J
And just like that the lightning bolt goes off in my head.
J—
You don’t know it, but you are a genius.
S
I jump up from my bed and strip off my sweats, pull on jeans and a T-shirt, and twist my hair into a more secure bun. It’s so weird. Mark’s birthday was last week and he was in California, and Herman asked me to help him freeze and ship a Pequod’s pizza for him as a birthday treat. He also mentioned something about Mark going to an old friend’s wedding a couple of weeks ago. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost be tempted to think that Mark and Jake are one and the same. You know, if Mark weren’t the total opposite of Jake in every possible way. It’s kind of sad, really. Mark could be an actual decent human being with just a little effort. I make a mental note to suggest Jake do his own website of advice for guys to make them likeable.
I hop down the stairs, toss a treat to Snatch, and scribble a quick note to tell Bubbles that I’m at the bakery and not to worry when she gets home and finds me gone, and that I’ve already walked the dog. I head out into the muggy night and jump in my car. I drive two blocks over and three blocks up, and there it is. A house Bubbles and I have walked by a million times in my life. The house where Bubbles grew up.
She’s a beauty, a three-story graystone, one of those typical limestone mini-castles that are all over our fair city, with a turret and a wide stone porch, a Juliet balcony on the second level, and a little red tile roof. I take my phone out and snap a bunch of pictures, hoping the homeowners don’t catch me.
Then I get back in my car and head for the bakery. I unlock the door quiet as can be, reach up to silence the bells, and relock it behind me. I walk through the dark store and back into the kitchen. I turn on the lights and wince as the bright fluorescents blare to life, reflecting off the steel worktables and white tile walls. I grab the big drawing pad that Herman and I have been using to sketch out ideas, and start to do a rough line drawing of Bubbles’s old house. Once I have the basic structure down, with some key features, I start adding details. The Chicago flag on the porch. That Cubs W sign hanging off the balcony railing, and a Chicago Bears logo in the little third-floor window. I give it a front yard, with a guy in a “Hawks Fans Don’t Give a Puck” apron manning a Weber kettle grill, and a table off to the side filled with the toppings for classic Chicago hot dogs, just like Jake said. My pencil is flying over the page. I put in some stick figures on the front stoop. A tall black iron fence with an orange “No Parking/Block Party” sign tied to it. A bag toss game set up in the front yard. I start to laugh. It’s perfect. A three-flat, so each level of the building will be its own tier. I can do some simple sugar work to make all the windows, and chocolate for the tile roof details. The people and other accessories can all be molded from fondant and gum paste and marzipan. We won’t have to worry about it toppling over, since it is a huge, solid structure, but we’ll have to get the look of the stone just right. I remember a technique I saw for brickwork, where you use slate tiles and a glue gun to actually make a template for rolling fondant into. You take the rough slate, make the brick pattern on it with the glue gun, and then make a silicone mold of the whole thing. Ends up with great texture, and you can roll fondant right over it and pull it off in large sheets. Much easier than trying to texturize flat sheets.
I start making a list of supplies I’ll need for us to begin creating the molds and templates for the various components, when suddenly I hear a massive crash upstairs. My heart leaps into my throat. Herman!
I run from the kitchen into the store and grab the key to his secret door from its hiding place behind the counter. I unlock it and take the little rickety staircase two steps at a time, and open the door at the top of the stairs, into Herman’s tidy little kitchen. I’m down the hall in a flash and into the bedroom, where I see something I will never be able to unsee.
Kneeling next to Herman, who is lying on the floor, is Bubbles, her hair a wild nest. She is putting a pillow under his head and murmuring to him in a soothing way.
And they are both exceptionally naked.
“The ambulance is on its way,” I say to Bubbles once she is in Herman’s bathrobe and he is covered with the afghan from the foot of the bed.
“Okay, he’s conscious, and his breathing seems fine, so I’m going to get dressed.”
“Are you okay?”
“Just a bit shaken, dear; that’s all.”
“Well, that’s to be expected.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m, um, just . . . surprised.”
“That makes three of us. Will you go downstairs and wait for the ambulance, honey?”
“Of course.”
I head back down the stairs, relocking everything behind me, and go out the front door of the store just as the sirens approach. I meet the paramedics outside and lead them up the front stairs to Herman’s apartment. Bubbles is fully dressed, re-coiffed, and Herman is magically wearing a velour tracksuit but is still on the floor. Figuring they don’t need me to hear any more detail than I’ve seen, I wait in the living room while Bubbles explains what happened.
Bubbles and Herman. It is at once the cutest thing imaginable and the most horrifying. I hear the words “was on top” come out of my grandmother’s mouth, and decide I cannot stay up here. I head back downstairs. A few neighbors have wandered out to see what is going on, but so far they are all keeping a respectful distance.
There are some loud clumping noises, and pretty soon the paramedics reappear, with Herman in a strange contraption that looks like a chair on a two-wheeler, Bubbles right behind.
“Honey, I’m going to ride with him; we’re going to Swedish Covenant. They’ll bring him into the emergency room.” She hands me a slip of paper. “Can you please call Herman Jr. and have him meet us there?”
“Of course. I’ll see you there.” I head back into the store, into the kitchen, and dial the number.
“Hello?”
“Mark, it’s Sophie.”
“Sophie, what’s up?”
“Are you in Chicago?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Um, he’s okay, but your dad is on his way to the Swedish Covenant hospital. I think he took a little fall.”
“Oh god, is anything broken?”
“Not as far as I know, but he’s in the ambulance, and I’m on my way there now, so, um, we’ll be in the emergency room.”
“I knew something like this would happen,” he says in a tone that could either be worry or annoyance. I can’t really tell which. Then he sighs. “I’m glad you were there. Thank you, Sophie; I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I shut down the lights in the kitchen, and then grab a large box from up front and take it into the walk-in. I fill it with cookies and brownies, figuring everyone will need a little something to nibble on, and I’m a big believer of bribing doctors and nurses for attention. As I’m heading out, I grab a chocolate babka for good measure, and some of the paper plates and napkins and plastic flatware we keep under the counter. Then I lock up and head for the hospital.
By the time I get to the emergency room, Herman is already in a cubicle and Bubbles is at the front desk checking him in. I go to stand beside her as she hands over his insurance card and fills out paperwork.
She winks at me. “Schnookie, why don’t you see if you can find us a quiet place to sit, and I’ll be over as soon as all this is done?”
“Will do.” I spot an empty corner with a couch and some chairs, and go to commandeer it. Bubbles comes over to join me.
“Quite the night, huh?” I say.
“Indeed. But it looks like he will be fine; they don’t think it was a heart attack or anything serious like that.”
“Thank goodness.”
“Yes. Poor fellow. I’m glad you’re here, but what on earth were you doing downstairs at this hour?”
; “Had an idea for the competition cake and wanted to sketch it and make some notes and lists and things. I guess I don’t have to ask what you were doing upstairs at this hour!”
She blushes. “He’s mortified, you know? He’s wanted to tell you for weeks. What a way for you to find out!”
“Why on earth would you keep it a secret? Did you think I wouldn’t approve? I’m delighted for you both.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Seriously?” How complicated could it be?
“Seriously.”
“Because you both lost spouses you loved? Does it feel like cheating?”
“Goodness no, it’s not that; it’s just . . .”
“Bubbles, whatever it is, you know I won’t judge you.” I wonder if she felt guilty having a romantic life when I have none. Like it would be rubbing my nose in it or something.
She looks me dead in the eye. “Herman and I have been what I believe you kids call ‘friends with benefits’ for about the last couple of years. Only recently, he admitted that he wanted to explore taking it to a more serious place, and I realized that I too was feeling more for him than I had perhaps allowed myself to admit, but we didn’t want to tell anyone until we were sure that we were fully compatible.”
Holy shit. My grandmother and Herman were sex buddies.
I try and make my face impassive. “Well, that seems very smart. And do you think you are? Fully compatible, I mean?” I refuse to let this get weird for her.
She smiles. “I think we love each other. Which neither of us had really anticipated.”
“I’m happy for you. You deserve that.”
“So we do.”
There is a warm breeze, and Mark comes flying into the emergency room, wearing jeans and a Chicago Cougars T-shirt. He spots us and comes over, greeting Bubbles with a respectful kiss on the cheek and nodding at me.
“How is he? Can I go in?” he asks.
“Give them some time; they are taking blood and other stuff. The doctor said that they would come out and get us when they were ready.”
“But he’s fine?”
“He got up from bed too fast, felt a little woozy, may have lost consciousness for a second. Took a fall. They are doing X-rays to be sure, but they don’t think he has any broken bones. Looks like just bruising and maybe some things might be slightly out of alignment in his lower back; he’s having pain there. But they know it wasn’t a heart attack. They are pretty sure it was some sort of vaguevaso something or other, nothing scary, but obviously they will do all the tests for stroke, et cetera. But he was talking and joking with the nurses when I left him, and said he wasn’t in terrible pain.”
“You were both there?”
“I was upstairs with him. Sophie was downstairs in the store and heard the thump when he fell and came upstairs to help,” she says, her face impassive, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. Which in a way, I suppose, it is.
Mark registers all of this information. “I see. Well then.” There is the tiniest hint of a kind smile playing around the corners of his mouth. For some reason, I find this strangely endearing. It also makes me feel a little sheepish about some of my stronger opinions of him.
The doctor comes out and finds us in our corner. The long and short of it is that after the exertions of the evening, Herman just got out of bed too fast and fainted. When he went down, he gave himself a bit of a sprained knee, whiplash, a bruised shoulder where he landed on it, and some lower back spasms. They are going to keep him overnight for more tests, to completely rule out any other causes, but at the moment, all the crucial tests have come back negative for anything more frightening. He will need rest and probably some physical and occupational therapy for a bit, and he won’t be able to do any heavy lifting for about a month while he heals up. The doctor says we can all go back to see him and keep him company while they wait for him to get admitted to a room.
“You go see your father, dear. We’ll wait here till you’re done,” Bubbles says.
“Thank you. I’ll be back,” Mark says and follows the doctor back to the patient area.
“I thought I’d better let Herman do the serious talking on this one,” Bubbles says.
“Probably best.”
“What’s in the box?”
I open it and slide it across the table to her. She looks inside and takes a huge brownie.
“Thank goodness. I’m ravenous!”
“I bet you are!” I say, and the two of us burst into laughter.
“So, the two of them are . . . ?” Mark asks me in the hallway. They got Herman into a room, and Bubbles is in there with him saying good night so I can take her home.
“Yep.”
“For years, apparently?”
“So it would seem.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“Sophie . . .”
“Yes?”
“I am really glad you were there; I mean, I know your grandmother is a very capable woman, but it does make me feel better that you were, you know . . .”
“I know. And look, I can manage the store while he’s recovering, no worries. But I think we are going to have to drop out of the cake competition.”
“You can’t. You can’t drop out. It’ll kill him, and make him feel even worse.”
“I can’t do it alone. I certainly can’t do it alone and run the whole store, and I don’t know where I would begin to find help.”
“What would you need? To do both, I mean.”
I think about this. “In the immediate, I need an assistant for the cake competition, to do the planning and practicing and prep work with me. For the next couple of weeks, that would be it. But then, for the last two weeks before the competition, I would need someone to help at the store, a second baker and maybe even someone to run front of house while I work on final prep, and then to keep things going the actual weekend of competition.”
“You’ve got it. So the assistant can be working with you after store hours and on Mondays when you’re closed? And then more help full-time two weeks before the event to free you up completely?”
“That’s right.”
“When do you need the assistant by?”
I think. “I can get through this weekend but would need them for at least a few hours on Monday.”
“Monday by three p.m. okay?”
“Of course.”
“Someone will be there.”
“Mark, that’s . . .”
“Someone will be there.”
I sort of hate that my first impulse is to decline. I would dearly love not to have to do the competition, and I don’t know why Mark’s generous offer feels so irksome to me. I guess deep down I know he is just worried about his dad. I’d be inclined to be more tolerant of him if only he weren’t such a pompous douche canoe all the time.
Bubbles comes out and says to me, “Herman wants to see you, honey.”
I go into the room. Herman looks small there in the bed, all his big personality diminished.
“You aren’t angry with me?” he asks.
I lean over and kiss his forehead. “Of course not, silly. I’m just so glad you didn’t really damage yourself. You and my grandmother are going to have to stop going all Cirque du Bengay up there and be a little more careful.” I wink at him, and he smirks.
“What can I say? She’s a heck of a woman.”
“Yes, she is. You’re okay, really?”
“At the moment I’m full of drugs, but I know that the pain is coming. I’m mostly embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. And don’t worry. I’ve got the store covered, and Mar . . . Herman Jr. is going to get me some help for the cake contest.”
“He is?”
“He says he is.”
“We still need an idea.”
“I
think we have one.” I fill him in on my brainstorm, the reason I was even there at all tonight.
“I love it. And I especially love that it is Betty’s old house for the inspiration. She’ll be so happy about that.”
“Yes, I think she will. You rest. Sounds like if you are a good boy, they’ll release you tomorrow, and I’ll come see you.”
“Thank you, my dear. And thank you for your blessing; it means everything to me.”
“She’s been happier recently than I’ve ever seen her, so I think you are the one that needs thanking. Now you just have to heal quickly.”
I head back out into the hall. “He’s all yours,” I say to Mark.
“Okay.”
“You talk to him, but I think you’ll agree it’s best,” Bubbles says to Mark.
“Only if you agree to my terms,” he replies cryptically.
“That’s between the two of you, dear. You work that out with him.”
“She’s a tough negotiator, this one,” he says to me.
“I wouldn’t cross her,” I say.
“No. No, I wouldn’t either. Thank you both again. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m going to stay here with him tonight, so I’ll call in the morning when there is news.”
Bubbles and I head for my car.
“What was all that about?”
“I want Herman to come recuperate at our house. We have the guest room all set up on the first floor right next to the bathroom with the walk-in shower, and there’s just the five steps up and down at the front door. He shouldn’t be doing those stairs at his apartment, and his shower is in the bathtub, which isn’t ideal. They said something about a residential rehab facility, but that just seems horrible, especially since he doesn’t need such an intense level of care. The home health people can come to the house for his therapies. How would you feel about that?”
“I think it sounds smart. And I hate the idea of him in one of those places. It is lovely of you to want to care for him.”
“Mark says only if he can provide some help, cleaning services and other assistance, while Herman is in residence.”
“That seems fair and will be welcome.”
Wedding Girl Page 25
