Friendship Bread (18 page)

At first, Mark would join her when she went to the cemetery, sometimes with Gracie, sometimes not. But the daily vigil wore him down and eventually she found herself making trips to Josh’s grave alone. She knows Mark comes on his own time, because sometimes there will be fresh flowers or a new baseball. Once there was a strawberry Charleston Chew resting on the top of the memorial marker, no note. Josh loved Charleston Chews but he always had so many cavities that Julia banned it from the house. The only person she can think of who would ignore the rules laid down by Julia would be Livvy. Julia had clutched the candy bar, wanting to throw it away, but she couldn’t. She put it back and left, drove home and crawled back into bed.

She suffered from insomnia, from migraines, from too much of everything. Life—the world—it was all too much. The doctors gave
Julia pills but she didn’t take them. She didn’t want relief—that’s what nobody could understand. The pain was real. Her son had died. Why should she get relief when he didn’t?

She sees the concern in Madeline’s and Hannah’s eyes, their genuine desire to help her however they can, but there is a touch of alarm, too. Julia is like a woman insane—she can feel herself losing it, reality slipping away. They’ll lock her up. They’ll have no choice but to lock her up and throw away the key, punishing her for something she should have been punished for long ago.

She should have been there. She should have been there
.

Julia closes her eyes, unable to stop shaking while her whole body feels like it is on fire. She feels it in her belly. The heat is visceral, and it’s consuming her.

And then—blackness.

Madeline is no stranger to grief. She remembers the pain from Steven’s death as if it were yesterday. Sudden death gives you no warning, no preparation, no time to say goodbye or I love you.

Madeline cannot comprehend the depth of pain that must come from losing a child. It’s not the natural order of life. Your children are supposed to outlive you. They’re supposed to have a full life. They’re supposed to grow up, get married, have children of their own. No one prepares you for this kind of despair—there is no despair that can rival this.

When she lost Steven, she also lost Ben. In a different way, of course, but it was difficult nonetheless. To think that for so many years she had been relieved when Ben wasn’t around to cause them more heartache, and yet when Steven died, Ben was the only person capable of understanding what this loss really meant. She wishes now they hadn’t grieved alone, Ben especially, because there is no question that loneliness is sometimes the worst of it.

It took some time but Madeline was able to eventually move forward with her life, and when she did, she simply took the sadness with her. You can never recover from losing a person you love, but
you can find a way to let it be a part of your life rather than letting it take over every part of you. Still, there is no set timetable, no magic bullet. Julia, like Madeline, will have to find her own way out.

“What should we do?” Hannah’s voice is a whisper.

Madeline thinks about whether or not they can get Julia upstairs but decides that the couch in the back parlor is closer. They get her arranged and then return to the kitchen so Madeline can finish the French onion soup.

“Will she be okay?”

Madeline gives a firm nod to allay Hannah’s concerns, but she’s not sure. She doesn’t want to wake Julia because she doubts Julia has really slept since Josh’s death. If the heart can’t heal, the mind doesn’t rest—Madeline knows this all too well. That’s not what worries her. Madeline learned a long time ago that death’s most painful companion is guilt, and Julia has that in spades. “She just needs some rest—we’ll leave her be.”

The storm subsides to a steady downpour of rain. Hannah helps Madeline scrape down the sides of the pot. “Add some water now,” she tells Hannah, “then scrape the bottom and the sides again, stirring it all back into the soup. It’s called deglazing.”

“Deglazing,” Hannah repeats obediently, holding the wooden spoon like an expert.

“Do it one more time with the cooking sherry instead of water—that will really pull the flavor out.”

Madeline slides the baking sheet with the baguette slices into the oven, then checks on Julia, who is sleeping peacefully. She tucks the blanket around Julia, feeling a bittersweet pang of sorrow and hope, and returns to the kitchen. She considers what to do as she sets out three bowls on the table, resting the spoons on folded cloth napkins. She goes to her junk drawer and pulls out the telephone book, squinting as she tries to read the small print. Her finger trails down the names until she finds the one she’s looking for. She gives Hannah a pat on the shoulder as she leans over to check the onions. “Almost there,” she tells Hannah with a smile.

Then she reaches for the telephone to call Mark Evarts.

Sergeant Robert Overby reviews the incident reports for the day.

One disturbance of the peace
. Teenager was playing on a new set of drums in his garage. An officer was sent out and witnessed heated argument between teenager, parent, and neighbor. Officer helped move the drums to the basement and suggested soundproofing options. Issue resolved.

One suspicious vehicle on Elwood Drive
. A naked man and woman found in the backseat. They claimed they were not engaged in any illicit activity, but merely talking. They were asked to move along. Issue resolved.

Sergeant Overby chuckles. All in all, a pretty good day. He has four patrol officers on duty and in an hour he gets to go home and get some blessed sleep.

He lets out a yawn just as an elderly woman in a trench coat is escorted into the department by Officer Joey Daniels. “I got a live one here, Sergeant,” he says importantly. Officer Daniels is new to Avalon
and is still getting to know the residents, which is why he doesn’t recognize the woman as Avalon’s former Miss Sunshine.

Cora “Miss Sunshine” Ferguson had a brief television career as the pretty homemaker in the ever-popular Sunshine Detergent commercials that ran in the 1970s. She had been spotted in the downtown Chicago Marshall Field’s on State Street one Thanksgiving weekend, shopping early for Christmas bargains. The talent scout handpicked her out of the crowd and had her audition on the spot, which Cora did with a flourish. The scout found her charming, oblivious to the scent of hot buttered rum on her breath, and took her to the headquarters of Sunshine Detergent down on Lake Street. She did a screen test and the rest, as they say, was television history.

Sunshine Detergent eventually went bankrupt, and Cora returned to Avalon with a small savings account, which she drank through in less than a year. After that, despite attempts by friends and well-meaning neighbors to get her into a good alcoholic treatment program, Cora Ferguson became known, affectionately, as the town’s resident drunk.

“I have a Miss Ferguson here …” Officer Daniels begins, reading from his notebook.

Cora yanks her arm free of his grip. “That’s Miss Sunshine to you.” She sways a bit as she glares at him.

“Now, Miss Sunshine, what are you doing here?” Sergeant Overby gets up from his desk and comes over to her. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

“Do you have any whiskey?”

“No, ma’am, I do not,” he replies politely.

She pulls the trench coat tight around her body. “Then coffee will do just fine. Thank you.” She gives Officer Daniels the stink-eye, then sits in the chair Sergeant Overby has pulled out for her.

He fills a Styrofoam cup with coffee, picks up a couple packets of sugar and cream and places it all on the table in front of her. “Now why did Officer Daniels have to bring you in today?”

“Theft.” Officer Daniels says the word loud and clear, then gives Miss Sunshine a stink-eye of his own. “Perpetrator was seen lurking
around a private property on North Davis Street. She fits the same description as the call we received last week about someone in a trench coat stealing newspapers from people’s walkways.”

“I was REDISTRIBUTING them,” Cora says loudly.

This is not the first time Cora has been brought in, and Sergeant Overby knows it won’t be the last. “What did you take this time, Cora?”

Cora is sulky. “Nothing.”

Officer Daniels attempts to open Cora’s trench coat but she fends him off. Frustrated he steps back. “It’s in her coat, Sergeant. I saw her put something in it right before I apprehended her.”

Sergeant Overby sighs. He hopes to God it’s nothing serious, because he really doesn’t want to have to arrest Cora. Most of the town knows her and understands she’s harmless, but the recent influx of new residents means that Cora’s colorful history in Avalon may be coming to an end. “Can you please remove your coat, Miss Sunshine?”

She wraps the coat tighter around her body. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because today is laundry day and I only have my unmentionables on while I wait for my clothes to dry.” She gives him a smug look and then proceeds to add cream to her coffee.

He sighs. “Officer Daniels, can you please call Roxy Hicks? She just left and can probably get back here pretty quickly.” He explains to Cora, “Roxy Hicks is one of our new Police Services Aides. She’s not a police officer, but she helps us with a lot of official tasks around the department.”

“Is she a hooker? Her name makes her sound like a hooker.”

“Roxy is not a hooker, she’s a very nice lady. You don’t want me to call Officer Tripp in here, do you?”

Cora presses her lips together, then shakes her head. Juanita Tripp is a female officer, but one of the toughest cops in the department. She’s brought Cora in enough times to have lost patience with her.

When Roxy arrives, Cora is taken to the debriefing room. A few
minutes later, Roxy emerges holding a cardboard box, an unpleasant look on her face.

Lord, what has Cora Ferguson gotten herself into now? Sergeant Overby straightens up. “What is it, Roxy?”

Roxy begins pulling items out of the box: two issues of the
Avalon Gazette
, a couple of golf balls, a chewed up dog toy, and a puffy Ziploc bag filled with a suspicious substance. On the bag written in bold permanent marker, “AFB. Day Ten.” Today’s date is printed next to it.

“What
is
that?” Officer Daniels strains for a closer look then jumps back when Roxy gives it a poke.

“I have no idea.” Sergeant Overby wonders if maybe he should send it to the lab. The bag is just about bursting, and he has no idea if what’s inside is toxic, or worse.

“I asked her, but she wouldn’t say anything,” Roxy says. “Though she did call me a hooker. That was nice.”

“Get her back in here,” Sergeant Overby orders. He’s willing to give Cora the benefit of the doubt, that she picked up something she shouldn’t have, but he doesn’t like the look of this. Something doesn’t feel right.

Roxy returns with Cora, who eyes her things hungrily. Sergeant Overby pushes them out of her reach and holds up the bag. “What is this, Cora?”

Cora refuses to say anything.

“Cora.” His voice is stern. “I’m serious now. I don’t want to have to book you on trespassing or petty theft, but if this is a potentially dangerous substance, I need to know.
Now
.”

“Should I call the fire department and have them send a hazmat team, sir?” Office Daniels has the phone in his hand.

Sergeant Overby holds up a hand. “Cora, if I were to open this bag, what would happen? Do you know?”

“I have a vague idea,” she smirks. “Just don’t let it interact with any metal or you’ll be sorry.”

One minute later, the Avalon Police Department is evacuated.

A hazardous materials incident in Avalon! Edie still can’t believe it. The call came into the
Gazette
a few minutes ago, a concerned citizen wondering if they knew why the police department had been evacuated and the fire department summoned. Edie was quick to make a few calls before grabbing her backpack and running down the street.

She hears the sirens and feels adrenaline coursing through her body. It could be nothing but it could also be something. Something that could put a small town on the map, put Edie on the map. It’s a long shot, true, but look at Benson, Minnesota, which has a population even smaller than Avalon. A small story about turkey manure fuel generation made it into the
New York Times
. A story in the
Chicago Tribune
about a ten-second tornado in Utica, Illinois, garnered the reporter a Pulitzer Prize. So why can’t there be a story about Avalon? And why can’t Edie be the one to write it?

Several possible headlines run through her mind. She sees it being
picked up by the major newswires: AP, UPI, Reuters. And, of course, her byline.

By Edith Gallagher
.

Maybe she’s making this into a bigger deal than it is, but she’s a good writer, a good reporter. She knows she can write a story that will make a difference if only she can find the right one. Disappearing garden gnomes and steak frys aren’t going to do much for her career—she knows this. But there are many prominent journalists who got their start with that one great story, and that’s what Edie is after.