Julia’s Kitchen Page 8

  “Well, like I always say, successful baking comes from the heart. You have to love what you’re baking to bring it to life.” Mr. Snyder smiled and handed me my groceries.

  I thanked him and headed home, hoping he was right and that a little love would bring Mom’s cookies to life.

  In the apartment, I set up shop. I decided to store all the ingredients in the cabinet above the refrigerator because Dad never went into that one.

  I got Mom’s recipe for chocolate-chip cookies, took a deep breath, and turned the oven dial to 350. All at once I felt my whole body tingle. I knew it seemed crazy, but I felt as if Mom were there with me in the kitchen. No, not just in the kitchen, but inside of me, helping me along.

  As I started to soften the butter and sift the flour, I realized I knew exactly what I was doing. I had helped Mom make these cookies so many times, I didn’t even have to check the recipe. I did, though, because I liked looking at Mom’s handwriting and thinking of her carefully writing out these instructions. It was as if she had written a personal letter to me.

  “In a medium-sized bowl, sift together the 2½ cups flour with the 1 teaspoon baking soda and 1 teaspoon salt.” I remembered Mom explaining the need to sift and not simply scoop or pour. Sifting added air to the flour, and even though you couldn’t see it, you needed it there to measure the flour properly.

  “… Beat together the sugars with the softened butter until creamy.” Mom had taught me exactly how soft the butter needed to be. If it was too hard, it didn’t blend well; too soft, the cookies came out flat. She said to think of the butter as my heart. “Keep it soft to let love in, but don’t let it go to mush.”

  “Add the 2 teaspoons vanilla extract and the 2 eggs…” I opened the bottle of vanilla and breathed in the delicious smell that reminded me so much of Mom. I dabbed a bit on my wrist. Had Mom done that, too? Was that why she’d always smelled so good?

  “Add the dry ingredients and combine until just blended.” Timing was everything here. You couldn’t over-mix the dough at this point, or the cookies would be too heavy. I watched carefully and turned the Mixmaster off as soon as the flour disappeared.

  After stirring in the chocolate chips, I dropped the spoonfuls of cookie dough evenly on the cookie sheets. I kept the oven light on and watched as the cookie dough spread, then rose, then turned a perfect shade of golden brown. Why I had ever doubted myself? I was a great baker. Mom had told me so dozens of times.

  As the cookies cooled on wire racks, I considered biting into one. They looked so perfect and warm and, oh, they smelled so good. Whenever I baked with Mom, I wanted to eat the cookies the minute they came out of the oven, but Mom always said, “Not yet, Cara. It’s too soon.”

  But after the cookies had cooled, I knew I couldn’t eat even one. Instead, I placed them in a Ziploc bag and hid them behind a box of Popsicles in the freezer. I opened the windows in the apartment. It was cold, but I needed to get rid of the smell before Dad got home.

  While I washed the dishes, I thought about the baby Julia just starting her life. I wished I could cast a spell to make sure nothing bad would ever happen to her or her family, but I knew that was impossible. Life was filled with good and bad, joy and sorrow. That’s the world God created. I had a feeling, though, that God was rooting for the good, same as I was.

  * * *

  On Friday after school I baked the snickerdoodles and the oatmeal cookies, and figured out the bus route I’d have to take to deliver the basket.

  According to the lady on the phone at the bus company, I could pick up the number 4 bus three blocks from my apartment. One transfer and forty-five minutes later, I should be two blocks away from Renee’s daughter’s house. Yikes! I’d never taken a bus by myself before. What if something went wrong? What if I got lost? Or the bus ran out of gas? Or we crashed? Or I missed my transfer? What if it rained, and the cookies got soaked? Stop, stop, stop, I told myself. I would not worry my life away. Worrying didn’t help. Now it felt like wasted energy. Besides, even if everything went wrong, I’d find a way to deliver the cookies.

  Hey! Maybe that’s what God did. Maybe he helped you figure stuff out for yourself. Even when things got crazy. That made a whole lot more sense to me than a God who swooped in like a superhero every time I sent him a worrying message.

  * * *

  Saturday night, the Wittenbergs took me to Justin’s game. I didn’t know if it was because of the baking, or my new thoughts about God, or the sound of squeaking sneakers on the gymnasium floor, but I felt so light, so free. I whistled and clapped and screamed from the sideline. Just like before. I almost wished Marlee could see me.

  The next day was February 29, Leap Year Day. As I got dressed for Sunday school, I thought about how this was a bonus day, given to us only once every four years. It seemed like a day made for something special. Maybe a day to talk to Marlee.

  I realized I’d been waiting and waiting for Marlee to apologize to me, but the truth was, it wasn’t all her fault. I owed her an apology, too. She’d never acted the way my dad did, and I shouldn’t have compared them. I knew it wasn’t fair for me to burden her with my sadness all the time. I sure didn’t like Dad’s doing it to me.

  I decided to make Marlee a card using my scrapbook supplies. I folded a piece of yellow paper in half, and I cut two big circles out of pink and blue paper. I glued the blue circle to the front of the card and drew a frowny face on it. Then I wrote “I’m blue without you!” Inside, I glued the pink circle onto an accordion-folded strip of paper so it would pop out when Marlee opened the card. I drew a smiley face on the circle and wrote “I’d be tickled pink if we could make up! I’m sorry, Marlee. Love, Cara.”

  At Sunday school, I tucked the card inside Marlee’s Hebrew book when she took a bathroom break. As soon as she came back, she looked at the card, then looked over at me and smiled. She scribbled on the back of the card and held it up to me.

  “I’m sorry, too. Friends?”

  I wrote, “Absolutely,” on my notebook, and showed it to her. We both sighed huge sighs. It sure took a lot of energy to fight with your best friend.

  After Sunday school, when we were waiting in the car pool line, I told Marlee I had a big secret.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Promise you won’t tell anyone? Not even Max?”

  “Of course, of course! What is it?”

  “I’ve been impersonating my mother.”

  Marlee squinted at me. “Huh?”

  So I explained everything, and she listened with wide eyes and a huge smile.

  “So,” I said, “the only thing left to do is make the name cookies, buy a basket, and deliver it all … tomorrow. Are you in?”

  “Ha! What kind of question is that? You bet I’m in! I can’t believe I was out for a whole week!”

  Marlee put her arm around me, and my dad pulled up. We had the giggles the whole ride home.

  ten

  The reason we didn’t have school on Monday was that it was Pulaski Day. Casimir Pulaski was a Polish general who’d fought in the American Revolution, and we got the day off in his honor. But what I wanted to celebrate was my mom’s birthday. Weird. She wasn’t going to turn forty-three. I wasn’t going to make her a present or bring her breakfast in bed.

  Before getting out of bed, I looked at her picture. Happy Birthday, Mom. I hope Janie takes good care of you today.

  I decided to call Bubbe and Zayde right after breakfast. Bubbe answered, but as soon as she heard my voice she had Zayde pick up an extension.

  “Oh, Cara, it’s so good to talk to you today,” Bubbe said. Her voice sounded rough, as if she’d been crying.

  “Are you okay, Bubbe?” I asked.

  “This is a hard day for all of us,” Zayde said gently.

  “I know,” I agreed.

  “Are you and Dad doing anything special today?” Bubbe asked. “Maybe dinner at Mom’s favorite restaurant or something?”

  “Well, we hadn’t talked about it, really,” I
said. “But it’s a good idea. I’ll suggest it to Dad.”

  “Oh, good, love. You do that. It makes me feel better knowing we’re all thinking of your mom today, and celebrating her life. You know?”

  “Yes, Bubbe, I know.”

  What I really knew was that I wouldn’t suggest going out for dinner. Because Dad wouldn’t get home until way past dinnertime.

  I hung up the phone feeling sad. Sad for Bubbe and Zayde. Sad for me. But mostly sad for Mom.

  Marlee came over, and I tucked my sadness away. It wasn’t hard because we started baking, and making sure Marlee didn’t mess anything up as we followed the tea cookie recipe took all my attention. Before too long, the cookies were cooling on the counter. Even with Marlee sharing the work, I felt Mom’s presence. I just knew she was there.

  Finally, the time had come to write “Julia” on the cookies. I knew exactly what to do. I filled the frosting squirter with pink buttercream frosting.

  “You try,” I said to Marlee, sliding it across the counter.

  Marlee gingerly picked up the frosting squirter. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I need your help.”

  She started in on the first cookie, sticking her tongue out of the side of her mouth as she concentrated. In perfect print letters, she spelled out J-U-L-I-A. Then she smiled. “There.”

  I examined the cookie. “It’s good,” I admitted. “But my mom always wrote the names in cursive, not print.”

  “So?”

  “So, you printed.”

  “So?”

  “So, it’s not the same.” Sometimes Marlee could be so dense.

  “But what difference does it make? This looks good. Who cares if it’s not exactly the way your mom did it? They’re your cookies now.”

  My cookies? I turned that thought over in my head. “You think?”

  “Yeah. Well, maybe they’re our cookies. After all, I am the one with the nice handwriting.”

  I laughed. I let Marlee finish decorating the rest of the tea cookies. Then we ran to Walgreens to get a basket, some cellophane, and tissue paper, which I paid for with saved-up allowance. My cookies. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the sound of it.

  On our way back to the apartment, I collected the mail. There was a package. For me! I looked at the return address and saw it was from Roz.

  “What do you think it is?” Marlee asked.

  The small brown package was medium weight and about the size of a CD case. “I have no idea.”

  We rushed upstairs and opened it. Inside was a silver bracelet with the words “Life is a journey, not a destination!” engraved on the top and “Enjoy the moments!” underneath. I’d seen Roz wear it before.

  “Cool!” Marlee said.

  There was a note:

  Dear Cara,

  In honor of your mom’s birthday, I’m sending you this bracelet. You may remember I have one just like it. Your mom gave it to me when I first moved out to L.A., and it has inspired me many times over the years. You’re on your own journey now, a journey you never planned, but still, your own unique path. Enjoy the moments!

  Lots of love,

  Roz

  Marlee read over my shoulder. “When’s your mom’s birthday?”

  “Today.”

  “Oh, Cara, I’m sorry.” She put her arm around me and gave a tight squeeze.

  “Thanks,” I said, glad that Marlee understood.

  “It’s kind of cool, though,” Marlee said, “that we put this basket together on her birthday. Do you think she knows?”

  “Oh, she knows.”

  “You sound so sure.”

  “I am. I can’t explain it, but I am.”

  Marlee grinned. “Well, good. Then I’m sure, too.”

  I slid the bracelet onto my wrist and ran my fingers over the engraved words. I loved it. I had been meaning to call Roz for some time now. I would do it tonight.

  Marlee and I put the basket together, cushioning the cookies in colorful tissue paper. But just as I was about to tie off the cellophane wrapping, Marlee said, “Wait! We forgot something.”

  “Huh?”

  “The quote. The little saying. Like Roz said at the funeral. Your mom always put one in each basket.”

  How could I have forgotten that? Of course. But what would we say? Marlee and I started throwing ideas around.

  “Welcome to the world?”

  “Girls rule and boys drool?”

  “Sugar and spice and everything nice?”

  “Girls rock?”

  Nothing we thought of sounded good to both of us. Finally, I said, “Let’s look in my scrapbook. Maybe we’ll see something there.”

  We paged through the book, studying the photos as we went. At last we found it. The perfect quote. It was from one of the pages I’d taken out of Janie’s journal. Marlee wrote it in her best handwriting with little hearts and swirls around the edges. I had to laugh, thinking of how out of context the quote was. Janie had been talking about the start of the soccer season. “Ready or not … here I am! A girl like nobody you’ve ever seen before!”

  The basket was complete. The sky was clear blue. I didn’t have to worry about rain, after all.

  And my worries about taking the bus? A complete waste of energy. It was as easy as the lady at the bus company had said it would be.

  Marlee and I stood in front of 1414 Baer Avenue, a small green house with white shutters. My heart pounded so loudly, we probably didn’t need to ring the doorbell. But we did, and a second later the door opened.

  I held the basket out in front of me, but all of a sudden I couldn’t speak. The lady who answered the door must have been Renee’s daughter. She seemed to be the right age, and she held a tiny baby in her arms.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Uh … uh…” I stammered.

  “Delivery. From Julia’s Kitchen!” Marlee said.

  “Mom!” Renee’s daughter called into the house. “Do you know about a delivery from Julia’s Kitchen?”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the baby. Little wisps of blond hair framed her pudgy face, and her eyes were steel blue-gray. She looked so content in her mom’s arms. So cuddly and sweet. I thought about God. He must have helped create her. I realized that’s another thing he does—he helps make babies.

  Just then Renee walked up to the door, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She had a huge smile on her face, and she opened the door wider, saying, “Come in, come in. Let me see that basket.”

  Renee took the basket from me, and we stepped into the foyer. “Mmm, mmm. They smell delicious,” she said.

  Renee and her daughter looked into the basket.

  “Oh, look at those cute cookies with your name on them,” the daughter cooed to Julia. “Mom, did you order this? How sweet.”

  Renee smiled even wider.

  Looking at the three of them together—Renee, her daughter, and the baby, Julia—reminded me of a fairy-tale storybook. I felt an ache in my heart. I missed Mom and Janie. I would always miss them.

  Renee handed Marlee two twenty-dollar bills and said to both of us, “Thank you so much for delivering the basket. You can keep the change. And please tell Julia it looks great.”

  How I wished I could do exactly that. “Thanks,” I said. “We will.”

  I didn’t say much on the bus ride home. I felt let down after all the excitement. I thought about Mom and Janie. Marlee tried to talk about what we could do with the forty dollars. She wanted to spend it on music and scrapbook supplies. I couldn’t even think about spending the money yet.

  Marlee got off the bus close to her home, and I got off near mine. As I opened the door to the apartment, I heard the phone ringing. I figured it was Marlee, calling to make sure I was okay.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Hello?” said a voice I didn’t recognize. “Is this Julia’s Kitchen?”

  I took in a sharp breath.

  “Yes,” I said. “How may I help you
?”

  eleven

  That’s how Marlee and I got into the cookie business.

  When people called for Julia’s Kitchen, I didn’t tell them they had the wrong number or that Julia’s Kitchen was no longer in business. I took their orders. We delivered a couple of baskets each week, and the orders kept coming.

  We told Mrs. Rosen it was easier to do our homework at the apartment, away from Max and his friends. Mrs. Rosen wasn’t wild about us spending so much time unsupervised, but Marlee reminded her that we were eleven, going on twelve. Soon we’d be able to baby-sit. We were certainly capable of hanging out by ourselves for a few hours every day.

  And we did do our homework. Quickly. Because as soon as we finished it, we baked, or packaged, or delivered baskets for Julia’s Kitchen. We made some serious money, too. We took in about $60 a week. After paying for supplies, we split our profits fifty-fifty. Marlee loved counting the money. And she loved spending her share. She bought tons of scrapbook supplies. I saved mine. I didn’t want to spend it on just anything. I wanted to use it for something special, something meaningful. I wondered if there was some way the money could honor Mom and Janie’s memory. For now I hid it all in Mom’s jewelry box.

  Dad didn’t have a clue what we were up to. I made sure by buying a few super-sized boxes of Popsicles. I threw out the Popsicles and used the empty boxes to store the cookies. Since Dad hated icy treats, I knew the cookies were safe. And I didn’t have to worry about Dad picking up a phone call for Julia’s Kitchen because he was never home during the day, when those calls came in.

  I still wished Dad and I could have a better relationship, but I didn’t think about it every day anymore. Nana would call sometimes and tell me how worried she and Papa were about him, and that would remind me of how things were. But then I would look at my bracelet and tell myself this was my journey. This was my path. Dad’s spending all his time working or watching TV was simply part of my journey. If his own mother couldn’t help, there was nothing I could do about it, just as there was nothing I could do about finding out what had really happened in the fire.

  I was coping, and lately I hadn’t even had much to say to Mrs. Block in our weekly sessions.