Friendship Bread

by Darien Gee

  “This is my story! He’s reporting my story!” Edie gives Richard an incredulous look.

  “Edie …”

  The reporter is still talking as he walks inside the civic center. “… Hannah Wang de Brisay, an accomplished cellist who used to play with the New York Philharmonic, is entertaining the crowd as the generous folks from Avalon continue to pass out coffee, tea, and bread.” The camera pans in on Hannah wearing a lovely black gown, playing her cello to a packed house. The camera then follows the reporter as he walks passed a line of people and up to the head of the table. “Over here, Ms. Madeline Davis, owner of Madeline’s Tea Salon, and partner Julia Evarts, are the brains behind this generous and creative effort.”

  Madeline pinks and fusses with her hair while Julia immediately protests, “Oh, we’re not partners, just friends. And, uh, this idea really came from Connie Colls and all the women who gather regularly at Madeline’s to swap Amish Friendship Bread recipes and tips, but the whole town pitched in to help bake and …”

  The reporter nods, half listening, and turns back to the camera. “So there you have it. The ladies of the Amish Friendship Bread Club in Avalon and this”—the reporter holds up a Ziploc bag of starter while giving the camera a can-you-believe-it kind of look—“simple bag of starter are feeding the town of Barrett this morning. This is Alden Ortega, KGFO, reporting live from Barrett. Back to you, Kevin.”

  “That’s my story!” Edie is furious. “I have boxes full of interviews, transcripts, research! Now everybody and their uncle are going to be writing about it!” The TV remote flies through the air. “Like G.D. Lori Blair!”

  “Edie!” Richard grabs the remote and flicks off the TV. “We both know there is no way you would have been able to be in Barrett to cover that story for the Gazette. NO WAY. You’re on bed rest, Edie, and you need to be okay with the world going about its business without you.”

  “But Richard …” Edie starts to cry. She buries her face in a pillow. “This was my story, my feature! I was going to do a follow-up … a series …”

  “Edie …”

  “What am I going to do now? I haven’t done anything with my life. Now I’m going to have a baby! I’m going to be a terrible mother, we both know that. I’m a reporter, I’m supposed to be writing and interviewing people …”

  “Sweetheart, listen to yourself.” Richard takes their ice cream bars and puts them on a napkin. “Why can’t you leave room for the possibility that you’re going to be a great mother as well as a great reporter? And that for reasons beyond your control, right now reporting has to take a backseat?”

  “But I don’t want it to take a backseat! Why can’t I do both?”

  “You can do both. Just not in the way you think. Things are different now, Edie. We both know you can’t be running around like you used to, at least not for a few more months. And by then, you’ll have a baby in tow.”

  “Great. How is that going to work?” Her voice is muffled.

  “They’re called baby carriers, and seeing how you used to lug fifty pounds in your pack when we were in Benin, I doubt you’ll have any problem with an eight-pound baby.” Richard pulls the pillow away from her face and brushes a wet strand of hair aside. “Don’t be sad, honey.”

  Edie sniffs. “I’m not sad, Richard. Honest, I’m not.” She gives him a brave smile.

  “Well, what is it, then?”

  “It’s just … I’m just … I’M JUST SO SAD!” She starts bawling again and grabs the pillow back from him.

  Richard is sympathetic. “I know it was hard for you to see that news report.”

  Edie pushes the pillow aside. “It’s just … seven thousand loaves? I mean, that’s insane! And they went to Barrett? You know how that makes me look? Like a heartless schmuck.”

  “You don’t look like a heartless schmuck.”

  “Yes, I do. My article basically branded Amish Friendship Bread a public nuisance. And then I published letters complaining about how annoying the whole thing is. As a reporter, I’m supposed to offer a fair and balanced view. I didn’t do that.”

  “Edie, it’s just bread. Not some international peace treaty or something.”

  “But it’s not just bread,” Edie insists. “Don’t you see? It’s the town. It’s the people. It’s … Avalon.” The fudge bars are a puddle of chocolate on the napkin. “Don’t you see how incredible this is?”

  “I’m not following you and now you’re starting to worry me.”

  Edie reaches for a pad of paper and a pencil. “Go to work, Richard. And hand me back the remote, will you?” She lies obediently on her left side as she starts jotting some notes, her disposition suddenly calm and serene.

  Hormones, Richard reminds himself as he hands her the remote and drops the soggy napkins into the trash. It’s just the hormones. He’s seen this plenty of times in his medical practice—pregnant moms who are happy one minute and then sobbing the next, and of course there’s all the post-partum craziness he has to look forward to after the baby is born. He’s told many an alarmed husband that it’s par for the course and not to worry, but Richard is starting to feel a little concerned himself. He watches Edie hum happily as she writes and thinks, then thinks and writes. She looks up and blows him a kiss, waving him airily out the door as if everything is as right as rain.

  Oh boy.

  CHAPTER 28

  Operation Friendship Bread was a success with eight thousand dollars in cash donations along with canned and household goods collected by Avalon residents for their Barrett neighbors. Over fifty men and women from Avalon spent the morning in Barrett, serving up slices of Amish Friendship Bread and listening to Hannah play her cello. It seemed as if they were able to feed the whole town with enough left over for seconds, even thirds.

  When they all got back into their cars and drove back home, exhausted but their bellies and souls satisfied, they weren’t prepared for the deluge of media trucks and cameras waiting outside Madeline’s Tea Salon. The country, it seemed, wanted to get a look inside Madeline’s to see the home of the Amish Friendship Bread Club. That was their new name, given to them by the media: The Amish Friendship Bread Club. Connie loved it, as did their regulars, and they each enjoyed their five minutes of fame as they were interviewed in front of the camera.

  Business was good before, but now there are actually people waiting to get in. Connie is taking reservations and they even have a waitlist. Hannah has been coming in to help and Madeline is letting her take over more of the kitchen, setting the menu for the day and introducing new daily specials. They’re booked out three months in advance after the last news feature gave a rave review of the tea and food served at the tea salon.

  “A Small Town with a Big Heart” was how one newscaster put it, and the Chicago Tribune headed an article on Avalon with the title, “Need a Friend? Then Come to Avalon.”

  “This is good,” Julia says now as she reads the article. “For all of us. For Avalon.” Avalon had been suffering with the rest of the country, the economic bubble having burst a couple years back. But a little encouragement and a lot of tourism are going a long way. If Avalon wasn’t the friendliest town before, it certainly is now. There is a regular crew of Avalonians going to Barrett weekly to help clean up and rebuild homes and schools, even though the media trucks are long gone. Julia smiles as she thinks of how proud everyone is, of what they’ve done and are continuing to do, and how proud she is to live in a town like Avalon.

  Madeline and Julia are sitting in Madeline’s backyard, under the shade of a ginkgo tree. Madeline is dressed in overalls, ready to work in the garden. It’s a beautiful day. The summer sun is hot and the male cicadas are calling to their mates.

  Madeline watches Julia stir some sugar into her iced tea. “So,” she begins, clearing her throat.

  Julia darts a glance at her, eyebrows raised. “Uh-oh—this doesn’t sound good. Something on your mind, Madeline?” Her voice is teasing, but concerned.

  Madeline tries to give Julia a
reassuring smile, but can’t. It’s been on her mind for a while, and she’s debated what to do, what to say. She’s not even sure it will make a lick of difference, but she feels too much is at stake not to talk about it. Madeline isn’t sure how to lead up to it, so she decides to get straight to the point.

  “Julia,” she says. “What is the situation with your family?”

  Julia’s face breaks out into a wide smile. “Mark and Gracie are doing great. We’re talking about spending a couple of days in Chicago. There’s an American Girl store on North Michigan and we’ve never been. We want to get her an early birthday present. And of course Mark wants to go to Wrigley Field to see the Cubs play. One of his clients has a box …”

  “I was talking about your parents,” Madeline says gently. “And your sister.”

  The smile falls from Julia’s face. “Oh.” She busies herself wiping the condensation off her glass.

  “I wish I could say I wasn’t the meddling kind, but we both know the truth of that statement.” Madeline tries to get Julia to crack a smile and it works. A little. “I am just so happy for you, sweetheart—you have to believe this. I know it hasn’t been easy these past few years and what happened was terrible, an awful, awful thing.

  “What I’m about to say is because I know you have a huge capacity for love. Not just to give it, but to receive it. And I want so desperately for you to understand this. When I married Steven, I made the mistake of deferring to Ben. I let him push me away—if he didn’t want to talk to me, I didn’t force it. If he didn’t want me to be around, I gave him space. It was such a struggle to be in a relationship with him—he just didn’t seem to want me, and in my stubborn pride, it was just easier to give in.

  “But what I’ve come to learn is that sometimes we push people away because we want them to come back to us. We want them to come and get us, to say they haven’t forgotten about us. We want them to show us how much they want and need us. We want them to prove they love us enough to fight for us. You have two parents and a sister who are full of love for you, Julia. Can you let them back in, sweetheart? Can you let them know how much you still need them?”

  For a while Julia says nothing, her head down. Madeline just waits.

  “It’s not that simple, Madeline.” Julia’s voice is a whisper. “I already told my parents I don’t need them. I’ve made it clear that they failed me somehow by not being able to offer the right kind of support when Josh died. And when they moved to Florida, they took the easy way out. They left.”

  “Julia, there is no easy way out of something like this.”

  Julia closes her eyes. “So what am I supposed to do now? Ask them to forgive me?” She balls her hands into fists, her voice shaking.

  “No, Julia. All you need to do is give them enough of an opening to come back in.” Madeline reaches over and gently unfurls Julia’s tight fists. “There is no right or wrong here. They did at the time what they thought was best, just as you have. And now here we are. What’s next, Julia? I know Mark and Gracie are enough for a happy life—I see that in your eyes and I know that they love you deeply. But I also know that you can have so much more, and I want this for you. You deserve love, too, Julia. Not just from your parents, but from Livvy, too.”

  But at this Julia begins to shake her head. “No, no,” she’s saying. “It’s just too late, Madeline.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve blamed Livvy for so long for Josh’s death because I couldn’t see …”

  “Couldn’t see what, Julia?”

  Julia looks at her, eyes shining with tears. “I couldn’t see that Josh’s death was my fault. I’m his mother, Madeline, and I wasn’t there to protect him.” She begins to weep. “It was my job to take care of him. I failed him.”

  “No, Julia.” Madeline’s voice is firm. “It was nobody’s fault. The most basic elements of our life—our birth and our death—are out of our control. People spend a lifetime trying to control these things but it’s impossible. Even if we think we’re calling the shots, we’re not. It’s the hard truth, Julia, and you don’t have to like it, but you cannot fight it. No single human being has been able to.

  “But we need other people, and it’s a gift when the people who have known and loved us since childhood are still a part of our lives. Your parents, your sister. You have to be the one to start it again, Julia. Not because they may not eventually try, but because you can see now how much you really want this and you don’t want to waste another minute not reaching for joy. To be surrounded by people who love you. It’s an incredible thing, Julia. And I know you know this.”

  There’s a long pause and Madeline doesn’t say anything more, just makes room for the silence that she knows holds promise.

  Julia wipes her eyes and looks up at the blue, cloudless sky. “When I saw Josh’s friend the morning we were going to Barrett, I realized that’s what Josh would look like now if he had lived. And it makes me so mad, so angry, that he won’t have a chance to play football like Peter, or go to college, or fall in love. It’s just not fair.” Julia lets out a breath. “He was so beautiful, Madeline. Hair just like mine. A smile that would knock your socks off. He could get away with anything.”

  “I believe it.”

  Julia gulps. “When Mark and I were upstairs, I thought, ‘Oh God, I’m never going to be able to go back downstairs.’ In the past there was no way I could do it. But half an hour later, I was back downstairs, loading things up to go to Barrett. And I felt, well, not great, but okay.”

  Madeline just nods, taking Julia’s hand in her own again.

  Julia looks up and gazes at the sky, a perfect blue morning. “I remember so many nights where I was willing to do anything—anything—that would bring Josh back to me. I would have traded places with him in a heartbeat to give him a chance to grow up, to live his life, to find his own happiness.” Her voice falters. “To not have had a moment of fear or aloneness when he died. I wish … I wish …” Julia takes a deep breath, lets out a sigh. Madeline knows Julia’s been down this path so many times and each time the pain is still fresh, the anguish hitting her square in the chest, squeezing the breath out of her. “That’s the worst feeling in the world. To want to do anything to make it better, to make it right, but you can’t. You can’t.”

  There is a long interminable pause as the women stare out into the garden. “Some things, perhaps, cannot be made better,” Madeline concedes. “But some things can.”

  Julia is silent.

  “Call your parents, Julia. Invite them home to Avalon. And go see Livvy.”

  It’s a lot to ask, and Madeline knows this. But she also knows Julia can do it. When Julia manages a slight nod and there’s a small smile, Madeline knows it’s going to be okay.

  They silently watch Connie talk to the gardeners and point to different spots around the grounds. Connie has managed their budget carefully so they can now pay someone to tend to the property, and it delights Madeline to see that this is finally happening—it felt negligent not to do more with what she had. They want to create more pathways and benches for people to sit on. They want to be able to accommodate more people and are figuring what they need to do to offer outdoor food service.

  Madeline shields her eyes as she watches Connie explain what needs to be cut away and cleared. Connie turns at that moment and gives them a wave, her smile bright. Connie has been promoted to Tea Salon Manager, a title she proposed to Madeline, which Madeline readily accepted with a caveat: Should Connie ever choose to move from her dingy apartment above the Pizza Shack, Madeline wants her to know that she is always welcome to share the house with her.

  “I know it’s not a very hip thing to do,” Madeline had said, not wanting Connie to worry about hurting her feelings. “But your landlord sounds like such an awful fellow and I wouldn’t charge much rent at all. I understand that you probably spend too much time here as it is and might not want to—”

  “Yes!” Connie had said breathlessly, throwing her arms around Ma
deline. “Thank you!”

  She moved in the next day.

  Now Madeline waves her over, pouring her a glass of iced tea. The three women continue to sit, enjoying the waning afternoon, their minds filled with their own thoughts. Hannah emerges from the house, untying her apron and collapsing next to them with a happy sigh.

  “Strawberry rhubarb pie,” she says. There’s a smudge of flour on her cheek. “You’re going to have to hurry if you want a piece.” She turns her face to the sun and smiles. “I can’t believe it was flooding last month. It’s amazing how quickly the weather can turn.”

  Madeline couldn’t agree more, and she offers a glass of iced tea to Hannah as she lifts her own in a toast. She looks at these young women who surround her, women who have a lifetime of joy and love waiting for them. Not just for them, but for Madeline, too. As unpredictable as life is, as much as it pains her to think that Ben is lost to her, Madeline remains optimistic. There’s been no word from Ben, either because the letter never found him or he doesn’t want Madeline to find him. She could do more, hire a private investigator or the like, but she tried that before without much success. Instead she says a small prayer for him at night, that he’s safe and healthy and well, and that he’s found happiness. She hopes that if he were ever to think of her again, that he would sense that he is always on Madeline’s mind, and in her heart. He is the only piece of Steven she has left, and while that is important, it’s not just that. Ben is the closest thing she’s ever had to family, to having a child, and she can see now how much he really needed her, because she needed him just as much.

  “All the more reason to make every moment count, girls.”

  Hannah, Connie, and Julia look at Madeline and nod. This moment has been hard-earned by each and every one of them, their lives having converged in this place, in Madeline’s Tea Salon, in Avalon. They raise their glasses and toast one another, Madeline’s words echoing in their ears.