Chapter Five

Emma

Mrs. Robinson lives on the corner of Main Street, just beyond the bake shop. I haven’t known her most of my life like a lot of folks in town, but every time I see her, it’s like running into my grandma. She’s soft and sweet and she always has little butterscotch candies in her pocket.

I sit in the truck, listening to the weather report on a local late-night broadcast while Nick talks to Mrs. Robinson about what he’s going to do. We didn’t talk much on the way over. I think he’s still tired. I mean, I am too. It’s very early in the morning, and if he’s not feeling good still, this has to suck. I know I wouldn’t want to be up on a roof in the middle of the night brushing off snow in a storm.

When they’re done talking, I shake my head as though I’m brushing off cobwebs, then step from the truck and join Mrs. Robinson in her old, dark green Volkswagen that’s pumping heat. I’m not sure what year it is, but it’s vintage enough that you don’t see cars like this anymore.

Nick grabs a ladder from inside her garage and climbs up onto the roof with a long flat snow shovel. I hate that he’s up there in this weather, but I know nothing could’ve changed his mind tonight. Mrs. Robinson is like a mother to most folks up here, and they treat her as such.

“Oh, honey! You poor dear.” Mrs. Robinson reaches her hand toward mine. “I’ve made you get up in the middle of the night, and you forgot your pants.”

I glance down at my bare legs and laugh. “You’re right! I did forget pants. Nick gave me a blanket in the truck. My head hasn’t been screwed on right lately. I’m forgetting things left and right.”

“Nick says you’ve been awful tired lately.” She squeezes me gently. “How are you? Tell me everything.”

There’s a sweetness in her voice that’s reassuring and comforting beyond words. Of course, I’d love to spill all my drama right here and now, but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to comfort her.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. How are you? Must have been scary with your roof creaking like that.”

“Oh yes,” she holds the steering wheel in her fragile hands and stares toward Nick as he works, “but that man up there is one of the nicest boys on this mountain. I know he comes off real gruff, but he’s going to make a good husband. My moose was like Nick, ya know? We were married for a lifetime. I still miss him every day… but that’s enough about me at this hour. What are you doing for work these days, honey? I must be keeping you up way past your bedtime.”

In this all-white night, the only glimpse I can catch of Nick is his red coat against the storm. An especially hard wind blows, and Nick disappears for a moment as a chuck of snow comes loose from the roof and slides down into the pile against the windows. Folks love snow this time of year, but I think we had enough of it like three feet ago.

“Oh!” The processor in my brain spins for a long while. I must have work tomorrow, right? “It’s… what day of the week is it?”

“Thursday, well, Friday considering the time it is right now.”

“Yeah, Friday. I must have work today. I’m still at the bank.” I know I’m still at the bank, right?

“You must love it then. You’ve been there for a while.”

The last real memory I have of the bank is right after my accident last year, when my coworkers all became allergic to get well wishes. Maybe I should call the doctor.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I love working hard and I’m climbing the ladder so fast at the bank. For some reason my brain translated that into them caring about me, but clearly, they don’t.”

“Are you looking for them to care?”

“I mean, I spend so many hours there. I just… I’d hoped that they would care a little. But after my accident, it was clear they didn’t.”

“What would you do with your life if you didn’t have to worry about money?”

I thought I was talking Mrs. Robinson out of something, but instead, she turned the tables on me. “This is going to sound so dumb, but I’ve always wanted to be a baker. Not with my own shop, but from home, ya know? I’d like to bake cookies and set them on a little stand by the road or take orders from locals. A really small, kind of homey feel to the whole thing.”

She squeezes my hand again. “That sounds perfect for you, honey. What’s your signature cookie?”

“I make these cowboy cookies that people love… but I don’t know. I see a few girls in town already have similar dreams. Anything baking in this town is probably over done.”

“Not true. Everyone makes things differently. Besides, you just mentioned cowboy cookies. No one does that. I bet this time of year would be an especially great time to get a cookie business started. I know the bakery in town can’t keep up with demand.”

“You think so?” I glance up at Nick who’s climbing down from the ladder. I can see why he plays Santa up at the tree farm. The sight of a man climbing down from a roof in the middle of the night with his red coat on already has me smiling ear to ear.

“I do. Tell you what,” she pulls a piece of paper and a pen from the center console of the car, “I’ll be your first order. I’ll take two dozen cowboy cookies. No… four. I need them for the church social next Thursday. Do you think you could do that?”

I stare toward Mrs. Robinson, a little slack jawed. “Are you serious?”

“Of course, and I don’t want to hear any offer for free cookies. I’m paying you the market price. So, come up with a total and send it over.” She pulls on the handle of her door as Nick rounds the car.

“Well,” his tone is deep and immediately comforting, “you’re all set. Doesn’t look like there’s any permanent damage up there, but I’ll come by after I finish my plow rounds, and we can make sure in the daylight.”

“Oh honey,” she leans into Nick and hugs him tight, “thank you. I’ll make sure and send you a nice fat check.”

“No. It’s on the house. I still owe you from that dinner you made me last weekend.”

She waves her hand toward him. “I’m paying you. I love you both, so be safe driving. And Emma, I’m counting on those cookies, dear. I don’t bake like I used to. The church ladies will be all kinds of disappointed if I show up empty-handed.”

I lean in and hug Mrs. Robinson as the cold breeze blows up the long work shirt I’m wearing. I can’t believe I forgot pants.

Nick wraps me against his chest and opens the truck door, helping me inside as Mrs. Robinson makes her way into the house.

“What was that all about?” His tone is low as he rounds the truck.

“I don’t know.” I sigh and say, “I was supposed to be helping her but now I’m starting a new business.”

He laughs. “Well, there you go. I agree. You should be baking.”

“I can’t make a living off baking cookies, Nick. I’d love to, but it’s not realistic. I’ll make hers and…”

“No, no, no.” He starts up the engine and backs into the road. “Let’s try it. You could make samples and start small by selling them at the country store on the farm.”

I hadn’t thought of selling in the country store. Still, though, it doesn’t make sense. “How will I contribute to household bills? We’re getting married. We need a lot of extra money right now.”

He pulls up the stop sign at the corner and stares toward me in the dim light of the moon shining through the front windshield. “I’ll take care of us. I agree with Mrs. R. You should be doing something you love.”

“So… what? I just quit the bank?”

“Yeah, you’re on break already, anyway. After Christmas let them know that you’re leaving.”

I can feel my eyes widen and my heart swell with something I’ve never felt before. Part of it is worry for myself given the fact that I’d forgotten I was on break. The other part is sheer love for this man who’s willing to support me while I go after my dream.

“Are you sure? I could never repay you.”

“You will, though.” He winks in my direction. “I promise.”

I slide toward him and tuck under his arm as he flicks off the blinker and heads up the mountain. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Better than I was. What about you? Everything good?”

“Yeah,” I brush back a strand of stray hair from my vision, “I was just getting worried you weren’t into me anymore.”

“God, no. I’m into you. Like really fuckin’ into you.” He reaches for my hand and holds it tightly in his.

“How many driveways do you have to plow this morning?”

“A few down here on Main and a few up on the lake side. You want to ride? We can plan what cookies you’ll bake and figure all the details out.”

“Details?”

“Well, you’ll need a catchy name. Something that gets people talking.”

“I was thinking something simple like North Pole Bakery or Santa’s Cookie Shop, ya know, because of the tree farm.”

He grins and the tightness in my chest relaxes. I don’t know why it feels so vulnerable to share new ideas, but it is. “I like Santa’s Cookie Shop.”

“You don’t think people will reject Santa’s cookies in July?”

“Nah. You can put some fishing Santa stickers on the packaging come summer and folks will love it.”

A wave of excitement rolls through me at the thought of actually making this work. Maybe the reason I’m forgetting so much is because I’ve had so much on my mind. That happens, right? People get overwhelmed with life and they start forgetting simple things. I mean, I remember all the important stuff. I love Nick, and he loves me. If that’s true, everything is perfect. And though perfection was never what I was looking for, it feels damn good to be here.