The Sunshine Potluck Society

Chapter 16

Debbie tiptoed to the door of the guest room and peeped inside. The room was decorated in the modern style with a grey quilted bed, silver bedside lamps and blue curtains that matched the blue print wallpaper on the opposite wall. Gwen was already awake, sitting up in bed with a book in her hands. Her greying hair was mussed. She had dark smudges beneath her eyes. She looked tired. She smiled at Debbie, who yawned.

“Did you sleep okay?” Debbie asked.

Gwen nodded. “This bed is divine. Thanks so much for having me. This is just what I needed. To get away for a little bit, get some space, think.”

“You’re so welcome. I’m going to make some breakfast. Do you have any requests?”

“Anything would be amazing. But don’t go to any trouble.”

Debbie smiled. “I love cooking. Don’t you know that?”

Gwen laughed. It was common knowledge in the group that Debbie never cooked. But maybe it was time things changed. She’d enjoyed making the roast the other night, even if it had been a waste of energy. But Gwen was here at her condo, and she wanted to do whatever she could to help her friend feel better, so she’d decided to tackle French toast. It couldn’t be too hard. And besides, it would give her something to do.

It was Monday and she’d usually be at work, but she had the day off. And she was still struggling to find things to do with her time when she wasn’t working. She had a lot of workaholic habits to break, and it was going to take a while to get used to this new phase of life.

She helped Gwen out of bed. Her friend assured her that she could manage on her own from there, so she went to the kitchen to get started on breakfast while Gwen washed up in the bathroom and got changed.

When Gwen joined her in the kitchen and sat down on one of the bar stools, Debbie was already frying French toast, her iPad stowed in the recipe book holder, recipe displayed on the screen.

“What are you making?” Gwen asked.

“French toast. I hope you like it.”

“It smells divine. My stomach is growling.” Gwen laughed. “Since when did you become Debbie Homemaker?”

Debbie rolled her eyes. “You know I’m Little Miss Domestic.”

“Oh, that’s right. I totally forgot all about your love of cooking.”

“Fifty plus years of friendship and you don’t know me at all,” Debbie quipped with a wink.

Gwen giggled. Then she sighed. “I am really grateful for your friendship. I hope you know that. I don’t know what I’d do without you and Jo.”

“Right back at ya,” Debbie said. And she meant it. Gwen and Joanna were the reason she’d managed to navigate most of the difficulties of life the way she had. Them and Caleb. And now Caleb was pulling away from her. Even thinking about that made her heart ache. She cleared her throat. “Speaking of which, I think my marriage might be over.”

“Oh, no,” Gwen replied. “Why do you say that? What’s happened?”

“Caleb has no time for me. He’s already at work this morning.”

“I thought I heard him leave,” Gwen said.

“Yes, he leaves early and comes home late. The other night, he said he’d be coming home, and I made a beautiful roast. He ate at work and didn’t answer his phone. Then when he got home, he barely apologised and went to watch a sports game. I tried to join him, but he basically ignored me. I don’t know what’s wrong. He won’t talk about it.”

“Have you tried asking him?” Gwen’s face was written with concern.

“Probably not hard enough. I keep giving him space to speak up, but maybe I need to ask him outright.”

“I think you should. Men don’t always know what we’re thinking, if we don’t say something.”

Debbie scooped the golden fried toast onto plates, then carried them to the dining table. Gwen followed. She helped Gwen into a chair, then returned to the kitchen to get butter, syrup, yoghurt and some fresh tropical fruit, including mango, peaches and pawpaw she’d sliced earlier.

She sat at the table as Gwen piled her plate high with toast, yoghurt and fruit.

“Of course, I should take my own advice. I haven’t spoken to Duncan yet either.” Gwen’s phone rang in her pocket, and she pulled it out. “Speak of the devil.”

She answered. “Hello?”

Debbie returned to the kitchen to give Gwen some privacy. She made them each a cup of tea, then carried it back to the table when she heard Gwen hang up the phone.

She set a cup in front of Gwen then returned to her own seat. “How did it go?”

Gwen’s eyes were red-rimmed. “He asked where I was. I told him I was staying here for a while. He said that’s fine, he’s off to work, goodbye. So I stopped him and said, ‘I needed some time away from you.’ He asked me why, and I told him that he and the kids didn’t take care of me when I needed it—that they all take me for granted.”

“Good for you. Did he say anything else?”

“He said I was being emotional and he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, that he always takes good care of me.”

“Emotional?” Debbie shook her head in disgust.

“Then he had to go. He didn’t want to be late. Said we could talk more later.”

They ate their French toast and chatted about the progress they were making on the recipe book and what they’d cook at the next brunch. Debbie said she might even contribute a dish this time, one that wasn’t from a bakery. And then Gwen’s phone rang again.

This time when she hung up the phone, she was smiling nervously.

“Who was that?” Debbie asked as she ate the last bite of toast.

“That was the Surf Club. They run that fundraiser ball every year, and the organiser has backed out last minute. They wanted to know if I’d organise the ball. It’s in less than a month.”

“It’s not very long to pull together an event like that.”

“No, it’s not. But I told them I’d do it.”

“With your broken ankle?”

“What else am I going to do? It’ll give me something to occupy my time. And besides, I’ve always wanted to be involved. That’s why they called—I put my name on the list to help out. I didn’t know they’d want me to be in charge and plan the whole thing. But I think I can do it.”

“I know you can,” Debbie replied. “You’re exactly the right person for the job.”