Chapter 12 - THE BAKERY WITH HER MOTHER'S NAME
Clara opened Joanne's Kitchen the following spring.
The bakery occupied a small storefront in a neighborhood outside the city.
It had blue shutters.
Warm yellow walls.
A glass display case.
And a hand-painted sign.
JOANNE'S KITCHEN — BAKED WITH LOVE.
Clara stood outside on opening morning.
Her hands shook.
Not from fear.
From excitement.
***
Gerard arrived carrying flowers.
Clara stared.
“Chef?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I heard you were opening.”
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
He cleared his throat.
“Your pie was excellent.”
Clara laughed.
“You told me to keep washing.”
Gerard winced.
“I was wrong.”
She looked at him.
Then smiled.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
***
Arthur arrived next.
He brought an old photograph of Joanne standing in the Costello kitchen.
Clara's eyes filled.
“Where did you find this?”
“In storage.”
She took it carefully.
“Thank you.”
Arthur swallowed.
“I should have spoken sooner.”
Clara looked at him.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she said:
“Would you like some pie?”
His eyes filled.
“Yes, please.”
***
By noon, the bakery was crowded.
Customers lined up outside.
The pecan pie sold out first.
Then the apple turnovers.
Then the cinnamon rolls.
Clara barely had time to breathe.
At three o'clock, Damian arrived.
He wore jeans and a dark sweater.
No security entourage.
No expensive suit.
He stood in line like everyone else.
Clara laughed when she saw him.
“What are you doing?”
“Buying pie.”
“You could have called.”
He smiled.
“Where's the fun in that?”
When he reached the counter, he ordered one slice of pecan pie.
Clara placed it on a plate.
He took a bite.
Closed his eyes.
Then smiled.
“Still perfect.”
Clara felt tears rise.
May you like
For the first time, the recipe belonged to a happy memory.
Not a tragedy.
