How to Bake a Perfect Life (48 page)

“We’ll see.”

She nods. “
You’ll
see. I
know
.”

My mother, whose hotel room has a kitchenette, went shopping with Katie in the afternoon, and the pair of them have prepared a feast to serve in the courtyard of her hotel, not far away from the hospital. The air is soft and warm as we arrive, the night filled with crickets and, far away, the sound of music. There are tacos and strawberry shortcake and candles all in pink and white and red.

My mother comes forward, crisp and pressed. “Jonah,” she says, holding out her hand. “We didn’t have a chance to talk last night. How extraordinary that you are here.”

He nods, grasps her hand, covers it with his own. “I am glad to see you again after so long. You look just the same.”

“No, I don’t, and neither do you, but I would have known you anywhere.” For a minute she peers at him, then, finding
whatever she was looking for, gestures for him to sit down. Merlin sidles up to him and flops down happily.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Lily says to me, kissing my cheek.

We settle in for serious feasting, talking about Marcus and Oscar, who has been cheerful if easily wearied today. Then my mother tells us the story of Sofia going into labor without knowing it. “That isn’t how it happened with me,” Lily says.

“What was it like, Lily,” Jonah asks, “the day Ramona was born?”

She smiles and looks at me. “It was hot. Really hot. I was tired of being pregnant, and grumpy, and there was a thunderstorm every afternoon. Her dad was working twenty hours a day at the Erin, and he wasn’t around. I was mad at him, too.

“When the lightning started, I knew the baby was coming, so I called my mother and she went with me to the hospital. Complaining all the way, of course, that my husband should be there, that men should take more responsibility.”

I laugh. To Jonah and Katie, I say, “Let’s just say she didn’t have a lot of faith in the male of the species.”

“Right.” Lily brushes crumbs off the table. “So we got to the hospital and they whisked me away and it took about seven hours, but Ramona finally ambled into the world. And my mother”—she shakes her head—“who was not the best of mothers by anyone’s measure, that woman took one look at Ramona and her red hair and fell head over heels in love. Right there, that minute. I think you changed your grandmother,” she says.

There’s such a wistful note in her voice that even Katie notices. She puts a comforting hand on my mother’s arm. “She didn’t mean to hurt you, your mom. Adelaide told me she always felt bad about it.”

For a long, utterly quiet second, the air is charged. Finally my mother says, “What?”

“Adelaide told me, that lady who comes to pick the flowers.”

A shiver runs down my spine. “Are you sure it was Adelaide?”

“Yeah. She’s the one who taught me that rhyme:

One for the cutworm
One for the crow
One to rot and one to grow.”

I think of the flowers in the front of the house, the bachelor’s buttons and daisies. “Did she tell you how to plant the front yard?”

“Yeah, and she was right. It looks good.” Katie glances between my mother and me. “She told me it was okay, that Ramona said it was all right.”

“Honey, are you
sure
her name was Adelaide?” Lily asks.

The mood is so odd, Jonah takes my hand.

“Well, it’s not exactly a name I’d make up. She’s always forgetting to put her tooth in.”

“Her bridge?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She picks up a tortilla and rolls it into a tube. “She’s the one who told me about your mom beating you when you were fifteen and that you felt bad the summer Ramona got pregnant and—”

“Stop,” my mother says, and stands up. Her face is pure white. “This is a terrible joke.”

“Mom,” I say, and take her hand. “Sit down.”

Katie looks stricken. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Everything Adelaide told you is true.” I keep a hand on my mother’s shoulder, not letting her fly away.

“Well, I think I should say the last thing,” Katie says, “which is that she said that your mom was always sorry and never found a way to make it better.”

My mother’s hand is visibly shaking as she reaches for Katie.
In a voice that I know means she is struggling for control, she says only, “Well, the next time you see her, you tell her that I forgave my mother a long time ago.”

Katie frowns. “What is wrong with you guys?”

“Nothing, sweetie. Thanks for the report.” I rub my hands together. “Now, isn’t it time for presents?”

Jonah stands. “I’ll be right back.”

When he heads for the car, my mother leans in. “He really grew into his looks, didn’t he? But such a shame about that hand.”

“Mom!”

She straightens. “It’s true.”

When he returns, Jonah is carrying a guitar. As he lopes across the grass, I am fifteen again, and he is a little too old for me, his long brown hair loose on his shoulders and my young heart full to overflowing. The two Jonahs meld as he sits down in front of me and meets my gaze. “I wrote this in the summer of 1985,” he says, “and it’s called ‘Ramona.’ ”

He begins to play. It is Spanish guitar, mournful and joyful all at once, full of the contradictions of life, of love. I see the colors of that summer winding around the notes, the gray of the clouds, the promise of our connection, and I smell bread.

And whatever else happens, whatever else I might know later, I know that even if soul mates don’t exist, this one time the heavens or the Fates or whoever is in charge has made an exception.

When he stops playing and raises his head, vulnerable and shy and waiting, I stand up and kiss him with all of that on my mouth. What’s one more hostage to fortune, after all? “I love you,” I whisper so quietly only he can hear. He hugs me so hard I think it might break my ribs.

“I love you, too.”

Behind us, Katie cheers and claps, and my mother, who I suspect is wiping away tears, joins her a split second later.

STEP FIVE

The best smell is bread, the best savour salt, the best love that of children
.

—
G
RAHAM
G
REENE

Katie

S
EPTEMBER

  S
he’s wearing a dress for maybe the third time in her entire life. She likes the way it swings around her legs as she cuts dahlias from the garden. Her father is coming home today, and Katie is moving in with him, Sofia, and her little brother, Marcus, who is the cutest baby she’s ever, ever seen. Katie is glad, but she’s also going to miss living here over the bakery, with all the smells of bread, and the garden, and her bedroom overlooking the back and the mountains. Ramona says the room is hers forever now, and she can come stay whenever she wants. Katie can tell Ramona is emotional about her moving. She keeps hugging her at odd times.

Which is why she’s collecting the flowers, finding the very best ones from the entire garden. The kenora majestic is blooming, as big as Katie’s head, and three of them fill a vase. She tucks in some asters, a soft bluish purple, and stands back to admire it. Behind the vase rises the house, and high up in the trees is her bedroom.

Ramona sold the bakery to the family corporation last month, and ever since, Lily and James have been over a lot. Ramona still runs the place, but her family—as she says herself—likes to be
in the middle of things. This way she has the business and her grandmother’s house, and she has access to the accountants and businesspeople in the corporation. She also has backup if she wants to travel, which she does, with Jonah, maybe next summer when everything is more settled.

A breeze rustles through the trees, and Merlin leaps up, rushing toward the back of the garden with a little yip. Katie freezes.

Because it turns out that the name
Adelaide
is the name of Ramona’s grandmother. Which means that maybe the old lady who talks to her is a ghost.

She’s afraid to turn around, and then she does.

No one’s there. Only Merlin, acting silly, as if someone is there. When Milo comes sauntering out of the corn, Katie lets go of a breath and shakes her head at herself. Imagining things.

She picks up the vase of flowers and carries it inside, leaving it on the table for Ramona to find later. She bought a card with a picture of a woman and a little girl dancing. For a long time, she struggles with what to say exactly, and then it comes to her.

Dear Ramona
,

I love you. Thanks for everything
.

Katie

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BARBARA O’NEAL fell in love with food and restaurants at the age of fifteen, when she landed a job in a Greek café and served baklava for the first time. She sold her first novel in her twenties, and has since won a plethora of awards, including two Colorado Book Awards and
six
prestigious RITAs, including one for
The Lost Recipe for Happiness
. Her novels have been widely published in Europe and Australia, and she travels all over the world, presenting workshops, hiking hundreds of miles, and, of course, eating. She lives with her partner, a British endurance athlete, and their collection of cats and dogs, in Colorado Springs.