Angel Lane (15 page)

“I think so.” In honor of Thanksgiving they were going to make Sarah's raisin pie cookies—sugar cookies pressed together tart-style over a raisin filling. It was an ambitious recipe for a first project (what had she been smoking when she decided to attempt it?), but she had premade the filling and had all the
ingredients for the cookie dough standing ready. She hoped that would make the whole process easier.

Now, all she had to do was get away from Betty and into the kitchen. “Are you sure you have to stay at the station?” she pressed.

“Sorry, babe, but yes.”

“What good is it to be the guy in charge when you can't get away when you want to?” she grumped.

He gave a snort. “Who says I want to?”

She sighed. “That's what I thought.”

“Everything'll be fine,” he assured her. “You going to save me some cookies or are they getting scattered to the winds?”

“As if you never get anything.”

“The cobbler's children,” he retorted. “And sometimes the baker's husband. For a guy whose wife runs a bakery I don't get much.”

“Come by in about an hour and you can be sure you'll get something,” Sarah suggested.

“Nice try, babe. Gotta go.” And with that, he hung up, leaving her to her fate.

“It will be fine,” she assured herself as she put the cordless phone back in its recharge cradle. She looked around her kitchen, checking out the stations she had set up. One end of the granite-topped island counter would be for rolling out the cookies after they made the dough. She'd station two girls there. The other end of the counter would be the filling station where two other girls could work on assembling their creations on cookie sheets. Everything was laid out and she had background
music already going—Miley Cyrus to make the day girl-friendly. Let the games begin.

She poured herself a cup of coffee for energy and snagged the ringing phone. “Hi, Nana,” piped Katie.

The good feelings that spread through Sarah were better than a sugar buzz. “Katie, my little cupcake with the cherry on top. How are you doing?”

“I'm good, Nana. We got a new puppy. Guess what we named it?”

“I can't imagine,” said Sarah.

“We named it Nanacakes.”

“Nanacakes?”

“Uh-huh. She's white and black. She's a girl.”

“Well, that's great,” said Sarah.
Nanacakes
. She smiled.

“Nana, I miss you so much.”

Now she was going to cry. Phones were great. It was almost like having the other person in the same room. Almost, but not quite. You couldn't hug a child through the phone.

“Mommy's going to e-mail you a picture of Nanacakes,” Katie said. Then, to a persistent voice behind her, “No, I'm talking to Nana.”

The doorbell rang. Sarah walked to the door, saying, “Katie, put Addie on so I can say hi, okay?”

“Okay,” Katie said grudgingly.

“Addie, my little sugar dumpling.”

“Nana, we have a new puppy.”

“So I hear,” Sarah said, opening the front door.

There stood George Armstrong, Lissa and Mandy next to
him. Lissa was beaming and Mandy was bouncing up and down as though the front porch had suddenly turned into a trampoline. “Are we too early?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Come on in.” To Addie she said, “Nana has to go, sweetie. I love you. Be good for Mommy and tell her I'll call her later. Okay?”

“Okay.”

And then the grandchildren were gone and she had new children to attend to.

“We're ready to make cookies,” Lissa informed Sarah.

“Can we eat them?” asked Mandy.

“Of course,” Sarah said, smiling down at her.

The two girls exchanged squeals and jumped up and down.

“Are you sure you're up for this?” George asked dubiously.

“Absolutely,” Sarah replied firmly enough to convince both of them. She'd offered this class, and, by gumballs, it was going to happen.

George left, and Sarah ushered the girls into the kitchen to wash their hands and then had them don the little aprons that Emma had generously made as her contribution to the Sarah Goodwin Baking School for Girls.

They were drying their hands when the doorbell rang again.

Betty Bateman and two little girls stood on the front porch.

“Oh, and here's our heroine,” said Betty, beaming at Sarah. “Beanie, you remember Mrs. Goodwin, don't you?”

The redheaded child next to her was dressed in a dirty parka, torn jeans, and tennis shoes that looked like she'd dragged them through a pasture in the rain. She held up a grimy hand in greeting. “Hi.”

“We've just been so excited about this,” said Betty. “Haven't we, Beanie?”

Beanie opened her mouth to speak.

“Oh, and I have some wonderful cookie recipes if you need any. The kids just love my sugar cookies. Don't you, Beanie?”

Beanie tried again, but she wasn't quick enough.

“And I have a lovely oatmeal cookie recipe. Of course, it can't compare to those cookies you make at the bakery. Are you going to teach the girls to make those?”

“I think we're going to concentrate on something a little more seasonal,” Sarah said, smiling at the other girl. “And you must be . . .”

“Damaris,” said the girl.

Sarah looked around. “Your mother?”

“She's at work. My dad dropped me off. He said to call when we're done. Are we gonna make Christmas cookies?” she asked, her voice powdered with disgust. “It isn't even December.”

“Which is why we're going to make something else today,” Sarah replied with a determined smile.

“Are we having snacks?” asked Damaris.

“I'm hungry,” said Beanie.

Actually, Sarah hadn't thought of that. Of course, she'd figured they'd sample the cookies, but snacks—where had her brain been? Was she that far removed from motherhood? Or even grandmotherhood, for that matter. “We'll find something.” she said, and hoped she sounded like a woman with a plan.

“Oh, snacks. I didn't even think of snacks,” said Betty. “You know, I could have brought something,” she added as Damaris
slipped past Sarah and down the hall with Beanie following her lead.

“Go ahead and wash your hands,” Sarah called after them. Now she had four little girls in her kitchen, unsupervised. That wasn't good.

“I could run home and grab some chips,” Betty offered. “We always keep Doritos on hand. They're Beanie's favorite. Oh, and let's see, I might have some Chips Ahoy.”

Store-bought cookies at a baking class? That was just sick and wrong. “That's sweet of you, Betty, but we'll be fine.” What did she have in the fridge? Milk to go with the cookies, of course, a couple of yogurts, salad makings, tofu to make up for her vanishing estrogen—nothing that would get a group of grade-school girls excited.
Come on, Sarah, think
.

“Well, it's no problem,” said Betty. “Except, let me see. Did Beanie eat the last of the Doritos? I wonder if we have any cookies left. Well, no problem. The store isn't far. And we have our little hybrid. Let me tell you, that gets the best gas mileage.”

“Don't worry. We'll be fine,” Sarah assured her and started to move the door toward shut.

Betty leaned around to keep her face in view. “If you're sure. I don't mind.”

“No, not a problem, really. We'll see you at five. I'd better go get the girls started.”

She shut the door while Betty was still babbling. New sounds were coming from the kitchen. Little girls squealing. What were they into?

Sarah hurried to the kitchen to find her baking class chasing each other around the island counter. “Okay, ladies,” she said,
catching Beanie. “Let's settle down. Have we all washed our hands?”

“Yep,” said Beanie.

Sarah lifted one of Beanie's hands for inspection. “Let's do it again.”

“Do we have to wear these stupid aprons?” Damaris asked, holding up one made with red checked material.

“Actually, yes. That way you won't get your clothes dirty.”

“My grandma doesn't care,” said Beanie.

Damaris had tossed aside her apron and was now fingering Sarah's vintage miniature milk glass Hen on Nest figurine. “Let's not do that,” Sarah said sweetly, removing it from the child's hands.

“I was just looking at it,” said Damaris.

“Let's look with our eyes, shall we?”

“I like these,” said Lissa, pointing to the wooden Dutch girl and boy with holes in their rounded bellies for shaking out salt and pepper.

“Those are older than you,” Sarah told her. “Older than me, even. They were my mother's.”

“This is boring,” said Damaris.

“I'm starving,” wailed Beanie.

Oh, yes. This had been a great idea, positively inspired.

 

 

 

 

P
izza,” Sarah decided. “We're going to send out for pizza.”

“Yay!” said Beanie. “I love pizza.”

“Me, too,” said Lissa.

“Me, too,” echoed Mandy.

“We have pizza all the time,” said Damaris in a bored voice.

The other girls looked at her, at first like she was from Mars, then like maybe they were. “Pizza's okay,” said Lissa with a shrug. She saved herself from becoming a Damaris clone by adding a polite, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. I'll call in the order,” said Sarah, wishing she could order a gag for Damaris.

“Pepperoni,” Beanie requested.

“That's nasty,” said Damaris. “Let's have Hawaiian. Hawaiian is better than stupid pepperoni.”

“Yeah,” said Lissa.

“Yeah,” said Mandy.

“Pineapple. Gross,” said Beanie, making a face. Beanie was obviously her own woman.

“We can do half pepperoni and half pineapple,” Sarah said.

Damaris shrugged, but Beanie smiled gratefully at Sarah, and Lissa said, “Then we can have some of each.”

“Have you ever seen a whole pepperoni?” Damaris asked the other girls as Sarah was looking up the phone number for Pizza Heaven.

All three shook their heads.

She lowered her voice. “It looks like a giant weenie.” It wasn't hard to tell from the hand motions that accompanied her words that the girl wasn't talking about hot dogs.

Lissa and Beanie giggled and Mandy asked, “What's a weenie?”

“She doesn't know. She's a baby,” explained Lissa.

“I am not a baby!” Mandy cried hotly.

Sarah's junior bakers needed to refocus. “Okay, girls, let's check to make sure we have all the ingredients while I'm ordering pizza.”

The squabbling was instantly forgotten and the girls clustered around the counter, each one randomly grabbing for salt, baking soda, measuring spoons, and cups.

“I'll get you started,” Sarah said, pushing between them. She pointed to the recipe sheet. “Here's the recipe we're using. Lissa and Damaris, you can measure the dry ingredients.” She showed them how to tap on a filled measuring cup, then cut across it with the flat side of a knife to get the exact amount of flour.

“That's easy,” said Damaris, grabbing the cup.

Fine, go for it
. Sarah turned her attention to the other girls. “Mandy, you can put the sugar into the mixing bowl, and Beanie, use this knife to put the shortening into the measuring cup. Like this.” She demonstrated and Beanie nodded eagerly. “As soon as I'm off the phone I'll show you how to do the raisin filling.”

Okay, that should keep them busy while she ordered pizza. She moved to the counter where the phone sat and picked it up, giving one final admonition. “Remember, it's important, when you're baking, to follow the recipe exactly so your cookies turn out well.”

“I already knew that,” bragged Damaris, dipping her cup into the flour canister.

Maybe she was too advanced for this class. Maybe Sarah could suggest she go learn how to hang glide or something.

“I knew that, too,” said Lissa, not to be outdone. She smiled at Sarah. “I want to be a baker like you when I grow up. Then I can eat all the cookies I want.”

“My mom says eating too many cookies gives you a big butt,” Damaris said as Sarah punched in the number for Pizza Heaven.

Sarah was suddenly conscious of four pairs of eyes checking out her own big butt. She turned and leaned against the counter, hiding it behind her.

“I don't want a big butt like Mrs. Goodwin's,” said Damaris. “I'm going to go on
America's Next Top Model
and become a supermodel.” She struck a sex-laced pose that sat oddly with her nine-year-old body.

“Pizza Heaven,” said a bored teenage-girl voice. “Heaven's what we deliver in every sliver.”

Sarah needed a little heaven right now, and pizza alone wasn't going to do it.

After the girls got busy baking, moods improved. Even Damaris forgot she was a pill and began to have fun.

But once the pizza arrived and Sarah insisted they eat at the table she reverted to pillhood. “We always eat on the couch and watch TV,” she informed Sarah. “
High School Hitters
is on right now,” she explained to the other junior bakers. “I looove Seth.”

“I'm going to marry Bo,” Beanie announced.

“You can't marry Bo,” Damaris said. “You have to be totally hot. Anyway, him and Kirsten are breaking up today. Can we watch it?” she asked Sarah.

Sarah didn't watch much TV, but even she knew about the new teen soap that was luring kids to the small screen after school on a daily basis. “Not today,” she said, sweetly but firmly. “Today we're too busy living real life to watch pretend life.”

“I hate real life. Real life is boring,” said Damaris.

“Only if you're a boring person,” Sarah retorted.

Damaris shut up and took another bite of her pizza.