I rubbed the place above my aching heart with my palm. “Camilla was with Jeff last night when we talked, but I can’t reach her now. Do you think she’s okay?”
“Oh, please,” Alicia said. “Jeff would protect her with his life. Plus, they’re twenty-one and in love. They probably had a late night, rolled out of bed in the afternoon, and went out again.”
“I’d be happy with a thumbs-up emoji. I don’t need a whole diary entry. Proof of life shouldn’t be too much to ask.”
Alicia lowered the tray and leaned against the counter. “I get it. You see me worry about my boys, and they’re all built like brick walls. I can’t imagine having a daughter. The world is not kind to women her age. Or any age, really.”
“You aren’t helping.”
“But she’s with Jeff,” Alicia added. “He’ll keep the creeps and pervs of the world at bay. We still like Jeff, right?”
I nodded. Jeff was a nice kid, smart, and he adored my daughter, actively and with verve. That was part of the problem. “The last few texts she sent were about a big trip she’s taking after finals.” Until now, she and her boyfriend had been content spending summers at the lake or hiking through national parks. “Jeff invited her to the Maldives. They’re staying in one of those huts on the water.”
“Ooh,” Alicia said, eyes alight. “Nice.”
I opened my mouth to say it absolutely was not nice. That this was obviously his plan to woo her into a wedding engagement. That Camilla was the same age I’d been when I accepted Robert’s proposal, and look where that had gotten me. But someone rapped on the kitchen door.
I spun to look at the clock above my stove. “Shoot. I lost track of time. Hold that thought.” I hustled into the pantry and pulled a pastel-pink bakery box from the top shelf, then hurried to greet my caller.
“Hello,” I cooed, brightening my smile as I opened the door I typically used for business transactions.
The scent of lilacs floated to me on the soft spring breeze, mixing with the aromatic notes of vanilla and chocolate rising from my box. Southern Virginia was beautiful any time of year, but spring was my favorite season. Blooming flowers always gave me hope for new beginnings, and I was in desperate need of exactly that.
A harried women in her thirties stood at the door, looking anxiously at me, then the box. “Bless you,” she said, pushing fallen locks of hair away from her weary face. Her messy bun was hanging on by a thread, and she had two similar, but different, loafers on her feet.
“I couldn’t have done this on my own,” she said. “There just isn’t time.”
I nodded in full understanding. “The life of a mother is a twenty-four seven occupation.”
She sagged visibly, and I fought the urge to hug her.
Kids screamed in the minivan behind her. “They never tell us they need treats for twenty classmates until the day before. Why do they do that? I work sixty hours a week and barely sleep as it is.”
“That’s why I’m here,” I said. “I’ve been there. I get it.”
She set a thin stack of cash on the box. Then we traded. I got the money. She got the pastries.
I loved baking, and I’d catered for Robert’s law office for years, but more recently, I’d added a few small paying jobs on the side. The work provided cash that Robert didn’t know about, and therefore couldn’tcontrol, and each job came exclusively through word of mouth, so he wouldn’t catch me and complain. Everyone involved chose secrecy for personal reasons. My customers got to show up at events, or host them, with fancy desserts they pretended they’d baked themselves, and I saved the money so I could eventually hire a divorce lawyer. The business was a godsend for many working, frantic, sleep-deprived parents in the area, especially those feeling the pressure to do it all and make it seem easy. But it was an even bigger win for me.
I’d made cute pink business cards that featured onlyThe Invisible Bakerscripted in gold curlicue font and the number to an unregistered phone I bought at Target.
I closed the door as the visibly relieved mom returned to her minivan, then tucked the cash inside an old tampon box, hidden inside a tote for cleaning supplies in the utility closet.
Alicia waited at the expansive granite island. When I returned, the tray of tartlets was gone, presumably delivered to the sunroom while I handled business. “How much do you have now?” she asked, a knowing smile on her rosy lips.
“A few thousand.” Finally enough to pay the retainer for the divorce lawyer I wanted.
She nodded with pride in her eyes. “That’s a lot of baked goods.”
I’d realized before Camilla’s tenth birthday that my husband, Robert, was abusive, though I didn’t have the word for it then. He never called me names, cheated, or raised a hand to me, none of the things my father had done to my mother, but Robert’s small offenses had accumulated to the point of my continual misery, and I’d come to realize his behavior was intentional. Something I’d since learned was emotional abuse.
Robert grew steadily more awful over the years, and I’d hit rock bottom before I figured out the trouble was with him and not me. So, while he became colder and more controlling, moodier and more condescending, I crafted a plan to leave the moment Camilla wentto college. I didn’t want her caught up in the inevitable shit show of divorcing a narcissistic lawyer like Robert.
Somehow, more than a decade passed while I held everything together in our lives, my mom’s, and Camilla’s, and I’d finally saved enough money to hire a lawyer. It was three years later than I’d planned to escape, but I was good to go now, nonetheless.
“Feels kind of badass,” I admitted.
Alicia’s smile grew. “Rightfully so.”
