Starting From Scratch (6 page)

department, but I knew in my heart that she adored me,

and if the best way she could show me so was to bake me

an angel food cake with marshmallow icing, that was good

enough for me. I loved her right back. And as will happen

with things that are handed down within a family, baked

goods became a tool for me to show my love as well, at

least in some cases. In other cases, I just like to bake. It is

my cure-all. I bake when I am stressed out. I bake when I

am sad. I bake when I am ecstatically happy. I bake when

I’m nervous. I don’t know why. Something about the focus,

the way I can concentrate on measuring and sifting and

stirring just helps to relax and calm my frayed nerves. Very

few problems in life can’t be made at least a teensy bit

better by a mouthful of cookie dough.

I finished up the last batch and left them to cool on a

wire rack while I did up the dishes. It was late, but

Grandma always hated to wake up to a sink full of dirty

dishes, so I always clean up my mess even if I’ve been

baking at three in the morning which is not unheard of.

After wrapping up a package for Maddie, I took a cookie

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for myself, along with the essential glass of milk, and Steve

and I headed to bed.

38

CHAPTER FOUR

My townhouse development was a bit classier than

most, in my opinion. Instead of being a bunch of giant

buildings with doors all in a row, each building only

housed two units. So, it was almost like living in a sort of

duplex, rather than a structure with four or six or even

eight units. And each building was slightly different,

whether it was the pitch of the roof or the path of the

front walk, or the color of the siding, so we didn’t look like

we lived in a bunch of cookie-cutter homes. ere were

three pods set up in semi-circles and inside each semi-

circle was a happy little courtyard with benches and a

swing set, so our back yards all looked over one another,

but we were far enough apart to feel like we had at least a

little bit of privacy.

As I opened my car door, I waved across the street to

Mr. Watson. He was a nice man, old enough to be my

father and widowed for about two years. He always snow-

blew my driveway right after he did his in the winter. I, in

return, kept him supplied with rum balls throughout the

holiday season. It was an agreement that worked well for

both of us.

“Morning, Avery,” he greeted as he crossed toward me.

He pointed down the street a ways with his square chin

and asked, “You see the Sold sign?”

Georgia Beers

I nodded. “I noticed on my way home last night. How

long has it been there?”

“’Bout a week.”

I made a face that said I obviously hadn’t been paying

enough attention. “I wonder who bought it. Any clues?”

Getting into our development was tough and we liked to

keep it a closely guarded secret.

“Not yet, but according to Mrs. Greeley, it’s been sold

for a while and the sign should have been up weeks ago.

e closing’s next week some time.”

“Wow.” I tossed my briefcase into the car, wondering,

not for the first time, how Mrs. Greeley always managed to

get a hold of such detailed knowledge. Some would call

her a busybody. I thought she was a wealth of information.

If it wasn’t for her, I’d never know anything going on

around my home. “en I guess we’ll know soon enough,

huh?”

“Looks that way.”

1

Fridays are always a lot of fun at the office, with the

dress code moved to casual and the atmosphere a bit

lighter than at the beginning of the week, but that

particular Friday was more festive than usual. e

campaign we’d been working on—for a new local

microbrewery—had been received with great fervor and

excitement. Josh sent the praise my way for my colorful yet

simple design. I tossed it back into his lap because of his

catchy wording, and we both heaped the majority of the

success onto Anita, who did the actual pitching, which we

all knew she did with stylish presentation and expert

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coaxing. Tyrell was absolutely psyched, as we’d beat out

several larger competitors. e microbrewery was owned by

a much larger company, so the money they had to spend on

additional ad campaigns was quite a bit more than what a

small company would be able to fork over. is could turn

out to be a really big client for THJ and we all knew it.

Tyrell told us in no uncertain terms that we were all going

out for Happy Hour after work, and drinks were on him.

Even though Tyrell said he was buying, I didn’t like

going out to a bar without any cash at all; it made me feel

dependent upon others.  is happened to me—finding

myself with no cash—more and more often since the

invention of the debit card. I wondered if other people had

the same problem. I could rarely buy myself a pack of gum

without using plastic because I just never thought to carry

cash any more.

Of course, in order to get cash, I’d have to visit the

bank. Elena Walker’s bank. You could call me a lot of

things, but “dummy” isn’t one of them.

Rather than use the ATM, which would keep me

from having to actually go
inside
the bank, and thereby

preclude me from catching a glimpse of my fantasy

woman, I entered the lobby and proceeded to fill out a

withdrawal slip at one of the little desks. I could see right

into Elena’s office, see her sitting at her desk, talking to

somebody on the little earpiece she wore so she didn’t have

to hold the handset of the telephone, and typing on her

computer keyboard.  e day’s suit was black with very

subtle white pinstripes and big silver buttons on the jacket.

I couldn’t see if it was a pantsuit or a traditional jacket and

skirt, but the creamy blouse was unbuttoned enough to

show off a tan expanse of collarbone and the tiniest tease

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of cleavage. I bit my lip when the conversation she was

having sent her into amused laughter, and forced my eyes

back down to my pen. Did anybody have a right to be that

damn good-looking?  at sexy? Wasn’t it dangerous?

Shouldn’t there be a law of some kind?

When I glanced up again, she was looking right at me,

those deep melted-chocolate eyes sparkling even as she

continued to talk to whoever was on the other end of the

phone line. She tossed a little wave in my direction. And

then she winked.

She winked at me.

My knees almost dropped me on the floor right then

and there like a pile of dirty laundry.

I left the bank whistling a joyful little tune that I

made up on the spot.

By five-thirty that evening, we were having a blast.

Tyrell was a different kind of boss, more like a big brother

or cousin, always looking out for those he cared about. He

was one of the nicest men I’d ever met and as I watched

him joking with Josh over a beer, I remembered the first

time I’d come out for drinks with the team, only a couple

weeks after I’d started working there. He’d introduced

himself to me as Tyrell Jones, so I asked if he named his

company T. Harrison Jones because it sounded more

professional, more sophisticated. He said, matter-of-factly,

that he named it what he did because it sounded less black.

I wasn’t really sure how to respond, but I felt

uncontrollable sadness over the fact that it was the 21st

century and we still had to deal with ridiculous crap like

racism and homophobia and misogyny. Tyrell was not only

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Starting From Scratch

one of the sweetest guys I knew, he was also one of the

smartest and one of the most talented businessmen in the

city. But he had to be careful not to make his company

name sound too African-American because he might lose

clients. Sometimes the world just made me want to weep.

Josh bellied up to the bar next to me, his dark hair

looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. I reached up to fix

it, trying to brush it with my fingers like he was five years

old.

“What is going on with your bangs?” I teased as he

tried to swat my hand away. “Does your wife really let you

out of the house like this?”

“She leaves before I do in the morning.”

“at explains it. I’m calling her and telling her that

her husband needs a haircut.”

He laughed. “You will do no such thing.” He caught

the bartender’s eye and made a gesture with his finger that

encompassed both our empty glasses before asking me how

tee-ball was going.

“So far, so good,” I said to him, and meant it. “I’ve only

had a couple practices, but I haven’t murdered any of the

kids yet, so I’d say it’s a success so far.” I held up my glass

and he touched his to it.

Josh swallowed a mouthful of beer and then chuckled.

“I remember going to watch my niece Jasmine play in her

first soccer game. She was, like, five or six, I think. And the

ball is coming her way, all the players are running in her

direction, and what is she doing? Picking a dandelion she

found on the field. ey all went running right by her. I’m

not even sure she noticed.”

I thought of little Katie’s fascination with yanking

handfuls of grass out by the roots and shook my head. “I’m

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just hoping I have the patience for this. We’ll have our first

game before Maddie’s ready to come back.”

“You’ll be fine. Got any ringers?”

My mind flashed to Gabriel, who proceeded to whack

the crap out of the ball any time I put him near the tee. I

told Josh about him. “He’s a little condescending to the

other kids, but he’s got some real athletic potential. ere’s

Brittany, who I suspect is only playing because her mom

wants her to. She’s not bad, though. She tries hard. And

Max. He’s adorable and he wants so badly for his mom to

pay half the attention Brittany’s mom does, but she’s

always absorbed in her Blackberry or her cell phone or

whatever and can hardly be bothered to look up.”

Josh just grinned at me.

“What?” I asked him, wanting in on the secret.

“I just find it interesting that I asked you about the

kids and you told me all about the parents.”

I groaned. “See? I’m just not good with kids.”

“What are you talking about? Paying attention to the

parents means you’re more in tune than most people.”

I shrugged off the remark and tossed him a change of

subject. “So. How goes the baby-making?”

“Well,” he said, and then arranged his expression into

something resembling “thinking really hard.” He took a

gulp of his beer before continuing. “You’d think it would be

awesome for a guy to have his dick at a woman’s beck and

call, wouldn’t you?”

Beer went up my nose as I snorted over his choice of

words. He’d always treated me as one of the guys, so using

the word “dick” in conversation with me didn’t faze him in

the least. Once in a while, it caught me off-guard, though.

I wiped my dripping chin as I laughed and then mimicked

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Starting From Scratch

dialing a phone and putting an invisible handset to my ear.

“Hey, Joshua,” I said in my best come-hither voice. “I need

you. Now, big fella. Come and have your way with me.”

He pointed at me and nodded with enthusiasm.

“Like that?” I asked.

“Exactly.”

“Yes, I would think most guys would love that.”

“Yeah, well you would be wrong.”

“I would?” I had to admit, I was surprised.

“It’s a lot of pressure,” he whined.

I rolled my lips in and bit them to keep from busting

out laughing at his little-boy tone. “What, you can’t just…”

I cleared my throat. “Stand up on cue?”

“No!” He must have realized my mirth because he

narrowed his eyes at me. “Most guys can’t.”

“Porn stars can.”

“at’s because they have—what do they call them?—

fluffers to help them along.”

“Maybe you need one of those.”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “You offering?”

“Hell, no.” I scoffed. “I don’t want to be anywhere near

that thing. No offense.”

“Gee, thanks.”

I noticed that he wasn’t quite his happy-go-lucky self

all of a sudden. We’d always taken each other’s ribbing

well, knowing that’s all it was: ribbing. e flinch of pain

that zipped across his features bothered me.

“What’s going on, Joshie?” I asked, quietly and with

more seriousness. “Are you having trouble?”

He studied what was left in his glass and pursed his

lips. When he spoke, his voice was as quiet as mine and it

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struck me how we’d gone from playfully poking to softly

serious in the space of about five seconds.

“It’s just…like I said. It’s a lot of pressure.” He finished

off his beer and gestured for a refill. “I think Nina’s getting

frustrated and maybe a little depressed that it hasn’t