Friendship Cake Read Online Free Page B

flowers but he can say her name in a way that reminds her of pure sweetness. Or maybe he forgets their anniversary but makes up for it by rubbing her feet and singing her some silly love song that makes her blush. So that even though a woman would complain about what her husband did or forgot to do, there would always be a lift to her voice when she remembered how he made it up to her.
    Paul never forgot anything, leaving me with no grounds to complain and no memory of clever romance he used to win back my affections. He was sturdy and dependable, solid as Gibraltar, but the thing is that he never, not in the thirty-seven years that we were married, ever surprised me.
    I’ve learned that some people like predictability, say thatthey need it. I know that I thought I did. But I wish Paul would have done at least one thing that I could remember with a smile and a shake of my head. Some story that I could think about and, even with twenty years having passed, still laugh at the thought, and know that it was so intimate that no one could understand.
    Oh, I suppose I expected too much. Maybe I read too many romance novels, but there was always something I needed that he could never give. Some part of him that was so closed off to himself that he did not have a clue as to how to open it to someone else, even, maybe especially, his wife.
    And as soon as these thoughts came to me and I understood that the conversations that I was having at the graveyard were just as one-sided as they had always been, I quit going. I put the flowers out on significant holidays, but primarily I don’t go out there. Jenny said something about it, asked why I didn’t go anymore. I just shrugged like I didn’t know. But the truth is, I figured I could find better things to do with my time, that I had wasted almost four decades talking to a dead man and I might as well not waste anymore.
    I know that people whisper there’s something going on between me and Dick at the funeral home. But it’s all completely professional. He’s never married, so there is certainly possibility for a relationship. But so far he’s been a complete gentleman. Too much like Paul, in fact.
    More than likely, I can tell you what he eats for lunch every day during the week and what jacket he’ll wear to meet with which families. I’ve never been to his house, but I can pretty much guess that it’s a tractor magazine that sits by his toilet and that he uses the same coffee cup every day. And I know enoughto realize I don’t need another arrangement of convenience, even if it would mean that the weekends wouldn’t be so quiet. I think for now I’ll enjoy the solitude and escape the disappointment of marriage.
    Besides, I have enough to do, like this cookbook. Obviously, Louise isn’t going to be much help, and Jessie has already said she doesn’t have many recipes herself, so I told Margaret that I’d be more than happy to help her collect what she needs. I have a whole file of my own. Most people know that my mother was the best cook in Guilford County, and when I got old enough to write, I had her tell me everything she knew how to make. I have notebooks full. Now, of course, there are some recipes that I just won’t share. It’s silly, I know, since neither Robin nor Jenny will ever use them. But they were my mother’s, and they’re sacred to me, so that I don’t want to throw all my pearls to the swine.
    It wouldn’t matter anyway. Church isn’t what it used to be. That little girl of a preacher tries, but I miss a man’s voice in the pulpit. I love to hear the Psalms read by a rich bass voice. Her high-pitched tones put me to sleep. And, besides, she seems unsettled most of the time, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Troubled, distracted in a way, like she’s done something wrong. But as far as I know there have been no complaints about her. Even Dreama Isley