Harmel - The Sweetness of Forgetting

PHOTO BY ROBIN GAGE

KRISTIN HARMEL is the author of four previous womens fiction titles as well as two young adult novels. Her work has been featured in People, Ladies Home Journal, Glamour, Womans Day, Mens Health, American Baby, Runners World, and many other media outlets. She lives in Orlando, Florida.

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COVER DESIGN BY SUSAN ZUCKER COVER PHOTOGRAPH BY GETTY IMAGES/ANNA WILLIAMS

Gallery Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2012 by Kristin Harmel

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Gallery Books trade paperback edition August 2012

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Designed by Jaime Putorti

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Harmel, Kristin
The sweetness of forgetting / Kristin Harmel. 1st Gallery Books trade paperback ed.
p. cm.
1. Single-parent familiesFiction. 2. Grandparent and childFiction. 3. Family secretsFiction. 4. Life change eventsFiction. 5. Alzheimers diseaseFiction. 6. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PS3608.A745S94 2012

813.6dc23 2011051759

ISBN 978-1-4516-4429-6
ISBN 978-1-4516-4431-9 (ebook)

To Grandma and Grandpa from Weymouth

Contents

God hath made of one blood all nations of men.
ACTS 17:26

One mans candle is light for many.
TRACTATE SHABBAT, ORDER MOED OF THE TALMUD

All Gods creatures are His family and he is the most beloved of God who doeth most good to Gods creatures.
THE PROPHET MUHAMMAD

T he street outside the bakery window is silent and still, and in the half hour just before sunrise, as dawns narrow fingers are just reaching over the horizon, I can almost believe Im the only person on earth. Its September, a week and a half after Labor Day, which in the little towns up and down Cape Cod means that the tourists have gone home, the Bostonians have boarded up their summer houses for the season, and the streets have taken on the deserted air of a restless dream.

The leaves outside have begun to change, and in a few weeks, I know theyll mirror the muted hues of sunset, although most people dont think to look here for fall foliage. The leaf peepers will head to Vermont, to New Hampshire, or to the Berkshires in the western part of our state, where the oaks and maples will paint the world in fiery red and burnt orange. But in the stillness of the off-season on the Cape, the swaying beach grass will turn golden as the days grow shorter; the birds migrating south from Canada will come to rest in great flocks; the marshes will fade into watercolor brushstrokes. And I will watch, as I always watch, from the window of the North Star Bakery.

I cant remember a time when this place, my familys business, didnt feel more like home to me than the little yellow cottage by the bay that I was raised in, the home Ive now had to move back into after the finalization of my divorce.

Divorce. The word rings in my ears, over and over, making me feel like a failure once again as I try to conduct the balancing act of simultaneously opening the oven door with one foot, juggling two industrial-sized trays of miniature cinnamon pies, and keeping an eye on the front of the bakery. It occurs to me yet again as I slide the pies in, pull out a tray of croissants, and push the door shut with my hip that trying to have it all means only that your hands are always full. In this case, literally.

Id wanted so much to stay married, for Annies sake. I didnt want my daughter growing up in a home where she had to feel confused about her parents, like I had when I was a kid. I wanted more for her. But life never works out the way you plan, does it?

The front door chimes just as Im lifting the flaky, buttery croissants from the baking sheet. I glance at the timer on the secondary oven; the vanilla cupcakes need to come out in just under sixty seconds, which will delay me in getting out to the front of the store.

Hope? a deep voice calls out from up front. You back there?

I sigh in relief. A customer I know, at least. Not that I dont know almost everyone who remains in town after the tourists have gone home.

Be out in a minute, Matt! I shout.

I pull on my oven mitts, the bright blue ones with cupcakes embroidered on the edges that Annie bought me for my thirty-fifth birthday last year, and pull the vanilla cakes out of the oven. I breathe in deeply, the sugary scent taking me back to my own childhood for a moment. My mamie French for grandmafounded the North Star Bakery sixty years ago, a few years after she moved to Cape Cod with my grandfather. I grew up here, learning to bake at her knee as she patiently explained how to make dough, why breads rise, and how to turn both traditional and unexpected ingredient combinations into confections that the Boston Globe and the Cape Cod Times rave about every year.

I put the cupcakes on the cooling rack and slide two trays of anise and fennel cookies into the oven in their place. Beneath them, on the bottom rack, I slide in a batch of crescent moons: almond paste flavored with orange flower water, sprinkled with cinnamon, enclosed in a pastry shell, and shaped into gently curved slivers.

I close the oven door and brush the flour off my hands. Taking a deep breath, I set the digital timer and walk out of the kitchen into the brightly lit front room of the bakery. No matter how overwhelmed I am, it still makes me smile to come through the doors; Annie and I painted the bakery last fall, when business was slow, and she chose princess pink with white piping. Sometimes it feels like were living inside a giant cupcake.

Matt Hines is sitting in a chair facing the counter, and when he sees me, he jumps up and smiles.

Hey, Hope, he says.

I smile back. Matt was my high school boyfriend, half a lifetime ago. We broke up before heading off to separate colleges; I came back several years later with a bachelors degree, the useless half of a law school education, a new husband, and a baby daughter, and Matt and I have been friendly ever since. Hes asked me out several times since my divorce, but Ive realized, almost with surprise, that weve outgrown each other. Hes like a favorite old sweater that no longer fits or flatters. Life changes you, even if you dont realize it while its happening, and it turns out you cant take back the years that have passed by. Matt doesnt seem to realize that, though.