“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Nathan asked, his hand now warm on hers.
“I haven’t gotten much sleep in the last few days,” Brydie replied. “It’s been hard getting back on a routine, and last night I fell asleep when I should have been icing cookies.”
“Joe seemed pretty upset with you,” Nathan said. “I wanted to talk to him about his shepherd’s pie for a charity auction at the hospital, but he didn’t look like he was in the mood for a chat.”
“He was more than upset with me,” Brydie admitted. “He’d been in a meeting, and I was left in charge up front. Lillian—you met her at Thanksgiving, too—she’s a brilliant baker, but she has trouble interacting with people. After I fell asleep, she gave the wrong cake to a customer, and the lady got so angry she called Lillian an idiot.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It was, and I should have been there to make sure it never happened,” Brydie replied, pressing the palms of her hands into her forehead.
“I’m sure they’ll forgive you.”
“I just feel so rotten,” Brydie replied. “So rotten.”
“Well, I can tell you something that might make you feel better,” Nathan said, grinning over at her.
“What is it?”
“Mrs. Neumann has been eating very well since you brought her the chicken on Sunday afternoon. Her spirits have been up.”
“That does make me feel better,” she said. “I just can’t stop thinking about that damn trunk and everything that was inside of it.”
“I know that was hard.”
“I just want to talk to her about it,” Brydie said. “I hate the thought of her bearing this alone.”
“She clearly doesn’t want anyone to know,” Nathan said. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but there were notations in her chart not to mention the pregnancy or the child at all, for any reason.”
“Elliott had a miscarriage in between Mia and this new baby,” Brydie said. “It’s not a secret, but she doesn’t like to talk about it much.”
“Not everybody feels better talking about these things,” Nathan said.
“But what if she wants to talk about it?” Brydie asked. “What if she wants to talk about it, and she just doesn’t have anyone to talk about it with?”
“She doesn’t,” Nathan said. “She doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“I think I might want to talk about it,” Brydie said. “If it were me.”
“But it’s not you,” Nathan said. “You can’t possibly understand what she went through. You’ve never even been pregnant.”
“I know,” Brydie replied. His words stung her.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Nathan said. “Look, from a medical perspective, this just isn’t something you can start a conversation about. The trauma lasts for a long time, and clearly Mrs. Neumann isn’t comfortable telling anyone about it. You should respect her privacy.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“I’m not.”
“I just want to help.”
“Then maybe you should stop meddling in her life and do what you’re supposed to be doing—taking care of her house and her dog.”
Brydie’s eyes flicked up to his. He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring off past her at the waitress, who was pouring coffee and laughing with a couple of men in expensive-looking suits.
Nathan ran his hands through his hair and said, “I know it might seem like it would help for you to ask her about it, but it won’t. It’s only going to make you feel better, and it’s a selfish thing to do.”
“I should go,” Brydie said.
“Don’t,” Nathan said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. But I’m her doctor.”
“And you know what’s best.”
“In this case, yes.”
“Fine,” Brydie said at last. “I won’t say anything to her. I won’t breathe a word of it, but I really do have to go.” Keeping her head down so he wouldn’t see the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her, she stood up, grabbed her purse, and hurried out of the diner, nearly knocking over the waitress with their steaming plates of food.
“She all right?” Brydie heard the waitress ask.
“She had to leave,” Nathan replied.
“Huh,” the waitress said. “I guess she couldn’t handle it after all.”
December
CHAPTER 36
IT WAS FINALLY DECEMBER. BRYDIE WASN’T SURE HOW SHE thought the month would begin, but she’d hoped it would be better than this. She was glad for the new chill in the air, however, and tried to enjoy it. She hadn’t told anyone about her fight with Nathan, a fight that she was now beginning to realize was a stupid one. Of course he was right. She knew he was right, but she couldn’t bring herself to call him and apologize. She was embarrassed about the way she’d acted. There wasn’t anything she could say to Pauline to change what had happened, and it was wrong and, yes, selfish of her to think that there was.
She tried to put those thoughts out of her mind by doing what she did best—baking. Both Lloyd and MaryAnn had placed orders for Christmas treats, and this time, instead of looking on Pinterest for ideas, Brydie came up with a few new recipes of her own. So far, she’d created a candy cane treat, gingerbread treats with carob icing, and regular paws with green and red glaze.
Teddy, of course, sat patiently waiting for his reward, which consisted of defective batches, and Brydie wondered what the year ahead would bring for them. She wondered if next year would be the same—if she’d still have his little face full of wrinkles staring up at her expectantly.
Brydie’s earliest Christmas memory was from when she was four years old. She hadn’t known it at that age, but her parents’ Christmas tradition was to put the tree up the day after Thanksgiving. Her mother would take the day off and they’d pile into the car and go to a tree farm in Bono, a little town just outside of Jonesboro, where there was a place called Leo’s Tree Farm. They’d eat breakfast out and listen to Christmas music on tape all the way there.
As a child, Brydie believed that the tree farm was magic. It probably came from the stories her father told her about how the trees were planted and tended by Christmas fairies all throughout the year, until it was time for families to come and chop down the perfect tree. But even at four years old, the farm was more than that for Brydie. It was just about the only time of year that her parents were both happy at the same time. They held hands walking through the forest of trees, and even her mother sang the Christmas carols as they drove from their house to the farm and back again.
This particular Christmas, her mother told her she could pick out the tree all by herself, and it was a job Brydie took very seriously. She walked around the farm with the little Polaroid camera her grandparents had given her for her birthday and took pictures of the trees she thought were the prettiest. The tree she ultimately picked was in the middle of the park and just a smidge too tall for their living room. Try as they might, though, her parents couldn’t talk her out of it, and they drove home with the tree strapped with bungee cords to the top of their Camry station wagon.
While her mother wrestled with how to get the snowman Christmas topper on a tree that brushed the ceiling, Brydie and her father baked cookies and drank eggnog out of special mugs that her father ordered from the JCPenney catalog. Although she generally attributed her love for baking to the time after her father’s accident when she assumed the role of “cook” for the family, if she was honest it was the Christmas thirty years ago that planted in her a love for food, because for Brydie, food meant that perfect, long-ago Christmas. It meant comfort.
That was why, after that morning at the diner with Nathan, Brydie’s house—rather, Pauline’s house looked like the inside of the bakery at ShopCo. One side of the kitchen was reserved for human treats, and the other side was reserved for Teddy treats.
She’d baked for everyone she could think of—human treats for Elliott and her family, Dr. Sower and Mr
s. Neumann, and MaryAnn and Fred. Once she’d finished with that, she started on treats for both of Dr. Sower’s dogs and every dog she knew in Germantown, which amounted to exactly two—Thor and Arlow.
She’d delivered dozens of snickerdoodles and her newest pet-created treat—peanut butter and carob cupcakes—to everyone. Dr. Sower had been delighted and told her as much, her mouth full of a snickerdoodle. But she hadn’t allowed Brydie and Teddy to visit Pauline. She explained that the old woman was back on oxygen and sleeping much of the time. She’d looked at Brydie the same way Nathan had looked at her in the hallway the afternoon she brought food from Gus’s to Pauline for lunch.
“The congestive heart failure makes it difficult,” Dr. Sower explained. “Some days are better than others.”
“It seems like the better days are becoming less and less frequent,” Brydie replied, crossing her arms over her chest in an effort to keep herself from shivering in the chilly lobby. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Her visits with you and Teddy are her favorite part of the week,” Dr. Sower said, sneaking another cookie from the tin on the receptionist’s desk. “If she wakes up today and is feeling better, I’ll give you a call and you can come back.”
Brydie took Teddy back home and channeled all of her energy into baking. She listened to Christmas music that reminded her of the tree farm and tried her best not to think about Mrs. Neumann or Nathan, or Joe and Rosa and the fact that neither one of them had seemed to forgive her.
That’s how, after there was no more room in the kitchen or on the dining room table, Brydie found herself on December 15, her arms full of food, sitting on one of the cold benches in the dog park, surrounded on all sides by baked goods she couldn’t bear to throw away. On her last night at work before her days off, she’d bought red and green cellophane and twist ties that looked like candy canes. That morning, Brydie busied herself wrapping up everything in her kitchen—cookies for people in red cellophane, and cookies for dogs in green.
She knew it was a risk, going to the dog park. There was always a chance she might see Nathan. Even after months of knowing him, she still had no idea what his schedule was at the hospital, and the thought of seeing him, even in the distance, made her stomach roil.
When she’d left the diner that morning, the morning Nathan told her she had too much baggage, she’d sat in her car for a long time, watching him eat his breakfast through the window. Brydie was so confused.
When she got home, she’d gone to bed and slept until it was time for work. The next day she did the same thing, and the cycle continued throughout the first week of December, until, realizing she couldn’t sleep another wink, she took to baking. Now she was starting to suspect that she and Teddy had put on a few pounds, as she eyed the way his sides were bulging out through the leg and neck holes of his harness.
“Excuse me?”
Brydie was jolted out of her thoughts and looked up from her spot on the bench to see a woman in a fuchsia pea coat standing in front of her. “Oh, hi,” Brydie said, smiling up at the woman. “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t see you standing there.”
“Are you having a bake sale?” the woman asked, eyeing the box to Brydie’s left.
“What?” Brydie suddenly remembered why she’d come to the park in the first place. “No, they aren’t for sale.”
The woman’s face fell.
“They’re free,” Brydie finished. “I may have gone a little overboard with the baking this year. The box to my left is full of dog treats, and the box to my right is full of human treats. Feel free to take a couple from each box.”
“Really?” the woman asked, glancing around the park suspiciously.
“They’re not poison or anything.” Brydie laughed nervously. “I work at ShopCo in the bakery. Before that, I had my own shop. I just really love to bake.”
The woman took a gloved hand and lifted the lid to the box on Brydie’s right. “Is that . . .?”
“Pumpkin bread,” Brydie finished for her. “Yes.”
The woman unwrapped the red cellophane and held the pumpkin bread to her nose before taking a petite bite. She took another. And another. After a few seconds of slow, thoughtful chewing, she said, “This is wonderful.” She leaned in closer to Brydie and continued, “It’s even better than my Nana’s, God rest her soul.”
Brydie beamed. “Take another!”
The woman reached greedily back down into the box and pulled out another cellophane-wrapped piece of pumpkin bread. Then she turned, cupping her free hand around her mouth and hollering, “Melanie! Get over here!”
After a few minutes, a woman in a pea coat in another shade of pink came trotting up to them, two little, black French bulldogs at her side. “You’ve got to try this pumpkin bread,” the first woman said. “It’s amazing, and it’s free!”
The woman whose name was Melanie screwed up her nose. “You know I don’t like pumpkin cake, Alicia.”
Alicia rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Brydie, as the dogs sniffed around Teddy, causing him to roll over on his back and play dead. “Do you have anything else?”
“I do,” Brydie replied, standing up. “And in this other box,” Brydie motioned to the box full of green cellophane, “are dog treats if your dogs are allowed to have them.”
“They are,” Melanie replied. “But they can only have wheat-free treats.” She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, I’m sure you don’t have any of those.
“Well, then they’re in luck,” Brydie replied. She rummaged through the box to pull out two wrapped treats tied with solid red ties. “I’ve got a few of those.”
“Really?” Alicia asked, raising her eyebrows to her hairline. “Roscoe and Rufus will be so excited to hear this.”
Brydie assumed Roscoe and Rufus were the two French bulldogs now tugging on each one of Teddy’s ears, but she didn’t ask. Instead she said, “I think I’ve got some more wheat-free treats down at the bottom. Let me check.”
By the time Brydie came up for air, a small crowd had amassed in front of her. People were plucking treats from both boxes, and before long, a chorus of chewing began. Many of the visitors to the park asked for her business card, and Brydie gave them her phone number instead, making a mental note to finally order cards that didn’t have the old business information on them. To her surprise, a few people even wanted to place orders right then and there for food of both the human and the dog variety.
After half an hour, both boxes were empty, and a feeling of satisfaction warmed Brydie. Teddy, however, exhausted from babysitting the two cantankerous French bulldogs, was hiding behind her legs, peeking around them occasionally to make sure it was safe.
Brydie was about to pack up and head home when she saw a familiar flourish of fur sprinting toward her. It was Sasha, her leash dangling behind her, her tongue out, licking the air furiously as she ran. Brydie paid no attention to her, and instead glanced hotly around the park for Nathan. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw Myriah coming toward them, waving her stocking cap like a white flag of surrender.
“I’m . . . so . . . sorry,” Myriah huffed when she finally reached them. “She got away from me . . . She must’ve heard your voice or something . . . because the next thing I know . . . she’s dashing off across the park.”
Brydie couldn’t help but smile at her. Myriah was bent over now, gulping at the air and giving Sasha the most withering look anyone wearing tie-dyed yoga pants and a Hello Kitty sweatshirt could possibly have it in them to give.
“It’s okay,” Brydie said. “She’s fine.” She bent down to give Sasha’s head a pat.
“Oh,” Myriah replied, erecting herself upright. “I didn’t think . . . I mean, I didn’t know . . . I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see us.”
So she knew.
Brydie turned away from Myriah, stacking one box on top of the other. “I don’t mind,” she said with her back still turned. It was true. She didn’t mind seeing them. Not exactly.
“So, you’re not upset?”
Brydie wasn’t sure how to answer that. Of course she was upset. She’d just given away a metric ton of baked goods as proof. But she couldn’t just tell that to Myriah. She might go back and tell Nathan. “I’m okay,” was all she could think of to say. And then, because she couldn’t help herself, “How is Nathan?”
There was a pause, giving Brydie enough time to turn around, and then Myriah said, “I haven’t seen him much lately. He’s been working a lot. Pulling lots of doubles. Sometimes he even sleeps at the hospital and showers there.”
“I guess that means you’ve been hanging out with Sasha all the time,” Brydie replied, trying to smile.
“Constantly,” Myriah said. “Nathan said he was coming home tonight. I’m cooking him dinner. And then we’re going to put up the Christmas tree. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, you know.”
Brydie knew she wasn’t mistaking the tinge of hopefulness in Myriah’s voice. She thought back to the night of the flood, when Myriah confessed that she was in love with Nathan. She’d forgotten about it until now, glowing and secure in her budding relationship with Nathan—and now it was all she could think about.
“Well,” Brydie finally managed to say, “I’d better get going.” She leaned down to hook Teddy’s leash to his harness and was given a swift lick to the side of the face by Sasha, and for some reason, it made her want to cry.
“Byeeeeee,” Myriah called after them.
Brydie fought the urge to put one of the boxes she was carrying over her head until New Year’s, and kept walking. If she hurried, she could run by ShopCo and use her employee discount to buy roughly four dozen eggs and twenty-eight pounds of sugar to once again fill her kitchen in a gallant effort to clear her mind before it even got dark.
CHAPTER 37
BRYDIE STOOD IN FRONT OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE AND SHUT one eye and then the other. After that, she squinted, tilting her head from side to side. “I don’t know,” she said at last, turning around to face Elliott. “It does look sort of lopsided to me.”
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