The Sugar Queen by Tess Thompson

3

Brandi

That eveningI turned onto the gravel road toward Crystal’s house. Driving slowly, I climbed in elevation, passing a driveway with a sign that read Welte. Garth Welte was new to town, having moved here to practice law and ski during his off-hours. He was a regular at the bakery, ordering a double latte and a muffin of the day every morning before he headed to his office. We chatted for a few minutes if I wasn’t too busy. I’d learned he was a former Olympic downhill skier. Now he practiced family law.

I turned left into the next driveway. Crystal was on the wraparound porch in a rocking chair when I pulled up to the house. Locals called her place the Lake House. Not because it was on a lake but because the Lake family had built it for their summer home years ago. Typical Emerson Pass. Folks here loved to give every person, place, or thing a nickname. I always thought it was born from a desire to have one over on the tourists. Only residents knew the clandestine language.

I grabbed the baguette and bottle of wine from the passenger seat. For a split second, I thought of Rose Barnes. She’d taught me, when invited for dinner or a party, to always bring a gift for the hostess. I pushed that memory away. Thinking of Rose and Fenton Barnes made my chest ache.

Crystal unfolded her long legs and rose to meet me as I walked up the steps. “You brought a baguette,” she said. “I could kiss you.” She was tall and slender with a natural grace and elegance, and the fact that she could eat bread and still look like a model defied logic. Another annoying fact about my best friend? She’d been an actual model in Europe to put herself through culinary school.

“I smell fresh bread,” she said as she gave me a quick once-over. “And despair.”

I laughed. “You’re right on both counts.”

She invited me inside so we could open the wine and grab a cheese platter she’d put together. “I thought we could sit out back and look at the pond while we talk. There are a pair of swans in love.”

“I love swans.” I sighed. “But they make me sad.”

“Because they mate for life?”

“I guess so.”

“Come on, let’s open this and you can tell me all about it.” Crystal took the wine from where I’d tucked it against my side.

The house was spectacular, with high rustic beams and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out to a pond and small meadow. We passed through the door to the kitchen, which smelled of fresh flowers and a hint of rosemary. Dark counters gleamed. I coveted her large high-end cooktop and refrigerator.

Crystal opened the wine while I cut the bread into thin slices on a wooden board. Then, with our treats, we went out to the back porch.

We sat in lounge chairs with the food and wine on a table between us. Wild grass and flowers in the meadow did not stir in the warm evening air. Fat bees flew from one flower to the next. Several dragonflies perched on the deck’s railing. Ducks made ripples on the water. At the far end of the pond, a pair of swans canoodled.

“What’s going on?” Crystal twisted her legs into a pretzel and turned toward me, fixing her light hazel eyes on me.

“Trapper’s back. He came into the bakery today,” I said, then took a large drink from my wineglass.

She raised both perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Crap.”

“He’s retired from hockey and has come home permanently.”

“How was it to see him after all this time?” she asked.

“Upsetting. Kind of scary.”

“You mean because of your secret.”

“Yes. What if he finds out?” I asked.

“How would he?”

“Lying was easier when he lived thousands of miles away.”

“You didn’t lie to him,” she said. “You just kept something from him.”

“A big something. I didn’t tell him about his own child. That’s as bad as it gets.”

“It was all a long time ago,” she said. “And he made his choice back then.”

“Without all the information,” I said. “If he’d known I was pregnant, he would’ve stayed and given up everything.”

She shook her head. “After all this time, you still talk about him like he was perfect.”

“He was. He is.”

“No one is perfect.” Crystal’s gaze wandered to the swans. “You just loved him very much.” Her voice constricted. “Like I loved Patrick.”

We grew silent, both absorbed in our own thoughts. The pair of swans swam together toward the middle of the pond.

“If the baby had lived, I wonder if I would’ve told him about her eventually?” I asked, breaking the silence. “I think about that sometimes.”

She didn’t say anything. What could she say, after all? The baby hadn’t lived. I hadn’t had to make the decision.

“He’s still confused over what happened between us,” I said. “He asked a bunch of questions. I had to tell him about Michigan. I gave him the whole story about how we were only high school sweethearts and not meant to last.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He said he thought we had an epic love and that we’d get married and live happily ever after. And that he’d never been able to move on from me.”

She squeezed my wrist. “How did that make you feel?”

“Sad. Guilty. Regretful. He’s such a good person. So much better than me.” I groaned and looked to the sky. “He’s going to meet someone here in town, fall in love, and have beautiful babies, and I’m going to have to see them at freaking church every Sunday.”

Crystal poured more wine into my glass. “What if you two fell in love again and that woman was you? The one at church with the beautiful family.”

“Impossible. There’s this terrible lie between us. He would never forgive me for not telling him I was pregnant.”

“People meet their high school sweethearts at reunions and fall back in love all the time. You don’t know what he’s capable of forgiving and understanding now that he’s a man, not a boy. If your love was true and strong, nothing can break it. Not even after they die on you.”

“Oh, Crystal.” It was my turn to touch her arm. “I’m sorry.”

She stared out over the landscape. “I still dream of Patrick every night. Each morning, just for a split second before I open my eyes, I think he’ll be there with his head on the pillow.”

Patrick had died in a helicopter crash over two years ago, leaving Crystal his fortune. He’d been one of the richest men in the world at the time of his death, having invented several highly successful technology apps. She didn’t talk about money, but I knew from the press that he’d been a billionaire. I couldn’t fathom that kind of money. Apparently, neither could Crystal. Other than on her house and business, I’d never seen her spend any. She worked five days a week at the shop as if she needed the money. I understood work kept her from sinking into depression. It was one of many things we had in common.

“Here’s what we know,” Crystal said. “He came into the shop to see you and immediately confessed that he’d never gotten over you. To me that sounds like an old flame worth blowing on.”

“That sounds kind of dirty,” I said, giggling.

“Seriously,” she said. “What would you do if he came after you for real?”

The idea made my heart beat faster. Would my lie kill any chance of reconciliation?

In addition to that complication, which was an enormous one, we had such different lives now. He was a sex symbol, for heaven’s sake. Girls probably had posters of him hanging in their rooms. I made cookies for a living. These two things didn’t go together. We’d changed. Time had moved on, leaving the ghost of the two lovebirds we’d once been to wander the banks of the river.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Crystal said. “And it’s erroneous.”

“What am I thinking?” I picked up a piece of cheese but then thought better of it and put it back on the platter. My stomach had been off since the moment my one and only love had walked into my place of business. Damn him.

“That you’re not the same people you used to be. And that he’s all sophisticated and famous now and you’re just a small-town girl who makes bread.”

“Cookies were my initial thought, but yes, bread will do,” I said, laughing.

Her eyes softened as she waved a piece of bread at me. “Here’s what I know about people. Our circumstances might change, for better or worse. We might have sudden wealth or fame or success but at the core, we remain the same. If prone to arrogance or selfishness, those qualities stay and are sometimes even heightened by good fortune. However, those who were born humble and curious aren’t changed, other than their ability to help others. Patrick was, despite his billions of dollars, still the same geeky, shy boy who’d spent hours in his dad’s garage working on a computer program. I’m still the same gawky girl I used to be, even though I’ve inherited all Patrick’s wealth. My clothes may be more expensive, and I drive a better car, but I’m still the same girl on the inside. When you lose someone you love, you realize how all the outer trimmings of life mean nothing. I’d still trade every bit of the wealth and lifestyle for one more moment with Patrick.”

“I wish I could give you that.”

“I wish you could too,” she said. “But there’s something you can do.”

“What? Anything.”

“If there’s an opportunity for the two of you to rekindle what was obviously a special love, please don’t dismiss it because of pride or fear. Take the chance I’ll never get. Tell him the truth about the baby. Give him the opportunity to forgive you.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Let fate handle that part,” she said. “However it turns out—whatever his reaction—telling him the truth will set you free of all the guilt and shame.”

“It would almost be a relief if he knew,” I said.

“Did you always know you loved him?”

I thought for a moment, allowing myself to drift into the past. I’d become deft at shutting down memories of Trapper, but for now I let the images of our times together flood my mind. Trapper on the ice. The two of us bent over homework in his mama’s kitchen. The scent of the wildflowers in the field where we lay side by side on a blanket, watching the sky and talking about our dreams for the future. His face crumpling in grief the day I told him it was over. “The thing with Trap is that he was always my cheerleader. Not just me but all of our group of friends. Anytime someone felt down, all they needed was a pep talk from the town hero to get them back up again.”

“I remember he was about the most gorgeous boy I’d ever seen,” Crystal said. “Other than Breck, but he was my cousin so that was gross.”

“Cousins once removed or three times removed or something like that,” I said. Harley’s sister, Poppy, the town’s first female veterinarian, was Breck’s great-grandmother.

“Well, anyway, Trapper was dreamy,” she said.

I sighed. “He was. Every girl in this town wanted him, and he chose me.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Crystal asked. “I remember you quite well from those summers. I’d been jealous when I first met you. All that shiny blond hair and tanned skin with those perfect white teeth. You were the girl next door I wished I could be. If you recall, I had glasses and braces, dishwater-blond hair, and was so tall and skinny the mean girls at my high school in Seattle had nicknamed me Giraffe.”

“You were waiting to bloom into a runway model,” I said. “So those girls can suck it.”

“I used to dread going home to Seattle at the end of the summer,” Crystal said. “My mother’s a fantastic person, but her arty lifestyle was a little nerve-racking for a kid who craved the steady, old-fashioned household of my grandparents and their horses.”

“Do you ever think of carrying on the family tradition and getting a few horses?” I asked.

“I might.”

Her hesitation prompted the next question. “What’s holding you back?”

“I don’t know. My mother rejected all that, and it sort of bled into my thinking. She hated living here. Hated the horses and how they dictated her life when she was young.” Crystal’s grandparents had sold the horse farm before they passed away, knowing their only daughter wasn’t interested in carrying on with what had once been the family business.

“You have the room,” I said, gesturing toward the meadow and pond.

“Maybe. We’ll see. For now, we’re talking about you.”

We were quiet for a few minutes as we sipped our wine. The sun, low in the sky, shot ribbons of light through the trees on the edge of the property. A duck quacked and another answered.

“I’ve been ashamed for so long,” I said. “I’m not sure I have the courage to tell him the truth.” I’d internalized that shame until it grew so large it pushed aside the parts of me that were brave and felt worthy of love. Was Crystal right? Was it time to tell the truth?

“You were a kid,” Crystal said. “With a controlling mother who basically forced you to keep the pregnancy a secret. I don’t know Trapper like you do, but I suspect he has enough grace to understand exactly how it happened.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and let the image of his earnest, sweet face drift into my consciousness. He deserved to know what had really happened. I had to find the courage to tell him.

The next day,after the morning rush, I took a moment to assess my inventory. All the muffins were gone. There were still plenty of sandwiches made from my fresh baguettes and French ham and butter or turkey and Havarti. Stacks of chocolate chunk cookies and peanut butter were half of what they’d been when I opened but would last us until the afternoon.

In addition to my sandwiches, I still had loaves of sourdough, French baguettes, and banana and pumpkin bread. We were between rushes, so I sent my assistant back for a break while I tidied the display cases and platters. I usually had another influx of customers around noon, who came in to buy something to take home or purchase one of the sandwiches for lunch.

My routine was fairly simple. I had two staff members. One for the bakery and one for the front of house. I baked the bread in the morning from dough I’d made the day before. The assistant baker used my tried-and-true recipes to make the pastries and cookies during the afternoons, filling the place with the scent of sugar and butter that wafted onto the street. No better advertising existed.

The staff showed up around 7:00 a.m. for the breakfast rush and stayed to finish baking and handling customers after I left in the afternoons. During ski season, I’d often do a couple of ski runs after work. In the other seasons, I’d go to the YMCA for a workout or take a walk down on the river boardwalk. On Sundays, my shop was closed. I went to church in the morning. In the afternoon, I drove out to the cemetery to put a single flower on my daughter’s grave.

Today, I was tired, having slept fitfully and been in and out of dreams about Trapper and the baby. All it took was one fifteen-minute conversation and every feeling I’d ever had for him had returned in spades. And the guilt. It was back, too.

I was writing the list of tomorrow’s muffins and scone choices in chalk on my display board when someone entered the shop. I looked up to see Fenton Barnes, otherwise known as Trapper’s dad. My heart immediately sped up at the sight of him. In all the years since I’d opened, he’d never come inside.

“Morning, Brandi,” he said. “Could I get one of those ham sandwiches I keep hearing about?”

“Warm or cold?”

“Cold, I think. Reminds me of Paris. Don’t tell my wife. She doesn’t approve of butter.”

I smiled at him. “Whatever happens at the Sugar Queen stays at the Sugar Queen. Anything else?” I took one of the white bistro plates from the shelf behind me, then reached into the refrigerated case for the largest of the sandwiches.

“Double espresso sounds pretty darn good.” He waved a rolled-up newspaper at me. “I think I’ll sit and read the paper.”

“Take a seat. I’ll bring the coffee out to you.”

“Appreciate it,” he said as he scooped up the plate with his large hand.

The machine made its usual loud sound as it ground fresh beans, then squirted creamy espresso into a cup.

I took the drink out to him. He had the paper spread out on the table, opened to the sports section.

“You’ve never been in before,” I said before I could stop myself. “Why now?”

His lifted his gaze from the paper and looked directly into my eyes. “I want to talk to you about Trap.”

I fiddled with my apron strings. “Okay.”

“I know it’s none of my business, but when it comes to my son, I’ve never been able to keep my papa bear instincts at bay.”

I smiled, remembering how he used to shout encouragement during Trapper’s hockey matches.

“I’ll just get right to the point. My son has loved you since he was fourteen years old. He’s never gotten over you. I wondered how you felt about him.”

“Respectfully, sir, that’s really neither here nor there.”

“Why would you say that?” He tilted his head and peered at me as if I he’d just asked me to sum up a science hypothesis.

“It’s been a million years since high school.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“He told me you didn’t get into Michigan. This is all conjecture on my part, of course, but I always suspected you broke it off so that he could pursue his dream without the weight of a girlfriend who wasn’t yet sure of her own place in the world.”

I stared at him, taken aback by his insight. If he only knew the full story. How about the weight of a child and teenage mother? How would that have hindered his career? “I knew it wasn’t right for me to follow him. He needed a fresh start.”

He leaned back in his chair, watching me. “You know what I think?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I think that’s very noble and showed a maturity Trapper didn’t yet have. You did the right thing, in my opinion.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Thank you, sir.”

“However, now is now. You’re both all grown up, and maybe it’s time to see if there’s anything still there between you. I know he wants that.”

He won’t. Not once I tell him what I did.“Mr. Barnes, there are things that have happened—things I can’t undo—that make it impossible for us to ever be together again.”

“I can’t imagine what that would be,” he said.

“It’s complicated.” I hated this. Being this evasive right to Fenton Barnes’s face was as hard as it had been to cut them all off ten years ago. They’d been my second family.

“Complicated sounds like an excuse,” he said. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”

Goose bumps prickled my arms. He knew I was keeping something from them. “Sir, too much time has passed. That’s all.”

He picked up his sandwich. “If you’re worried about Rose, don’t be.”

“Does she hate me?”

“She could never hate you. Rose is a little hung up on the past, that’s all. Regardless, she’ll come around if you and Trap get back together. She won’t say so because she’s so darned stubborn, but she loved you like a daughter, which is why it hurt her so much when you broke it off. I swear she moped around for six months like it was her that got broken up with.”

“I’m sorry about that.” I couldn’t imagine Rose moping around. She never stopped moving from what I remembered.

“You did what you had to do. No one faults you for what happened.” He bit into his sandwich and made an appreciative grunt. “Goodness, this is good. Better than Paris.”

I smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, sir.” A group of teenagers walked by the windows. Waves of envy surged through me. I longed to be that carefree. Once upon a time, Trapper and I and our friends had walked that same sidewalk on a summer’s day, giggling and teasing one another.

“One other thing I wanted to ask you.” Fenton dotted at his mouth with a napkin. “Why did your mother suddenly cut Rose out of her life?”

I gripped the sides of the tall chair as if it were a shield. How could I explain my mother’s behavior? Her disappearance from Rose’s life must have been horribly confusing. “I guess she thought it was best if they parted ways after what happened between Trapper and me.”

“Any chance she’d change her mind now?”

“I’m not sure. My mom’s stubborn too,” I said, as an excuse. She could never be friends with Rose Barnes. The secret we’d kept from them was too big. When she’d decided we should keep my pregnancy hidden, it had been impossible for us to ever have the relationships we once had. Lies ruined love.

“They’d been friends before you two started dating. Rose missed her very much. I think she still does.”

I shivered at the memory of Rose ringing the doorbell shortly after Trapper had left town. My mother had refused to answer. Finally, Rose had given up and driven away.

Now I shifted nervously from foot to foot. There were gaps in the story that Fen, Rose, and Trapper would never understand unless I told them the truth. Did I have the courage to do so? What would it do to all of us? Make it better or worse?

As if he heard my thoughts, Fenton gave me an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to work out just fine.”

If only he could predict the future, I thought. But he couldn’t. There were too many factors for everything to turn out “just fine.”

“Enjoy your sandwich,” I said. “And it was really nice to see you.”

“You too.”

As I passed by him, he stopped me with a soft grip on my wrist. “Whatever it is that you’re not telling us—have a little faith that Trapper will understand.”

I bit the inside of my lip to keep the tears away. “I don’t think so.”

“You’ll never know unless you tell him.” He released my arm. “Whatever it is, Brandi, you’ll never be able to live freely unless you tell him what really happened.”

“Yes, sir.” By this time, my assistant had returned from her break.

I walked to the back, holding it together until I reached the bathroom. I locked the door and began the second good cry in as many days.

After I left the shop,I went up to my apartment and showered the day’s flour from my skin and hair. With my hair in a towel, I called Crystal and asked if she’d be willing to go to dinner at Puck’s.

“Is there a reason?” she asked.

“I just need a night out.” I shared with her the content of Fenton’s visit.

“I’ll come by your place first and we can walk over together,” Crystal said.

We agreed on a time before hanging up from the call. I blew out my hair and put on a pretty dress, neither of which alleviated the weight on my chest.

I paced around the apartment for a few minutes, replaying the conversation with Fenton. For a distraction, I turned on the television but couldn’t get interested in anything. An open book on the coffee table didn’t tempt me, either. My mind was all over the place.

Instead, I went to the closet in my bedroom and fetched my special box from the top shelf. When I was around ten, my mother had found the vintage hatbox stashed away in the corner of the attic. We were delighted to find stacks of letters between Lizzie and her mother.

I took the box into my living room and curled up on the couch. When Alexander had come to America from England, his valet, Jasper Strom, had accompanied him. Later, they sent for Lizzie. As I had been with Trapper, Lizzie had been in love with Jasper all her life. It took him fifteen years to figure out that she was the woman for him. They’d married and had a baby, Florence. I suppose it was silly, but reading the letters and imagining a simpler time gave me peace, kind of like reading one’s favorite book time and again.

I kept them in the original envelopes. Legend has it that after Lizzie’s mother’s death, the letters she’d sent to England were returned to her. As a kid, I’d sorted them into chronological stacks. I had them almost memorized, but I picked one from 1910 to read, carefully sliding the fragile paper from the envelope.

December 24, 1910

Dearest Mummy,

You won’t believe my news. Jasper has asked me to marry him. The day I never thought would come has finally arrived. He asked me in front of the entire Barnes family, as well as Quinn and her mother and sister. I wish I could remember exactly what he said, but the buzzing between my ears drowned out his words. He pulled his mother’s ring from his pocket and said he couldn’t go on without admitting his feelings for me. It’s been ingrained in him that servants like us do not marry, but somehow Lord Barnes convinced him otherwise.

I’m giggling as I write this because Quinn’s idea may have also prompted Jasper into action. We pretended that Clive Higgins had come to call on me. This was ridiculous in several ways. For one, he’s about ten years too young for me. He’s a good friend, however, and agreed to the ruse. Jasper became so jealous he stormed around for days. We all thought it quite funny. I know, it wasn’t nice, but all’s fair in love and war. Isn’t that what you always told me?

Anyway, I knew we’d gotten to him when the night after Clive “called” on me he came charging into the kitchen with those piercing blue eyes of his flashing like lightning. “What in the devil do you have going on with Higgins? He’s a butcher, for heaven’s sake.”

“I’m a cook,” I said. “A perfect match for a man who sells meat, don’t you think?”

“I do not think. I’m horrified that anyone in this household would think him an appropriate suitor for you. You’re an old maid and he’s an illiterate butcher of cattle.”

I took offense to the old maid comment, even though the entire exchange had me greatly amused. “I’m not an old maid. I’m currently weighing my options from several interested men.” I made that part up. I’m sorry for fibbing, Mummy, but really, the man can be so aggravating.

“Who else?” His normally clipped speech came out like thunder to match the lightning in his eyes. In fact, his face was a thundercloud.

“None of your concern,” I said. “But as you know there are many single men here and hardly any women. I’ll have my pick.”

“You’ll make a fool of yourself. Not to mention embarrassing Lord Barnes by making a mockery of your position here.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up, and I’d never wanted to smack anyone in my life, but I sure did now. How dare he say I’d make a fool of myself. The only fool I’d made was loving him for fifteen years with no reciprocations. I said as much, albeit it with less ease, as there was an inordinate amount of stuttering and a little spit. I was like one of those actors at the play festival. Never sit in the front row, Mummy, unless you want the actors’ spit on you.

“And anyway,” I added, “Lord Barnes gave me his blessing. Like me, he believes in love.”

He stared at me with his mouth slightly ajar, then huffed like a child. “This entire household’s gone mad.” He turned on his heel. His shoe squeaked and left a black mark on my clean floor. Then he stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. His usual light step as loud as the children when they’re hungry and on their way down to me and a warm snack.

Mrs. Wu, who apparently had been stuck in the pantry, poked her head out and said something in Chinese. We can’t speak each other’s languages, Mrs. Wu and me, yet we seemed to understand each other anyway. There was our shared language of cooking, which could be communicated by watching each other. There was also the universal language of women that consisted of exchanges without words. There are guttural noises of disgust, raised eyebrows, tutting, and shaking of heads. And of course, touch.

“I’m sorry,” I said to her as I gestured for her to come out of the pantry. “He’s gone now.”

She came to where I stood at the island and patted my shoulder. Then, she tapped her chest and grimaced. I knew exactly what that meant. She was sorry for my broken heart.

I patted her small, weathered hand, knowing of the heartbreak she’d seen in her own life. The loss of her son, daughter-in-law, and husband. Now she was alone with two small children to raise in what should have been her old age.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Wu,” I said. “You and I have courage and hope that things will get better. Women like us never give up.”

She bobbed her head in obvious agreement and picked up the ball of dough I’d been kneading and began to work on it herself. I mixed sugar and cinnamon together. It’s strange, because I had the sense as we worked together to roll out the dough that everything was going to be just fine.

That evening, Jasper got down on one knee and proposed. I guess Quinn was right. Even Jasper can succumb to jealousy.

I know what you’re thinking. However, Mummy, this is a different world we live in now. One in which the mistress of the house can be friends with the cook, and a woman from England and another from China can work side by side to make sweet buns. Here the butler isn’t really a butler but the confidant and best friend of the head of household. A man and woman can marry, regardless of their position. I hope you’ll be happy for me. I love you. Please give Papa my best.

Love, Lizzie

Good old Jasper had come around finally. He’d been there for Lizzie after all the years she’d loved him from afar. If their love affair was possible, did it mean mine with Trapper had a chance? Whatever the answer, Fenton and Crystal were right. I had to tell him what really happened. Otherwise, I would carry this shame and guilt for the rest of my life.

I went back into the bathroom and applied some makeup and brushed my teeth. This life required both courage and hope. Sometimes a girl had to step away from the oven and into the fire.