The Baker's Wife (39 page)
People lingered in the afternoon light that warmed the front room as the aromas waned and the ovens were shut down. Harlan and Diane left together to visit Cora Jean's grave, then to take supper to Juliet. Leslie, still clearly shell-shocked, courageously came into the bakery with her parents, who brought fresh steaks and profuse thanks for Geoff and Ed's care of their daughter during the crisis. They shared gratitude that their families were still intact.
Leslie asked for permission to put a cheerful paper-covered box on the counter that bore snapshots of Jack, Julie, and Coach. A sign on the slotted top said
Please offer your prayers and support
for our friends' recovery
.
Geoff placed it squarely in front of the cash register.
“Eat well tonight,” Mrs. Wood said. “Together.”
The Woods' plans to visit Coach Henderson at the hospital next prompted Ed and Geoff to hang up their aprons and follow suit.
Audrey didn't rush anyone away. She made kind small talk with the stragglers and sidestepped invasive questions about Jack and Julie with the practiced grace of a pastor's wife. Perhaps there wasn't any difference in this new role after all.
When the last customer left, she swept up the dusty floor. She wiped down tables without seeing them, thinking of the people who had gathered around the round tops, and the men who would, God willing, sit down with her at the dinner table tonight. Eat well, together. They would, as they always did.
Gratitude overwhelmed her.
But there was another family in town who might not ever eat together again, who perhaps had not truly shared the blessings of a joint meal in months. Years. The sadness of this bore down on Audrey until she finally gave into it, as she should have from the beginning.
She locked up the front, drew the curtains, and turned on the security lights. She shouldered her purse and hugged the rosemary bread and let herself out the back, where her car was parked.
Audrey's heart was thumping as never before, fearing another rejection. She didn't understand the peculiarities of this situation, the ridiculous fear. She'd been rejected on other occasions. Good grief. Her gift of Geoff's bread had been mocked now and then. There was nothing at stake today, nothing for her to lose.
Until she realized that the fear was not for her own well-being, but for the one who might not know what she really needed until it was far too late.
She drove past the city courthouse and wondered where Jack was being treated. The consequences he faced were out of their hands, overtaken by the district attorney and anyone who threatened to file a civil suit against the detective. The Woods had suggested that was something Coach Henderson ought to do. Audrey and Geoff already knew they wouldn't. Geoff had lightheartedly claimed that punishing Jack with daily visits would be revenge enough, then looked appropriately embarrassed when he was the only one who laughed. His jokes were like her bread-dough slashes, and she
did
smile at his effort.
Audrey steered the car around the public hospital and saw Geoff's truck in the lot near the main entrance. She wondered if he might think to drop in on Julie, if the Halls weren't already there. Julie would have her own legal price to pay eventually. Apparently the city frowned on people who left their vehicles unmanned in dark intersections and poured their blood out on the street and monopolized the taxpayers' resources.
For that matter, Audrey was expecting a citation and fine from the National Park Service for destroying the road barrier. At least she hoped that would be her only punishment.
Six more tree-lined blocks brought her to an old residential area of modest homes. She drove to the one that belonged to Jack and Julie, who might never return to the house even if free to do so. Audrey parked in the driveway and leaned over to scoop the bagged rosemary loaf off the passenger seat.
She walked to the front door and wondered what she might have done differently the first time she was here if she'd been able to foresee all that came after. The question that was powerless to change the past, though the answer would forever inform her future.
The drilling in Audrey's heart had brought her here, confident that Miralee wasn't keeping vigil at her mother's side or running away to complete her college term. The survivor's guilt that accompanied this particular kind of regret was the emotion that Audrey recognized as being different from Julie's grief, an impenetrable, victimized sadness that degraded into selfishness.
She had a sneaking maternal suspicion, in fact, that Miralee had never actually enrolled at Davis but had merely escaped her home, which was decimated in her absence. And now, like Julie, where was Miri to go?
Audrey knocked, and no one answered.
The ache in her chest deepened.
She pounded again.
Through the closed door she heard Miralee say, “Now's not a good time.”
Audrey sighed. Now, of course, was the only time. She knocked more gently but spoke loudly enough to penetrate the door. “You shouldn't be alone right now, hon.”
Miralee refused to answer and seemed to be waiting for Audrey to give up.
“Okay, girl, I'm ready for history to stop repeating itself!” Audrey said, and a flock of birds wintering in the oak tree scattered. She strode back down the walkway and past her cooling car, entered the side yard through the gate, and marched around to the rear of the house. Just like the last time she'd entered uninvited, she walked straight through the garage and into the kitchen through the unlocked door.
Miralee was standing at the kitchen sink with her back to Audrey, looking out through the window across the faded winter lawn. Her lack of surprise tipped off Audrey right away. The girl had hoped that Audrey would kick in the door of her tough exterior.
Why oh why weren't people free to just say what they needed? Life would be so much simpler. Less interesting, perhaps, but simpler.
Audrey closed the door. The pressure clamping down on her heart eased up enough for her to take a deep breath.
“I see you didn't pay much attention in your Security for Single Women seminar,” Audrey said.
“I was never as good a student as Ed,” Miralee said. “He should never have lost his acceptance. I'm sorry about that. Really.”
The plastic of the bread bag was slick in Audrey's palms. She placed it on the counter at Miralee's elbow, and the crinkling sound caused the girl to turn and look. She placed both hands on top of the loaf, feeling its roundness through the protective covering.
“I didn't think you'd come in this time. You know, without the high stakesâwithout having to save anyone's life.”
“How about your life?”
“That's overstating it a bit, isn't it?”
“You tell me.”
Miralee sighed. “I think they're going to keep Mom in the hospital for a while. Wait for the infection to clear up. She has a suicide watch note posted outside her door, but no one would talk to me about that.” She untwisted the tie and opened the bag, then held the bread up to her nose.
“It would be a terrible thing to lose your mother that way. I can't imagine.”
“It would be worse to turn out like she has.” Miralee hugged the bread to her chest then, and faced Audrey. “Did I actually say that? I didn't mean it. I love my mom.”
“I know. Of course you do.”
“It's just, I never thought I'd see her the way she was up in that cabin, like a sick little baby, like a nutcase. I was supposed to leave home, and she was supposed to stay here, to be here whenever I need to come back. She's . . . she's supposed to be
my mom
.”
Audrey took a step toward her and cupped her palm protectively around Miri's elbow. Her fingers tingled. “I don't think Julie expected you to see her like that. If she'd known you'd come . . . well, it's impossible to say.”
“I hate hospitals.” Miralee tore off a chunk of the bread and placed it in her mouth.
Pungent rosemary scents filled Audrey's nose.
“I hate the way they smell,” Miri said around the food. “The way you have to beg and wait for some shred of good news. They expect you to be patient
and
optimistic. That's unreasonable, if you ask me.”
Audrey nodded. Miralee chewed and stared at the tile floor. She tugged another piece free of the loaf and held it up to her lips.
“Mom told me to leave,” she said without biting the food. “She didn't want me . . . with her.”
“Oh, Miralee. I'm so sorry.” Audrey leaned against the counter and placed her arm around Miralee's shoulders. “We hardly know how much we hurt the ones we love when our own hearts are split wide open.”
“She had so many other options besides leaving like that. She didn't have to do to my dad what he did to her! It's unending misery! For
me
.”
“I doubt your mom realized what would happen when she made those choices.”
“Why not? She should have.”
“Did youâwhen you set up Ed and then ruined my husband's career? Did you ever think it would go this far?”
Miralee sagged against the counter, shaking her head. “I don't know what to do.”
“You don't have to figure that out tonight.”
“I don't even know whether to go to sleep or stay awake.”
Standing at Miralee's side, Audrey squeezed her in a gentle hug and felt the muscles of the girl's back tense. She shifted, reading the flinching as a request for space, but then Miralee started to cry and turned in toward Audrey's arms, squashing the bread between them.
“Please tell me what to do.”
It was easy for Audrey to be a mother, the most natural role in the world for her to step into. This time she didn't try to avoid the pain and wasn't afraid of what it might do to her. She surrounded Miralee with her arms and invited the girl's heartache to become her own, all the confusion and fear and anger and doubt, so that it would be easier to bear.
“Come home with me,” Audrey said.
“Then what?”
“We'll decide that later. For now, don't be alone. That's all you have to figure out.”
“IÂ . . . I can't. Ed . . . Geoff . . .”
“Will be the first to forgive you. Though an apology would be good for everyone.”
Miralee pulled away, snuffling. She noticed the damage she had done to the bread. “I wish I had more answers.”
“Me too.”
“More chances to get things right the first time.”
Audrey knew exactly what she meant.
“This is really good bread,” Miralee said, finally eating her second piece.
“Let's go, then.” Audrey opened the garage door. “I've got more of it at home.”
To the experts who helped to knead and shape
The Baker's Wife
so it could rise to its potential, thank you:
Dan Raines, agent, and Allen Arnold, publisher, have stood by me patiently during a verrrrrrry slooooooow rise. To everyone at Creative Trust and Thomas Nelson: I will not forget.
Ami McConnell, acquisitions editor and story lover, punched down this lump of dough when it threatened to expand to proportions worthy of a Woody Allen hyperbole. Everyone sighed with relief, no one louder than I.
L. B. Norton, whip-smart professional and bosom friend, traveled alongside me on this particular road with a perfectly timed raspberry cordial, and that made all the difference.
Leah Apineru, BLS and mastermind of Impact Author Services, continues to machete a path for me to follow through the social media jungle. Without her, I might long ago have succumbed to the fate of the enthusiastic but unlucky explorer Percy Fawcett.
Chuck Eklund, physicist, brought the specifics of Audrey's collision down to earth. He also exposed me to horrific, real videos of cars versus motorized bikes. Note to self: don't ride a two-wheeler in Asia.
William Alexander, author of
52 Loaves: One Man's
Relentless Pursuit of Truth, Meaning, and a Perfect Crust
, inspired me with his stories of wood-fired brick ovens, leaden peasant bread, and the unpleasant fate of certain Kwik Lok tabs. Surely the man who can get a bag of sourdough starter through airport security can do anything.
Peter Reinhart, award-winning baker, writes cookbooks that read like poetry. Reading
The Bread Baker's Apprentice
was almost as good as eating a fresh, still-warm loaf. Almost.
1. What are some of the ways in which Geoff and Audrey's bakery is like a church?
2. When God directs Audrey to comfort others, she's assured of his guidance and protection, but sometimes she resists his prompting. Why is it sometimes hard to be compassionate? What obstacles hinder Audrey from entering the suffering of people like Julie?
3. What are the risks of ignoring God's call to compassion?
4. What is in Jack's philosophy that causes him to judge everyone in his life so harshly? Is he wrong to expect God to reward righteousness and punish sin?