30. Alexandra
thirty
Ican’t sleep that night, so I scroll through the pictures I took at the farm today. Laughing faces around the long table, farmhands and owners side by side. Parents and children hugging. Pride in their hard work obvious in every detail.
A sense of peace radiates from every photo, and a new resolve takes hold of me. This is what I want for Red Barn.
I keep scrolling mindlessly back, thinking about how to bring the small family business vibe to an industrial company, until I land on the photo of myself in baker attire. The one I emailed Barbara but she never received. She would love it, so I text it to her.
A voice message comes back. Impressed with Barbara’s mastery of our constantly evolving technology, I open the message.
“Hello Lexie exclamation mark thank you so much for the picture heart emoji you look fantastic exclamation mark how is everything eggplant those bastards sacked me explosion emoji skull emoji Rita must be turning in her grave black broken heart emoji anyway we’ll get them strong arm emoji I’m going to come up to Emerald Creek to strategize period love you heart emoji heart emoji heart emoji period.”
Okay. Major emotion overload right there. I’m kind of laughing about her confusion between dictation and voice text, but really:
She was sacked? So they did it. She was right.
I need more info.
I sit up in my bed and call her.
“It’ll be alright,” she says as a greeting.
“Why would they do that!?” I didn’t really believe it when she said they were getting ready to fire her.
“I opened my big mouth once again. Didn’t like how and who they were replacing, and made it known. They’re even sacking the store managers who are up for a raise, just to save money. Couldn’t sit there and say nothing.”
My heart is beating fast, too fast. When she’d mentioned the possibility of being fired and said she’d be okay because I’d rehire her when I came back, I thought she’d been joking.
“Barb,” I say. “Are you gonna be okay?” The words barely get out my throat. Carlos had mentioned “a bunch of others” were let go too. What is going on at Red Barn Baking?
“Cash-wise, yes. It’s just the good old ego.” She laughs and makes a drawing sound like she’s smoking, then exhaling.
Barbara doesn’t smoke. “Thanks, hun,” she whispers, not to me.
“Are you with someone? Is this a bad time?” I’m torn between slightly jealous, irritated, amused, and happy for her.
“It’s Jerry. You know Jerry, right?”
I definitely don’t know Jerry.
“You’ll love him,” she says, confirming it’s the first time I’ve heard about him.
“I can’t wait to meet him,” I say. And truthfully, I can’t. My heart beats little tunes of happiness and hope. The all-too-familiar sensation of what could be, takes shape in my mind. Barbara, a substitute grandmother, warm and understanding. Jerry, a grandfather image, loving and caring. Before I can chastise myself, I’ve given into the fantasy.
Damn it.
“Last time, you said we should strategize,” I say to get back on track. “For when I go back.”
“Sure, darling. Are you still down for that?”
“Well, you saw the picture.”
She laughs. “Dress the part. You got that covered,” she says and takes another draw. Is she smoking weed? “But is that what you want? Bunch of snakes there, you know.”
That’s the whole point. My thoughts are beginning to take shape. “Can we change that?”
There’s some ruffling on the line, like she’s getting comfortable, settling in for a long conversation. “What are you thinking?”
“You know why I accepted Red Barn Baking—why I accepted Rita’s offer. I saw it as the only family I’d ever have. I thought if this was her family, then it would be mine. I thought this was Rita’s love letter to me.”
“Mm-hm. I know.”
She knows where I’m going with this—it’s in her voice. But I need to get it off my chest anyway. I need to spell it out for her and, mostly, for me. “Well, Red Barn is not run like a family business, and it’s certainly not a family. It has no moral values, and no values that relate to the business of making bread.” I pause. “Rita was full of shit.”
“It’s more complic—”
“I don’t care about Rita anymore. I never should have cared about her. But in the end, I don’t regret my decision. I did what I thought was right at the time.” I lower my voice. “And now I’m here. And the thing is, I can do something really good. I feel it in my bones. I can make Red Barn Baking a really good company.” I have a responsibility to the people who make the company—the employees—and are treated unfairly. People like Carlos, and the hundreds of others I don’t know about. “For the first time in my life, I can make a difference, Barb.”
“Okay, Lexie,” she says softly.
“I have ideas for some drastic changes, but I need to think it through before I share them.” There’s one thing we can start discussing, though. “We’ll probably need a consultant to help us out, since it will only be you and me.”
“Okay… What about Christopher Wright? He’s knowledgeable.”
“No! God no, he can’t know anything.” The idea makes my palms clammy. He would end me in a heartbeat.
“Why not?”
My mouth is dry. How will he react when he eventually learns the truth? “Believe it or not, he hates Red Barn with a passion. I don’t know how I kept my apprenticeship here once he knew where I worked.” I’m whisper-talking now.
“Oh. So he doesn’t know about you? Being Rita’s granddaughter and the whole inheritance deal?”
I tug my knees up against my chest and bring the comforter up to my chin. “No, and he can’t. It would jeopardize everything. I guarantee you, he would cancel the apprenticeship, and you know what that means.” As the words leave my mouth, I realize what I fear losing is Christopher, not Red Barn.
Barbara grunts. “I’m sorry to hear that, Lexie. That can’t be easy for you.”
“I’ll be fine.” All I need to do is focus on the good things. “I like the idea of you and me working together to change Red Barn.”
“Me too, sweetie,” she says in her warm, honey voice, the one she has when she’s truly happy. There’s some background noise, and then the telltale sign of giggling.
Oooh-kay. Time to go. We hang up.
That was a good talk. Good decisions. Moving forward.
But meanwhile, I need to make immediate financial decisions to avoid being in the red.
I call Sarah, tell her I need to sublet my room for now. It’s getting late on Sunday night, and she has work tomorrow. Our call is short, and to the point, and ends with a plan for her to visit after the snow melts.
And no questions about my sex life.
Yay!
The next few weeks, winter storms pummel us, and the accumulated snow is impressive. Tree branches are heavy, and repeat plowing created small snow walls along the sidewalks. Last week we went back to King’s Knoll Farm and helped with sugaring.
I’ve been thinking more and more about Mom lately, no doubt because of the talk I had with Christopher in the barn. And also because at the farm, I observed the young women of Emerald Creek, and how they seemed to have solid role models around them, and I didn’t. It made me think how the structures we grow up with set us up for the future. How mine is set to be so different from theirs. It also opened up a dam of memories, and they come in gusts now, flooding me.
I don’t try to resist it anymore. I just let the memories resurface, like they do right now, out of the blue, while Skye pours a glass of milk, places it in front of me next to the cookies she assembled in a neat little pile, then climbs on my lap.
I used to do that too.
Skye twines her arms around my neck and whispers in my ear, “It’s Daddy’s birthday today.”
My heart does a little flip, and I make a big O with my mouth. My mind is back in the present, in the best kind of way. I have Skye to thank for that, as often happens.
She’s a gift, one I have only for now.
“Don’t tell him I told you,” she continues whispering. “I know because Grandma Trish called on the video this morning. He doesn’t want a big fuss.”
Of course he wouldn’t. “Why not?” I whisper back.
She lifts and drops her shoulders dramatically. “I dunno.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe we can make a little fuss?” She takes a bite out of the first cookie, a maple shortbread, the crunch of her mouth matching the wheels turning in her head.
“You know what? I think that’s a great idea,” I say. “What did you have in mind?”
She sighs. “I dunno.” She glances toward the bakeshop, making sure Christopher doesn’t walk in on us, then dunks the cookie in her milk.
“Let’s see. What’s something he doesn’t have or doesn’t get to do?”
She shrugs again. “He doesn’t have breakfast with me.”
It hurts me that she misses him for those special moments.
“He doesn’t have breakfast at all,” she adds.
“That’s an idea. Why don’t we make him breakfast for dinner tonight?”
She perks up. “I love breakfast for dinner!” She whisper-shouts. “We do it all the time at Aunt Gracie’s.”
“It’s settled, then. Let me handle it.”
“I want to help.”
“Oh, you’ll help all right. You’ll set the table, and make him a card, and flip the pancakes.”
“Okay.” She slides off my lap, puts her glass in the sink, and gets on her tiptoes to open cabinets.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for pancake mix,” she stage-whispers.
“I have a recipe,” I say, my throat tightening. I haven’t used that recipe since before.
Before mom was gone.
But it’s time.
As I pull the notebook from the envelope in my room, a photo falls on the dresser. It’s a Polaroid of Mom and me—a selfie before cellphones. Our heads are tilted together, and we’re smiling big, crazy smiles. There’s a huge Christmas tree in the background.
My heart clenches at the memory.
Our last picture together.
I rub my eyes and try to steady my breath. I barely register a shuffling next to me and jump when I feel a brush against my hair.
“Are you okay?” Skye’s voice seeps through the ringing in my ears.
“Oh—Yes.” I hastily wipe away my tears. “I’m okay, now.” I hug her, needing comfort, despite my assurances. She pulls the picture I’ve been holding between my fingers.
“Who’s that?”
“The little girl is me. And this is—was my mother.”
“She’s very pretty. Just like you.”
A chuckle makes it through my throat. “Yes, she was very pretty.”
“I don’t have a mother,” she says matter-of-factly. “Come, let’s go make pancakes.”
She pulls on my hand to get me to stand. I slide the picture back in the envelope, grab my childhood recipe book, and follow her down the stairs.
I manage to read the recipe in Mom’s handwriting without bawling again—Skye’s constant chatter a welcome distraction. And, here it is, at the bottom: Enjoy with VT maple syrup. And a little heart.
Tonight, it feels like she’s here with me.
And it feels good. It feels like I’m going to be okay.
“How did you know that was exactly what I needed?” Christopher asks much later that night, after Skye is asleep and he’s spread eagle naked on my bed, sheet up to his hips, my head on his chest and his hand threading through my hair.
I love the way he plays with my hair when he’s thinking through stuff after sex.
I’m still trying to catch my breath.
“You mean when I licked your balls?” That’s not what he means.
He chuckles softly. “Beautiful, you’re incredible in bed.”
My belly does somersaults.
“But I meant breakfast for dinner on my birthday.”
Warmth spreads all over my body. “That was Skye’s idea.”
His chest does a jerky motion to move my face sideways and meet his gaze. “Really?” A big smile brightens his features, and he sets my head back comfortably on his chest. “Thank you for making it happen.” He kisses my head, and I feel panic taking over.
“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”
God. Why can he read me so well?
“Yup,” I squeal.
His hand strokes my arm, soothing.
“I’m glad Grace and Justin came too,” he says. “I liked sharing this,” he says.
I nod in understanding. “I love dinners at the farm.”
His body shifts, and something passes between us. “It’s—that’s what… Oh well, whatever.” He stops stroking my hair. I know what he means.
Lynn and Craig sharing their home. Their love for each other. These big family reunions. These are the things people like us yearn for.
I clasp his hand in mine and look up at him, bliss and pain fighting for control over my emotions. “We’ll take what we can, right? Misfits can’t be too demanding.”
He shifts us so we’re now lying on our sides, looking at each other. “I tend to want a lot of things I shouldn’t have.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “And I always find a way to get them.”
Is he talking about us? His intense gaze tells me he is, but maybe that’s just me fantasizing. Letting myself go down the slippery slope again.
“You can too,” he continues. “Soon as you let go of the past, you can start building your future.”
Right on about me and Red Barn. But he’s talking about us, right? A lump forms in my throat.
“My mother called today,” he says, the change of topic welcome. “She spoke with Skye too. We’re talking about her going to Maine for a bit this summer.”
“That’s great,” I say. “How does Skye feel about it?”
“Excited.” His gaze circles my face, caresses my eyes, wanders to my ears, to my mouth. “You’re good for me,” he says against my lips, then starts exploring my mouth, his hand grazing down my side.
When our lips start to part, I ask, “How so?” wanting the compliments to keep coming, the moment to draw out.
Again, his eyes drag from my eyes, to my hair, to my neck, then to my cheek, then back to locking with my eyes. “You make me want to do good things. Things I didn’t care about before. Like making sure Skye grows up knowing her family. And running for New England’s Best Baker—”
“That wasn’t me,” I say. Everyone was telling him to run way before I’d even heard of the competition.
“It was. It is. You’re the only reason I want to do it, now. I couldn’t have cared less before. Too much hassle.” He’s talking in a low voice, his lips trailing my earlobe, shooting desire straight to my middle.
Still, I try to keep a straight head. “Well, then, don’t. I don’t want to be the reason you do something—and why? Why am I a reason at all?”
“Shhhh. It was all you. And it’s a good thing. I got back in touch with old friends, bakers I haven’t seen in a while. They’re gonna come over, take turns to help me train.”
I’m both happy he has friends who have his back and are going to help him, and worried about all the time and effort this is taking him. But I don’t want to be nagging, bringing him down, when he has this fire in his eyes about his passion.
He rubs his nose against mine. “You’re my good luck charm, Pancake.”
“Pancake?” I giggle.
“Yeah,” his voice trails. “You’re the queen of pancakes. Did you see how many Justin ate? And he couldn’t stop talking about them. It’d drive this baker crazy if he didn’t… like you so much.” He dips his head to my neck and inhales. “God, you smell so good.”
I snake my hand down his stomach until I feel him come alive again.
I need him.
I want him.
Now.