The Marriage Recipe

Colin stood there for a second, trying to figure out what to say next. He was supposed to be a professional, and here he was acting like a child and sending messages with his cell phone’s display light. Heck, years ago they hadn’t had cell phones. Now he could just dial Rachel up and talk to her that way. But here he remained, in the dark, enjoying the illicit thrill of communicating this way.

“Colin? Are you up there still? Did you find it? Do you need some help?” his mother called.

Colin quickly flashed three letters, G-T-G, his and Rachel’s code for Got to go, which usually indicated one of their parents was about to bust them.

He shoved his phone back in his pocket. He was thirty-one years old, and his mom was about to discover him in his old bedroom, flashing his phone at the girl next door. She wouldn’t understand. He grabbed the yearbook off the bed, and as he left his bedroom, he ran into his mother as she rounded the corner. “I found it,” he told her, taking four steps down the hall.

“Oh,” she said. “I was starting to wonder what was keeping you. I mean, I thought I’d seen your yearbook last on the bookshelf.”

“It was in my closet,” Colin fibbed, glad he was behind his mother, who’d already turned toward the stairway. He clutched the book to his chest and followed her down into the kitchen. “I’ve got to get going. It’s getting late,” he told her.

“Okay,” she said. She gave him a quick hug. “Stay safe.”

“I will.” With that and a quick goodbye to his father, Colin was soon outside and climbing into his sedan. The driveway was on the opposite side of the house from Rachel’s window, so he couldn’t see if she was still in her bedroom. Once he backed out, a maze of tree branches should block any clear view.

But somehow, he saw her standing in the window as he drove by.

RACHEL SIGHED and set her flashlight down on the bed. Her mother was one of those home-safety types who had flashlights that also served as night-lights plugged into at least one outlet in every bedroom. Rachel had grown up knowing an evacuation plan for fire, tornado and earthquake. Considering that fire had destroyed the diner, maybe her mother’s better-safe-than-sorry attitude wasn’t so hard to understand.

She glanced around her bedroom. Little had changed since high school. The antique white canopy bed had been in the room for years. The wallpaper was Victorian—faded cabbage-rose wallpaper that had become cream colored with age. Only the white lacy bedspread was new.

Growing up, Rachel had always wanted something more modern. Her apartment decor had leaned toward black and chrome, befitting a New York City studio whose only view was the building next door.

A knock sounded, and her mother entered. Rachel stood five-seven; Adrienne Palladia topped out at five-two. “I brought your laundry,” she said.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Rachel said, rising from where she’d been flopped on the bed.

“It was no problem,” her mom insisted, setting the white circular basket on a small, upholstered chair and walking back to the doorway. As she did, she noticed the flashlight on the bedspread. “What’s that doing out?”

“Uh…” Rachel stammered.

Her mother frowned. “Were you flashing Colin again? He doesn’t even live there anymore.”

“Um…” Rachel fought to think of something plausible. Although she’d never told Colin, on a long-ago visit home from New York City she’d confessed her nocturnal childhood activities. “I was just trying to see if I could peer into his room the way I used to do. Call it curiosity. I saw him today when I went to catch Bruce.”

That was safe and reasonable.

“You saw Colin?” Her mother had moved to the doorway and she paused.

“Yes, he was walking into the law office as I was walking out. He asked me what I was doing there, so I told him. Bruce is in Houston with Christina.”

“And…” her mother prompted.

“He’ll let me know tomorrow if Lancaster and Morris will take on my case. He’s meeting me at the diner around noon.”

“Then I’ll keep my fingers crossed for good news. I hope it all works out, especially since you won’t let us help you.”

Rachel shook her head. “You and Grandma are already doing enough, although there is one thing I want to talk about with both of you. I’d like to maybe use the kitchen.”

Adrienne’s brow creased, as if she was confused about why her daughter would ask a question with such an obvious answer. “Of course you can. This house is too big for the three of us, but it’s been in the family forever. Who knows, maybe one of these days I’ll move in with you the way Kim did with me.”

“I guess you’re lucky that you get along so well with Dad’s mother.” Marco’s mother had accepted Rachel, but she hadn’t been overly friendly.

“We’re best friends,” Adrienne said, and Rachel knew her mother meant it. “I’m closer to her than I was to my mom, God rest her soul.”

Rachel smiled. One of her mother’s foibles was to add God rest her soul when speaking of the dead, as if not doing so might bring someone back to haunt her. “Amen,” Rachel quipped. “But back to the kitchen. I wasn’t talking about here. I’d like to use the one at the diner after it closes. I’d like to begin baking. Maybe fill up the display case in the front. My dream is to get a small Internet bakery business going, although I haven’t pursued that yet. This could help me begin. I’ll pay you both for the usage.”

Her mom leaned her hip against the doorjamb. “If you’re a little strapped for cash, we could do an exchange. You give us some desserts to sell during our business hours and I’ll give you use of the kitchen. That’s probably a fair trade. I doubt Kim will mind.”

“Mind what? I’m hearing my name. Is this a meeting?” Kim slid by Adrienne and entered Rachel’s bedroom. It always amazed Rachel how thin and spry her grandmother was. Turning seventy hadn’t slowed her down at all. Her grandmother still did yoga and tai chi to keep her five-foot-four body flexible.

“Rachel wants to use the diner’s kitchen in exchange for giving us some goodies to sell in the front display case,” Adrienne said.

“Can you make my bear claws?” Kim said, peering at her granddaughter.

“Actually, yes,” Rachel confirmed. “And cakes, pies and other pastries. I thought I’d test some new recipes, and look into what it would take to open a cyber bakery.”

“Don’t know what the world’s coming to.” Kim shook her head in disbelief. “Still don’t understand why anyone wouldn’t just go to their local store for something fresh baked. Heck, you can get cakes decorated in Wal-Mart and they’re quite tasty. The girls at the diner bought me one for my last birthday. Not as good as mine, but not half-bad, either.”