Catching Fireflies(86)

Misty regarded her mother with a weird mix of approval and disappointment. “I’m really glad you’re getting your act back together, Mom, but you picked a really sucky time to do it.”

At the sound of her mom’s laugh, Misty grinned, too. Maybe things would be back to normal soon for all of them.

She poked at the pancakes on her plate, which were suddenly tasteless. “Mom,” she asked hesitantly, “are you and Dad okay?”

“If you mean are we finally communicating without me wanting to rip his heart out, yes,” Diana said in a resigned tone. “But, sweetheart, the breakup of a marriage is tough on everyone, even your dad. It’ll take a while for all of us to figure out how this new arrangement is supposed to work. The one thing that should never be in doubt is that your dad loves you and Jake to pieces. He’s behind you a hundred percent. If you need him, all you have to do is give him a call.”

“I just don’t want you to feel bad if I do,” Misty told her.

“The divorce is between me and your dad, not you and your dad. You are never to feel bad about loving him or needing him, okay?” she said, pausing to give Misty a hug, then murmuring half to herself. “We’re going to be fine. All of us are going to be just fine.”

Misty was almost ready to believe it.



As it turned out, the get-together Paula had planned with her friends had been delayed until Monday. She set Erik’s coconut cake masterpiece—a freshly baked one he’d made just this morning to replace the one she’d had to cancel—in the middle of her dining room table, along with a bowl of fresh fruit and her best teacups. She’d had to wash those to get off the dust that had accumulated in the years since she’d last used them.

The collectible chintz cups had always made her smile with their cheery, if mismatched, floral designs. Because of Paula’s botanical artwork, Maddie had bought her the first one. She’d found it at a garage sale when she was maybe eight. Each year after that first successful gift, given so tentatively, she’d searched and found a different one for Paula’s birthday until there were a dozen or more in the cupboard. Now they were among Paula’s greatest treasures.

She wasn’t sure what to expect when Liz, Flo and Frances arrived, but she was happily surprised to see Frances looking both strong and suitably indignant.

“The minute Liz told me about your call, I was eager to do whatever I can,” Frances told her. “That poor child,” she murmured with a shake of her head. “And for it to be someone with all of Annabelle’s advantages who’s been tormenting her…” She sighed. “I just don’t understand young people these days.”

“There was always bullying,” Liz reminded them. “Back in my day a lot of it came from racial prejudice, but these days with that internet readily available for whatever slur someone happens to think of, well, that’s new and downright dangerous, if you ask me. It gives people with all sorts of crazy ideas a platform to spew them out there for everyone to see. No one bothers to separate fact from fiction.”

“If you’d seen some of these posts, you’d have been appalled,” Paula told her. “Why don’t we sit in the dining room while we talk.” She winked at Liz. “I have that coconut cake I promised you. I’ve no idea how it tastes, but it looks pretty amazing. Erik definitely rose to the challenge.”

Liz clapped her hands like a child anticipating a favorite treat. “Oh, I can’t wait. If it’s even half as good as my mama’s, you’ll have made my day.”

When they were settled at the table and tea and cake had been served, the rest of them waited while Liz took her first bite of the moist yellow cake with its fluffy coconut frosting and tart lemon filling. She closed her eyes, a look of pure pleasure suffusing her face.

“Oh, sweet heaven,” she murmured. “That’s what this is, just heavenly.”

“As wonderful as your mother’s?” Paula asked, watching her closely, anxious on Erik’s behalf.

“Even allowing for nostalgia, which usually has me dismissing all the pretenders I’ve tried, I’m forced to admit, Erik has done himself proud. This might even be just the tiniest bit better than my mama’s, and I would never say such a thing lightly. Is he going to put it on the menu at Sullivan’s?”

“He says he is,” Paula confirmed. “He thought he’d call it by your mother’s name, if you thought that would be all right. What do you think?”

Liz’s eyes lit up. “She’d be very honored, and so would I. Adelaide’s coconut cake. I love it!”