How to Bake a Perfect Life - Barbara O'Neal [91]
“I did.” He opens a bottle of San Pellegrino and pours it into glasses for us. “I told you I was divorced and that I have no children. Which is true.”
“But?”
“But I did once. A little boy. His name was Ethan, and he was born with congestive heart failure. He died when he was five, waiting for a heart.”
“Oh, Jonah!” I think of Sofia at five, and my eyes fill with tears. “I’m so sorry. That must have been terrible.”
“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly. “It was the worst thing that ever happened to me.” He looks at me and seems to be choosing his words carefully. “Life is not served by staying stuck in that time, but in a way I think I’ve been standing right there for a long time. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so. Is that why you divorced?”
He takes a breath, sips the sparkling water. “Yes. She took refuge in a conservative Christian church. It didn’t work for me.” He clears his throat, looks at me. “She found God. I lost him.”
I remember standing in the record store as he struggled with the loss of his music, the way that sudden, inexplicable twist of fate ended his dream. Sometimes it feels like there’s no point. My heart splits, and I see the hollow points of connection. “It doesn’t seem fair to lose two things that you love so much.”
He bows his head, and for a time he’s quiet. Finally he looks at me. “Exactly.”
“How did you cope?”
He gestures toward the food. “I started volunteering with the organization that helped us so much. I learned to meditate, to keep things very smooth and even and ordinary.”
“That’s where the music went,” I say aloud.
He smiles. “Yes.”
“And women?”
“No, not all of them.” He swallows. “But you … the other night …” He pauses. “It seemed like too much.”
For a moment, I let hope rush through me. “And now?”
“It’s too extraordinary that we met again. I like you.”
“Me, too.” I feel faintly dizzy. “Like you.” I ask, “Can I try the cake first?”
“If you wish. And, certainly, wine.” He pours a ruby red into goblets.
“Is this allowed in a public park?”
A single, careless shrug. “I doubt it.” He hands me a glass. “To serendipity.”
“And picnics,” I say.
We sip, and I choose a slice of cake and a fork. Jonah says, “So tell me about your husband.”
I tsk. “Dane. We were not married a terribly long time. Only seven years, and I don’t think it was really meant to be.” I sigh. “He’s kind of a big personality, and I got swept up into it.”
“Are you friendly?”
“No. Our divorce caused a rift between me and my family.” I lick a tiny bit of frosting to wash away the bitterness I can still sometimes taste. “He was unfaithful, and I kicked him out, quit the restaurant. Sofia was in college, her first year, and I had no idea what to do with myself.” I held up a finger. “Oh, and did I mention my grandmother was sinking into dementia? Bad year, all in all.”
“I guess!”
The expert in me eyes the crumb of the cake, and while bread is my specialty, I can see how perfect this is—moist and dense, with a thin layer of white frosting that turns out to be white chocolate. The whole thing explodes in my mouth, chocolate upon cocoa upon vanilla. “Oh!” I put my hand in front of my mouth. “You made this?”
He smiles. “Like it?”
I take another bite, close my eyes, pinpoint vanilla bean and the layers of chocolate all jammed into a feathery crumb. “Wow. Yes. Fantastic.” I open my eyes, look at the cake. “There’s something … can’t quite catch it …”
“Nutmeg.”
“Ah. Of course. Mmm. Is it your own recipe?”
“Now, that I can’t claim. I found it in a cookbook somewhere. Tweaked it a bit, but mostly it wasn’t mine.”
“You are a fantastic cook. You should be a chef.”
“No. Too much hard work.” He takes a plate from the basket—a real plate, painted blue and yellow in an ethnic pattern—and puts sandwiches and watermelon and more deviled eggs on it. “Have some supper now that you’ve had your dessert.”
I grin.
On the stage, the musicians begin to play. Jonah makes a plate for himself. “So what was Sofia like as a little girl?”
“Oh, she was wonderful. Always bossing the animals around and playing school. She had this