she can’t think of anything else to say.

“There’s just one more thing …”

“Yes?”

“It was fun, but I really don’t bake or cook. What am I supposed to do with these bags of starter?”

Julia laughs, remembering what it felt like to be in Hannah’s exact predicament ten days ago. “My daughter would be thrilled to take the extra bags to school,” she tells Hannah. “I think there’s a waiting list of kids who want to try the bread at home.”

Hannah gasps. “I’m so glad! I was afraid it would go to waste.”

“I know what you mean.” Julia’s been thinking about this and has come up with a theory. Her theory is that doing a little something every day to the starter somehow endears you to it. You become too attached to just throw it down the drain, to let it go to waste.

“I really appreciate you sharing this with me and helping me out. Can I treat you to lunch?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Hannah,” Julia says. She immediately wishes she could take it back. It sounds like she doesn’t want to go out, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. She quickly adds, “I mean, I’m happy to pay for myself.” She sees her reflection on the oven door. She’ll need to fix her hair, put on a little makeup.

“How about you pick up next time?” Hannah proposes, and Julia feels happy at the suggestion that there is the possibility of more to come. “And is it okay if we go back to Madeline’s?”

Julia can’t think of any place better. “I’d love to go back to Madeline’s.”

“Is noon okay?”

“Noon.” Julia says the word slowly, remembering what it feels like to set a date, to make a commitment. “Noon would be perfect.”

Hannah rests her forearms on the counter and inhales deeply, taking in the sweet scent of the bread. The cinnamon crust is dotted with small sugar crystals, tiny edible diamonds. The bread is warm to the touch so Hannah gently taps it out of the pan and puts it on the wire rack to cool. She still can’t believe that she baked something by herself. And from scratch! Ever since she started playing professionally
at the age of sixteen, her meals have primarily been on the run—takeout, something quick and microwavable, dinner at other people’s houses. The habit sort of stuck, even after she stopped playing for a living. Plus Philippe preferred eating out—he liked the attention that came with favoring a few restaurants that made it their business to know him by name.

Since living in Avalon Hannah has tried her hand at cooking, mostly because she hates eating alone in public, but she doesn’t really know what to do in the kitchen. She doesn’t have a well-stocked pantry and everything seems to take so long—the preparation as well as the cooking, not to mention the cleanup. She wonders if Philippe is right, that it’s just easier to eat out. She’s tired afterward, not even hungry anymore.

But the Amish Friendship Bread looks and smells so wonderful that Hannah can’t resist. She breaks off a piece and pops it into her mouth. It’s fabulous. She wishes Philippe could see her now, could see the woman she’s becoming and that he’s missing out on. He had been furious that she hadn’t followed his instructions to the letter and let the movers do the packing. For a second she was scared, thinking that she was making a bad situation worse. And then she stopped herself.

Why is she the one feeling bad? She’s been the agreeable one since the beginning of their relationship. When Philippe suggested they move in together, she agreed. When he wanted to get engaged a couple years sooner than Hannah would have liked, she agreed. When he wanted to move to Chicago, she agreed, even though it meant that she was the one flying back and forth for those couple of years to make their long-distance relationship work. After they got married, it was Philippe who called the shots, who picked the furniture, who chose their cars and where they would live, what vacations they would take. It had been his idea to move to Avalon, a decision that surprised Hannah, but delighted her, too. She had agreed to everything, and now she is filled with regret.

He assures her that he will take care of her, that everything won’t be any more complicated than it needs to be. He has his earnings and
she has hers, it’s always been separate. He’ll give her the house in Avalon to keep or sell if she’ll agree to give him their apartment in Chicago which, he points out, is half the size. He’ll send Hannah her things from the apartment once the season is over in June. They’ll each keep their respective cars—Hannah has a Toyota, Philippe an Audi—and that should be the end of that.

Jerk
, she thinks as she eats another piece, stopping only because she wants to save room for lunch with Julia. They’re meeting in a few minutes, but it’s a short walk to Madeline’s and Hannah doesn’t want to seem too eager. Then again, since she’s the one inviting she shouldn’t be late, either. She puts the three bags of starter into her purse then gathers the rest of her things and steps outside.

It’s a beautiful day in Avalon, still cold but with all the early signs of spring on its way. Hannah buttons her jacket and ties a scarf around her neck as she walks along the sidewalk. She looks at the houses adjacent to hers, noticing that their homes look lived in, cared for. Their street in particular has a row of single-story bungalow-style houses built in the late 1800s with wood siding and shingled roofs, all with garages that were added after the fact. Hannah and Philippe’s house is one of the few properties that had undergone additional renovations to expand the size of the house, the appliances upgraded, the original wood floors refinished and restored. The ornamental fireplace—typical for these old homes—was replaced with one that actually worked. The small front yards belie their spacious backyards, one of the features Hannah loves about their home. It’s what she missed the most in New York and Chicago. Space. Grass. Your own tree. Now Hannah has five, the royal empress being her favorite. The fragrant purple blossoms are just starting to bloom.

There’s a pride in the simple upkeep and landscaping of their street, which isn’t far from Avalon Park and the elementary school. Hannah likes that Avalon is big enough that you need a car to get around and at the same time there’s so much within walking distance. Less than fifteen minutes away there’s a bona fide neighborhood ice cream parlor with black-and-white checkered floors and a row of red
vinyl stools at the counter. Hannah sees the kids go there after school, backpacks lined outside the parlor, an Avalon tradition. Hannah likes that.

Her pace slows as she nears Madeline’s. There are more cars and more people coming in and out of the tea salon, reassuring activity for a place that seemed so quiet the first few months Hannah has been here. She spots Julia emerging from her car and smiles brightly when Julia sees her and gives a wave.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Hannah says as they meet up and head toward the entrance of Madeline’s. “I’ve been going stir crazy in the house.”

“Me, too,” Julia says. “I was cleaning my refrigerator when you called.”

Hannah looks like she’s about to apologize but Julia quickly waves it away. “It’s a relief for me to get out, too.”

They step inside and are immediately enveloped in warm, delicious smells. Many of the tables are taken and Hannah sees a bob of silvery white hair as Madeline emerges from the kitchen with two plates of food, looking frenzied.

She takes a moment to chat with a customer, picks up a sweaty pitcher of iced tea, and begins to offer refills as she floats from table to table. Both Julia and Hannah hesitate, unsure if they should wait or come back another time. At that moment, Madeline looks up and a wide smile spreads across her face.