“I just wish I didn’t have to sneak around like I’m selling meth instead of madeleines.”
Alicia snorted. She lifted a vase of flowers I’d arranged for tonight. “I think this is it,” she said. “Grab the wine. If you’re finally getting a lawyer, we need to celebrate.”
My phone rang, and we both froze. Mom’s name centered the screen. “Oh, thank heavens.”
Alicia waited while I answered, talked quickly to my mother, then disconnected and set the device to silent. “Apparently she was out with friends, and according to her, I don’t need to know where she is every minute of every day,” I reported. “I’m so glad she and I can have these talks.”
Alicia rolled her eyes. “Well, at least that’s one woman off your worry list.”
For now,I thought. But her health was declining, and she’d stopped working, so she was behind on her property taxes. I feared she’d lose the house—which would be catastrophic. Robert and I could easily help with her finances, but he’d never agree to it, and he’d sooner burn our home down than allow her to move in with us. I didn’t have enough hidden money to keep her in an apartment for more than a month or two. Not exactly a long-term fix. Dad left her enough money to get by, but lately she drank and shopped online as if that was her full-time job, blowing through her savings.
My husband was a selfish asshat, my mother a reclusive eccentric—who was lying through her nose about spending a day out with friends. She’dalienated everyone she knew except a longtime neighbor, Ilona. But like Alicia said, at least I knew she was okay for the moment.
“Now I just have to wait for my daughter to check in.”
“Don’t worry too much about Camilla,” Alicia said. “She’s smart like her mama. She knows her own heart and mind, and whatever decision she makes, if Jeff proposes, will be the right one for her.”
I shrugged but couldn’t bring myself to agree, because what if she was wrong? What would I do then?
“For what it’s worth,” she added, “there are good men in this world, Soph. I think Jeff is one of them. Your dad and husband are exceptions, not the rule.”
“Maybe,” I allowed. But in my experience, romantic love was the poison that turned nice men into monsters. “If I have to use my secret baking money to pay Mom’s bills, it’ll mean staying here another year, and I’m not sure I can make it that long.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said.
“Agreed. I’d probably kill Robert before Christmas in that scenario, but at least book club has taught me the best ways to cover up a murder.”
Delight glinted in Alicia’s eyes. “Now there’s a crime I can get behind.”
Chapter Two
I pulled two bottles of prosecco from the wine fridge, then raised them into the air. “Ready.”
Alicia led the way through my formal dining room and living room to the sunroom overlooking the patio, gardens, and pool, where a half dozen women I’d met at various community events and classes sat chatting. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided abundant natural light, and the unobstructed views created a nice outdoor-living feel—without the heat and bugs.
I’d broadened my social circle a few years ago when I recognized that all my friends, Alicia aside, were handpicked by Robert. Wives of other partners at his firm, wives of his golf buddies, women from our country club. All people he’d met and vetted before introducing them to me. I decided he could keep them in the divorce. I wanted people of my own.
The book club ladies ranged in age from thirty-four, twelve years my junior, to somewhere over sixty. We lived very different lives in various parts of town, but we were united in two perfect ways: our love of books and our womanhood.
Sylvia was the first to notice me enter. She owned a small art gallery on the East Side and made more money in a day than I had in my lifetime. “There you are,” she said, crossing long thin legs beneath her on the wide settee. “Everything looks incredible as always. I don’t know how you find time to do all this. We were just discussing whether or notyou really make these pastries on your own. If you have a baker, I need that name before my next gala.”
“Thank you,” I said, setting the wine on the table beside an elaborate charcuterie spread and several long-stemmed glasses. “It’s all me. I took a few classes at the country club. They bring in first-class instructors, and the workshops are fabulous. Plus, I practice more than I should.” I patted my stomach. “If you can’t tell.”
“We cannot,” Sylvia said. “I bet Robert is counting his blessings for marrying you. You must be a hit at his office. Do you pop in with these to show off? I know I would if I made magic like this in the kitchen.”
I struggled to keep my smile bright. I delivered sweets to the law firm weekly per Robert’s request, but he pretended he had no idea every time I showed my face there. Sometimes he didn’t make time to see me, though he told me exactly when to arrive and what to bring. He always had critique and commentary at the ready when he came home on those days. The pastry shells were too thick, tough, or underbaked. The recipe a little uninspired. Could have used more or less of this ingredient or that. Robert demanded perfection in all things, but he raised the bar continuously so that I’d never hit the goal. “I have plenty of time on my hands these days,” I said. “Now that the nest is empty.”
“Uh.” Jeannie, the youngest of our members, scanned the space around us pointedly. “Sure, but it’s one gigantic fucking nest.”
I laughed and settled on the couch beside Alicia and Jeannie. “It’s definitely more than the two of us need.” Everyone loved our elaborate showcase of a home. Only Alicia and I knew the place was void of love and laughter beyond these meetings, or that every good and decent memory I made here was darkened by Robert’s shadow. “But it feels so much cozier when you come over. Thank you for being here.”
A soft round ofawws went through the little group. Then I picked up my copy of this month’s book from the coffee table, thankful for a change in subject.
“Hey.” Jeannie snapped her fingers. “That reminds me! I’ve been meaning to ask if you know about this secret baker that’s helpingparents get the hoity overachieving PTA moms off their backs at school functions and fundraisers.”
Sylvia groaned. “I do not miss all that drama. It’s not a competition, for heaven’s sake.”
“Everything is a competition in elementary school,” Jeannie said. “Especially for the parents.”
