Friendship Bread

by Darien Gee

  Travis Fields stands on the doorstep, fuming. “Now? Don’t you think it’s a little late to be canceling a date? I have reservations for eight o’clock!”

  “Where, at the Pizza Shack? Or the sports bar over in Digby?” Dawn Perry says this sarcastically as she kicks off her heels and looks for her tennis shoes instead. She’ll need socks, too. She goes through the basket of clean laundry in the hallway until she finds a pair.

  “I thought you liked the Pizza Shack!” Travis is about to step into the house when Dawn stops him.

  “I’m on my way out, Travis, so don’t you be coming in.” Dawn pulls off her dangly earrings and scrubs some of the extra makeup off her face with a tissue. She doesn’t know why she bothers getting dressed up for these dates with Travis. Come to think of it, she doesn’t know why she bothers dating Travis at all. It’s a lousy way to kill time, that’s for sure.

  “Well, you should have told me.” Travis is petulant. “It would have saved me the trip.”

  “What, the five minutes from the copy shop? You didn’t even bother changing! And your hands still have glue on them!” She grabs a jacket from her closet. “Besides, I just found out. The whole town is pitching in.”

  Travis pouts, as if he hasn’t heard her. “I was making notepads. The clinic ordered up a new batch of prescription pads. Twenty sets of one hundred sheets!”

  “How nice for you,” Dawn says. She flicks off all the lights in the house. She closes the door behind her and locks it. Travis still looks flummoxed, picking strings of dried glue off his fingers. She has got to start dating better men. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go help bake some bread.”

  “So you’ll be okay?” Frances Latham tiptoes quietly down the stairs, her husband behind her.

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “I should be back in a couple of hours. More, if they need me. I’ll send you a text message so the phone doesn’t wake up the kids.”

  “Those guys?” Her husband, Reed, thumbs the kids’ rooms where their three children lay sleeping—ages seven, four, and two. All boys. “They’ll be out until morning.”

  “Good.” Frances goes to lift the box of ingredients but Reed nudges her out of the way.

  “Let me get that. I’ll get the other one, too.”

  They go into the garage and Reed loads the boxes into the car. “Call if you need anything.”

  “I will. I’m just over at Madeline’s, so I’m not far. I’ve left a few slices of Amish Friendship Bread for you on the kitchen counter.”

  “Thank you.” Reed pulls his wife in for a kiss. Even after fifteen years, he loves her more than life itself. She’s been baking all afternoon for Barrett, even with the two little ones clinging to her legs, doing her best to make it fun and include them. Now she’s going over to some tea restaurant that’s the designated drop-off spot to bake some more and help coordinate.

  Reed admires his wife, always has and always will, but something about this day is making him see her in a new light. Frances is willing to go the distance—for their kids, for their marriage, for this town even.

  He helps her into the car, then closes the door. She starts the engine and rolls down the window, giving her husband a quizzical look. “What?” Reed has a funny look on his face, like he’s holding a secret.

  “So you know all that information you’ve just been leaving around about adoption?” he says. “From China?” Articles and books about China adoptions have been strewn about their otherwise neat house for weeks.

  Frances looks guilty.

  “Well, I read it. All of it. And I think we should do it.”

  “What?” Frances breathes, grasping his hand. “Are you serious?”

  Reed laughs. “Well, we should look into it at least. I mean, we should talk to the boys first and go to one of those informational meetings …”

  “There’s one at the public library in Rockport next month.”

  Reed grins. “I know, I saw. Now go—we’ll talk about it later. I’ll sign up for the information meeting tomorrow. Call me when you’re heading back.”

  “I will.” She kisses him hard. “I love you,” she says fiercely. Her eyes are wet.

  Reed is surprised to find his eyes are a little wet, too. He watches his wife’s taillights as they disappear into the cool, crisp night. He was going to go through some papers for work, but maybe he’ll get himself a glass of milk and some of the Amish Friendship Bread and look through the brochures one more time.

  CHAPTER 24

  By 10:00 P.M., there are six hundred and twenty-three loaves.

  CHAPTER 25

  By midnight, they have one thousand.

  CHAPTER 26

  And by 2:30 A.M., there are two thousand four hundred and nineteen loaves.

  CHAPTER 27

  At 5:17 A.M., they have four thousand six hundred and eighty-one loaves of Amish Friendship Bread.

  And counting.

  “Holy crap” is all Connie can say. She dozed off around 3:00 A.M. and woke up surrounded by a tower of loaves.

  “Dale Hodge from the Pick and Save is bringing over more boxes for us,” Mark says. He fell asleep once and his hair is mussed, but things have been going nonstop and he hasn’t had a chance to fix it. He has the same look on his face as when Josh was born after thirty-six hours of hard labor.

  “We have a little less than four hours before we need to leave,” Julia says, surveying the scene around them. Volunteers are busy inventorying the loaves and snoozing here and there. “You don’t think people are still baking, do you?”

  Mark scrubs his head with both hands in an effort to wake himself up. He squints, then peers out the window. “I definitely think people are still baking.” The front door swings open with a loud tinkle of the bell and a steady stream of people begin coming in, their arms full of loaves wrapped in plastic wrap.

  “I’m putting on more hot water for tea,” Connie announces. Then, a little guiltily: “And coffee.”

  “Oh my goodness!”

  Everyone turns to see Madeline perched on the stairway, a look of shock on her face. She’s dressed and looks perfectly rested, which is more than Julia can say for herself.

  “Or I can just make tea,” Connie amends quickly.

  “I think Madeline is referring to the success of Operation Friendship Bread,” Julia says. She goes over to escort Madeline down the stairs and begins to fill her in on the details. “It comes and goes,” she explains. “We just had a bunch of people drop bread off. We’ll probably get a few more waves before it’s time to leave.”

  Madeline is shaking her head in wonderment.

  “I can’t believe it,” she keeps repeating.

  “I know. And it’s just not the bread. We have blankets, clothes, toys, money. Everyone donated whatever they could. We’re going to Barrett with everything we’ve got.” Julia crooks a finger and beckons Mark to come over. He looks shy and a little nervous. Julia takes his hand. “Madeline, this is my husband, Mark.”

  “Mark.” Madeline beams as Mark awkwardly shakes her hand then gives her a tentative peck on the cheek.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says.

  Madeline grasps both his hands in hers and gazes at him happily. “Likewise. And you all look like you need to eat something substantial. I’m going to head into the kitchen and whip up a couple of omelets. With roasted potatoes, too.”

  “Keep it simple,” Julia advises. “I think it’s going to be a busy morning.”

  Madeline dismisses Julia’s comments with a wave of her hand, and soon Julia hears her talking to the three women in the kitchen who are still baking.

  Hannah walks through the door, her cello in tow. “Ugh, I’m so glad I live just down the block,” she says, grunting. Her hard case has wheels but it’s still formidable against her slight frame. “Cars are parked all the way down to my house—I couldn’t get out the car out of my driveway. I thought it would be easier to catch a ride from someone here.”

 
; “Don’t worry, Hannah. You’re a priority—we’ll get you there.” But Julia frowns as she looks down her list. They just don’t have enough drivers. Everyone who can help is already doing so.

  “Look who I found,” Mark says.

  Julia looks up and sees Livvy and Tom standing next to him. Livvy is trying to smile, but she’s nervous, her eyes darting around the room, taking in the cacophony of frenzied activity. Tom is standing tall, his shoulders square, like a man trying to hold his own but expecting a reprimand. They were always the younger couple between the two, not just in age but in the way they saw the world—more reckless, less concerned with consequences, a spur-of-the-moment attitude that often drove Mark and Julia nuts. Now, however, Julia sees that the gap is no longer obvious. It’s narrowed. They are here now, four adults bound by old memories and regrets, staring at one another shyly and somewhat ill at ease. They all seem to be waiting for Julia to react, to decide how this moment will go.

  “Livvy,” she says, finding her voice. “And Tom.” It’s all she says, but it’s enough, and Tom steps forward and gives Julia an awkward kiss on the cheek.

  “We’re here to help,” he says, clearing his throat. “With this bread stuff.”

  Julia is stunned. Tom was always the reluctant one, the last person to volunteer to help, the dinner guest who couldn’t be bothered to bring his dishes to the sink or at least make a halfhearted offer to do so. Julia remembers how hard it was for Livvy to get him to take out the trash. He’s such a lug of a guy, an unexpected match for her sister and yet perfect for her at the same time. By the way he has his arm protectively around Livvy’s shoulders, Julia can see that things are going well for them, and she feels overcome by an unexpected happiness for Livvy.

  “We would have come earlier but Tom couldn’t wake me up,” Livvy says, apologetic. “I’ve been sleeping like the living dead and it’s been, well, never mind. What can we do? I mean, if you want our help?” Her voice is uncertain.

  “Yes,” Julia says instantly. She reaches out to touch Livvy on the arm. “Yes.”

  “Okay.” Livvy gives her a small smile. A brave smile. “What do you need?”

  What does she need? How does Julia begin to answer this question? But Livvy is talking to her about Barrett, and it’s Mark who says, “Drivers, I think. Can you run loaves and other things to Barrett with us?”

  “We only have one car now,” Tom says. “The Pilot. Livvy can drive that and if there’s anything you want me to do …”

  “You can take my car,” Mark says automatically, digging around for his keys. “Load it up and drive it over. I’m going to stay here and watch over the fort.”

  Tom accepts the keys and the two men grin at each other. “I missed you, man,” Tom says.

  “Me, too.” Mark claps him on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you two where everything is.”

  Julia wants to talk with Livvy but it’s a mad house. She offers a helpless shrug as Livvy trails after Tom, and Livvy grins back. Later, her look seems to say. Or maybe it’s something else.

  It’s all going to be okay.

  “Here comes another wave,” Mark calls back to Julia.

  From this point on, the parade of people doesn’t stop. Faces both familiar and unfamiliar walk through the door, holding single loaves, bags of loaves, even boxes of loaves. Mary Winder and her Bunco buddies, Phyllis Watts, Roxy Hicks from the police station. Bernice Privott and Koji Takahashi hand Julia six loaves of bread, still warm from the oven. Clinton Becker brings his daughter, Juniper, who’s helping Debbie Reynolds push Jessica’s wheelchair. On Jessica’s lap is a basket filled with Amish Friendship Bread.

  Cordelia Gutierrez and Wiley Brown announce that they have five boxes of forty loaves each—two hundred loaves in total—in the back of Wiley’s pickup.

  It’s not planned, but somehow Julia ends up greeting everyone, with Mark and Connie ferrying the loaves to the back. There are a couple of awkward moments with people Julia has avoided or who have avoided her, but those moments quickly pass, usually ending in a hug and a promise to catch up soon. This is not something Julia could have ever imagined—playing hostess, reconnecting with people from her past—but an encouraging smile from Madeline and Hannah is all she needs to keep going.

  Connie offers to relieve her, handing her a plate of food, but Julia doesn’t want to stop. The two women work side by side, thanking people and signing up drivers, until Sandra Linde and her son, Peter, walk through the door.

  “Sandra.” Julia feels her adrenaline-induced euphoria fade. Sandra looks gorgeous, wearing the look of a mother whose kids are finally starting to grow up. She can take care of herself now, she can get her hair done and get a decent night’s sleep. Three boys are out of the house and only one is left. Peter, Josh’s best friend, who is now fifteen.

  “Julia.” The two women stare at each other, unsure of what to say. At one time the two women were good friends, always carpooling or having play dates, comparing the latest scrapes and falls of their two boys. “Jamie told me he saw you on his UPS route. I’ve been meaning to call, but …”

  “That’s okay,” Julia says. She doesn’t blame Sandra for being hesitant. It’s been a long time and Julia hasn’t made it easy on anyone to stay in touch with her. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You, too. You remember Peter?” Sandra instantly reddens. “Of course you do. Peter, say hello to Mrs. Evarts.”

  Peter is as tall as Julia. He’s outgrown his lankiness, and he doesn’t look like the wild mischievous child that used to tear through the house with Josh, wrecking everything in their way. He’s become more man than boy, and she can’t stop staring at him.

  “Hi,” he mumbles. He glances at Julia then his eyes dart away.

  “Peter, you’ve grown so tall!” Julia says, forcing herself to sound cheerful. “I hardly recognize you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sandra gives him a nudge. Peter holds out four loaves of Amish Friendship Bread and Julia accepts them with a smile, her eyes filling quickly with tears.

  Sandra fumbles in her purse looking for a tissue. Peter looks so uncomfortable that Julia just wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “Oh, it’s just been a long night. Thank you for coming by.”

  “Any time.” Sandra grasps Julia’s hands. “I mean that. Will you come see me soon? Or I can come see you. I miss you.”

  Julia just nods, tears spilling down her cheeks. Sandra embraces her, then loops her arm through Peter’s and they leave.

  Mark comes up behind her. “Was that Sandra and Peter?” he asks.

  Julia nods.

  “Wow.” Mark is blinking rapidly, a strangled look on his face.

  Madeline is behind them and touches them both on the arm. “It looks like we have a short lull,” she says gently. “Why don’t you two take a break, maybe check on Gracie?”

  They both manage a nod, then Mark slips his hand into Julia’s. They head up the stairs to Gracie’s room.

  “He looks so different,” Mark is saying. “But the same. You know?”

  “He’s bigger …” Julia tries to say, but the words get stuck in her throat. She feels the sudden weight of each step, of her legs turning to jelly. That old, familiar feeling of endless despair and unhappiness, of utter bleakness and hopelessness, is back. Julia thought she had left it behind or that it had evolved into a quieter numbness, but she was wrong. It’s still here, residing in her bones, her blood, her breath. It isn’t going anywhere. She used to think it was unbearable—now she knows it is.

  And then she senses Mark’s hand in hers. The feel of the curve of his palm as he gives her hand a ferocious squeeze. She looks at him and sees it in his eyes, too. That same wish. In every moment since they lost Josh, Mark has been dying alongside her. They are living, yes, and they are alive, but each day without their son is a mini-death, a small stab that threatens to destroy them altogether.

  At the top of the landing, she breaks down, and Mark gathers her in his arms. They rock and cry,
holding each other tightly.

  “Are there any more of those chocolate fudge bars?” Edie hollers into the baby monitor.

  There’s a crackle of static.

  “Richard, did you hear me? ARE THERE ANY MORE OF THOSE CHOCOLATE FUDGE BARS. Over.”

  Richard appears in the doorway, an irritated look on his face. “Edie, I told you. The baby monitor is not a two-way walkie-talkie. I can hear you, but you cannot hear me. And you don’t have to yell—it picks up every last sound.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He enters the room brandishing two fudge bars. “The last two. I’ll go out and pick up another box after work.”

  “It has to be the Tofutti. Fat free, sugar free …”

  “Edie, I know.” Richard peels off the paper wrapper and hands a bar to her. He does the same for himself then settles next to her on the bed, clicking on the remote for the morning news.

  “… and in times of great need, we find that there are always those who are willing to lend a helping hand. In this case, a community. Folks from the neighboring town of Avalon have gathered here today to share Amish Friendship Bread with the families and volunteers of Barrett, a town still reeling from the devastation of last week’s flood.”

  “Richard, turn it louder!” Edie struggles to sit up.

  Richard points his fudge bar at her. “Lie down or I turn off the TV, hide the remote, and confiscate your fudge bar.”

  “But …”

  Richard holds the remote beyond her reach. “Now.”

  Disgruntled, Edie lies back down.

  Richard turns up the volume and the reporter’s baritone fills up the bedroom. He’s standing outside the Barrett Civic Center and pointing down the road to a string of cars. “Residents of Avalon are caravanning here today to partner with the Red Cross and other relief organizations to offer friendship and support to the town of Barrett. A reported seven thousand three hundred forty-two loaves of Amish Friendship Bread are currently being distributed inside the civic center. Now, Amish Friendship Bread isn’t bread bread, but more like a cake, like a banana bread …”