Lighting Candles in the Snow (4 page)

I stood and headed for the door, muttering something about needing to go clean my kitchen. “I appreciate your concern, but really I’m fine. I’m not sad about the divorce. I’m glad. I’m happy to be rid of him. I . . . I’m just not used to it yet.”

Sheila gave me a parting hug at the door. “It’s okay, honey. You don’t need to hide the truth from me. I’ve been through it and believe me, divorce is no picnic. Course, marriage is worse, so you won’t see me getting caught in that trap again.” She coughed up a short laugh.

I rushed back to my apartment before the tears spilled over. I didn’t want Sheila to see me lose control and reading anything into it. I was not miserable. I did not still love Jeremy. I was glad to be rid of him. I’d be fine once I got through this weekend and could get back to work.

Unlike the rest of the working world, Mondays were my favorite day of the week. I was on an upwardly mobile career path at Draper Mortgage and Lending and I loved my job. Although it wasn’t the career I had originally planned for myself, there was satisfaction in helping people realize their dreams of home ownership.

Here I was still in an apartment, renting, divorced, no kids, yet I would get such a thrill whenever I saw a young couple come into my office excited about building their future and ready to fill out the paperwork to make it happen. They might have one or two little children with them, the wife might be pregnant, and they’d be ecstatic with the vision of their burgeoning family obtaining the American dream of home ownership.

I loved having just a small part in helping that little family get a start in life. I was always careful to make sure they didn’t get into anything over their heads, that the financial end made sense. There were mortgage companies out there offering bad deals for high commissions, like interest-only loans or balloon payments, the kind of thing that sounds too good to be true because it is. If the economy ever came crashing down such loans would be the first to go, and those trusting couples would lose their homes.

I wanted no part of that and neither did my firm. I couldn’t wait until Monday. Weekends were the worst.

Karoline’s Brownies with Fudge Topping

1 cup butter, melted

2 cups sugar

1 cup flour

⅔ cup cocoa

1 12-ounce package semi-sweet chocolate chips

½ teaspoon baking powder

2 eggs

½ cup milk

3 teaspoons vanilla

Fudge Topping

1 14-ounce can sweetened condensed milk

1 teaspoon vanilla

Mix butter, sugar, flour, cocoa, baking powder, eggs, one-half cup milk and three teaspoons vanilla. Bake for thirty minutes in thirteen by nine-inch pan at 350º F.

For Fudge Topping: Melt chocolate chips, condensed milk and one teaspoon vanilla over stove slowly. When brownies have cooked for allotted time, remove from heat and spread fudge mix over top. Cool. Cut and top with one perfect walnut half on each piece.

Chapter Four

O
n Monday three men from back East visited the office for some mysterious reason. The boss was energized, shmoozing, no afternoon nap for Mr. Everett today. He showed them around before ushering them into his office and shutting the door while they talked about who-knows-what for hours.

After that, he drove them out to the West Valley branch, “to show them around,” he said, winking at me. Something was up. At one time Mr. Everett had explored the possibility of selling, although lately with the drastic drop in interest rates and subsequent increase in mortgage applications, the topic had waned. We had hired new loan officers and Mr. Everett had discussed opening a third branch.

Putting speculation aside, I spent the morning answering the phone and catching up on paperwork. With my new position as sub-prime specialist, I no longer took loan applications. Nor did I work with the processing department and underwriters like before. Now I reviewed applications from our loan officers to help them find the best product for our clients, and I dealt with countless sub-prime lenders to keep up with the ever-expanding loans available. I also supervised quality control and reviewed files to make sure everything was clean and clear.

When the phone stopped ringing for two minutes, I ate a quick lunch at my desk – tuna salad with celery, pickle and no-fat mayo, plus an apple—good but unsatisfying. I craved an éclair from that pastry shop down the street.

If Mr. Everett did sell the company, I considered the possibilities. The new people might keep me on, but nine times out of ten when a small firm is bought out, they bring in their own staff and make unreasonable requests on the old employees to force them out. Like ridiculous pay cuts or reducing to part-time or changing job description to something no one in their right mind would agree to do. I’d seen it happen too many times to believe otherwise.

I made a quick call to Suzie. “I think Mr. Everett may have a buyer,” I blurted when she picked up.

“Really? You wouldn’t lose your job, would you?”

“Can’t say,” I said, spinning a pen through my fingers like a baton. “I certainly hope not. He’s showing them around the West Valley branch right now.”

“You’re eating dinner at our house tonight, remember?”

“Looking forward to it. I saved up calories so don’t serve diet food. I’ll come over straight from work.”

“Good, because I have a surprise for you. See you then.”

Surprise, what surprise? With Susie, it could be anything from a new baby announcement to a different hair color. Liam was two; Suz could very well be pregnant again. I smiled at the thought. She and Rob had the cutest kids.

I could not have survived my life right now without Suzie, especially with Mom and Dad abroad. Despite being five years older than me, she’d always been my best friend. I used to want to be her. Guys swarmed our house when she turned fifteen, waiting until her sixteenth birthday when she could officially date. Scowling at the boys, my dad threatened to keep Suzie locked in the house. Mom convinced him to let her go on dates so she wouldn’t rebel and do something crazy. Ironically, Suzie did do something crazy but not exactly what our parents had feared.

There I was, the geeky, dumpy ten-year-old, thinking that when I turned fifteen I would be gorgeous like my sister. I finally hit my blossoming phase in college, second semester of freshman year. After graduation, I met Jeremy. We dated for two years, married for six– end of my twenties. What a waste.

The phone started ringing off the hook again and before I knew it, my work day had ended. It was past six and I was starving. Time to get over to Suzie and Rob’s.

I finished up at the office and headed out, looking forward to spending the evening with my sister and her kids. Never a dull moment at their house. They had five girls, stair-steps, born one right after the other, three in middle school and two in grade school; and two little boys, Josh and Liam.

Mormons tend to have lots of kids. I can never remember why exactly, something about forever families and babies being angels in heaven, I don’t know. Suzie explained it to me once and it made sense at the time. I loved how Suz and Rob stayed focused on their family and on each other. Well, to be honest, sometimes it could get a wee bit sickening but that was probably my own bad attitude talking. They called and texted constantly, from different rooms in the same house, for heaven’s sake. They took pictures of themselves on their phones and sent them to each other. And this from a couple who’s been married sixteen years.

I will admit to having the occasional jealous twinge for my sister who has a husband that adores her, a husband who makes any sacrifice for their children
and
goes to church every Sunday. Although when it came down to it, I wouldn’t want my sister’s life. I loved my nieces and nephews but there was no way I could handle seven kids of my own.

I pulled up to their house, glad to be coming here instead of back to an empty apartment. The door opened even before I rang the bell and Suzie’s kids appeared from the far corners of their massive home.

“Hi, Aunt Karoline!” Kendra, the oldest at fifteen, gave me a big hug. The other girls fluttered around, laughing and chattering in that fast way teenage girls have, with the half-sentences and giggles and hard-to-decipher trendy phrases.

The two little boys ran around like wind- up toys. I picked up two-year-old Liam mid-motion. His white-blonde curls made me swoon.

The kids were blonde like their parents. Everyone teased Suzie and Rob about being Barbie and Ken because they’re both slim, stylish and attractive, looking like a matched pair with their light blonde hair and blue eyes.

I twirled baby Liam around and squeezed his wriggly little self to me. Maybe he was the angel baby I had prayed for, that God in His wisdom had sent to Suzie and Rob instead of to Karoline and Jeremy.

Suzie peeked out of the kitchen. She had on a cute apron, because believe it or not, aprons were now trendy. She had an entire kitchen wall for her apron display. It was so retro. I remember our grandmother wore aprons, then you never saw them around anywhere until a few years ago when suddenly they became popular.

“Karoline!” she squealed. “Good to see you! Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I’m starved,” I said, trailing her back into the kitchen. “What are we having?”

Amanda and Ashley had finished their cheer practice in the foyer and crowded around us, trying to get their mom’s attention about a fundraiser for the middle school cheer uniforms.

“It’s embarrassing to ask people for money, Mom,” twelve-year-old Ashley stated.

“Yeah, Mom,” Amanda cut in. “We can’t go door to door. I’d die.”

“Try some of the local businesses,” Suzie suggested. “Like Holiday Oil down the street. The manager there knows us. Ask for Dave.”

Suzie turned back to me. “Sorry, Karoline,” she said. “You asked what we’re having. Lasagna, fresh rolls, green salad and chocolate cake.” Suddenly she stopped and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, wait. You’re dieting. I completely forgot! I am so sorry. You can’t eat lasagna, can you? Well, never mind, I’ve got boneless, skinless chicken breasts in the freezer. It will only take a few minutes to broil one. How big? Four ounces?”

I shook my head. “No way am I passing up your lasagna. Remember on the phone today I said no diet food?”

“Oh, good, because I didn’t cook low-cal. I guess I wasn’t thinking. And here we just barely talked about your weight loss.”

Between her hair clients, her girls, me, and everyone else trying to catch her ear, Suzie often forgot bits of conversation.

We paused in the hallway outside the kitchen as she scanned me up and down. “You look fantastic, by the way. I envy your discipline. With everything that’s happened, I can’t believe you can stay on a diet. Ugh—that darn Jeremy. You’re good to be rid of him.”

I started to say something in his defense before choking back the words. Defending Jeremy to her had been my pattern for years. No more. Suzie had been right about him from the beginning.

As we entered the large, square kitchen, the smells of lasagna and fresh bread nearly made me faint with hunger. It had been awhile since I’d indulged in really delicious comfort food. I mostly ate baked fish, vegetables, and tuna or cottage cheese on tomatoes. My big treat of late was eating low-fat microwave popcorn while watching a movie curled up on my sofa.

Amanda and Ashley set the table while discussing their cheer fundraiser. I could see Rob in the family room across the hall, at the computer with one of the girls, I couldn’t tell which one from the back. Maybe Lexie. The girls looked very much alike with their blonde hair and slender builds. Constantly trading their skinny jeans, shoes and designer tops, they seemed like the same person if you didn’t check closely.

Everyone wandered in, greeted me and sat down at their usual places in the modern, eat-in kitchen. Four-year-old Josh said, “Hi, Aunt Kar-o-
line
,” with the emphasis on the last syllable of my name.

I’ve always been picky about how my name is pronounced. It is Karoline with a K, not a C, and the “line” is pronounced with a long “i” sound, not “lyn” with the short “i.” I correct anyone who gets it wrong. Not that I would have corrected darling little Josh, even if he had gotten it wrong, which he didn’t. He pronounced my name perfectly in his adorable, exaggerated way.

Ignoring calories, I consumed two helpings of lasagna, three rolls with butter, and real, full-fat Ranch dressing on the salad. Suz had fat-free dressing available but I turned it down.

After dinner, Rob sat back in his chair and directed a question my way, over the babbling undercurrent of the seven children. “Well, Karoline, how’s work going?”

I thought back to the visitors. “I have a sneaking suspicion my boss is going to sell the company.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is this a new development or something that’s been in the works for a while?”

I wiped my mouth and crumpled my napkin. I had eaten my fill but left room for that super-sized chocolate cake I saw on the kitchen counter. “There’s been talk of it for some time. Mr. Everett is getting older and he has no family to take over the day to day operations. I guess it isn’t that much of a surprise actually.”

Rob loved to talk about work. He operated a chain of orthodontic care clinics throughout the Salt Lake Valley. He often reminded me that I had a job with him any time. With Suzie and Rob willing to take me under their wings and give me whatever I needed—job, home, food, money—it’s a wonder I maintained any independence.

“How
is
the business doing?” he asked me.

“About the same as always. Mr. Everett has been around for ages. People know and respect him in the financial world.”

“You recently got a promotion, didn’t you?”

“I was put over the sub-prime division. It’s hard to believe I’ve been there three years already.”

I shredded my napkin into pieces, letting them fall in a pile on my plate. Thinking about the past three years at Draper Mortgage, with Jeremy, when things began falling apart for us. The Incident. None of this would do me any good. Where was that cake, anyway?

Suzie was cutting it and passing it around. “Do you want a piece, Karoline?”

“Of course.” I picked up my fork in anticipation.

She handed me a dessert plate with a large square of cake piled high with frosting. “Here you go,” she said.

I glanced down and saw the walnut half on top. “Suz! See what you did!”

She grinned. “It’s what you wanted, right? Fudge frosting and a walnut half. My little surprise.”

“It’s
exactly
what I wanted.”

I set down my fork and almost cried over my walnut half, perfectly placed in the center, the chocolate icing squishing up around it.

“I thought your surprise was a new baby,” I admitted.

She laughed and shook her head. “No baby. Cake the way you were craving it. There are several more pieces like that one, in case you want seconds. Rob and the kids don’t like walnuts.”

After serving the dessert, Suz sat down and said, “You know, Karoline, it’s amazing how fast time passes. I remember when you were debating whether to take that job at Draper or not.”

“It was a tough decision,” I said, “leaving Books and More to work for a mortgage company. I wanted a book-related job, like editing or something. But the pay and hours were so much better at Draper. Three years ago, with interest rates dropping to two per cent, the mortgage business was really hopping. There was some good money to be made, so I made the change.”

“Don’t people have to go to New York to get those editing kinds of jobs anyway?” Rob asked.

I scooped up a section of cake onto my fork, ready to dig in but not wanting to take a bite and answer Rob with my mouth full. “I know of a couple small publishers here in Salt Lake but I think they hire in-house. Or you have to know somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody. I’ve never seen an editing job advertised in the local paper. At least working in the bookstore kept me around books. Good thing I left when I did since now Books and More is out of business.”

I knew when I majored in English sans the teaching degree it would mean “not really qualified for anything in the real world,” but I didn’t care because I loved books and wanted to study literature, perhaps be an editor someday. When Jeremy began to make money at writing, I’d been insanely proud of his success. Editing Jeremy’s work had been a pleasure. I would do the initial edits before he submitted to his agent or returned revisions to his editor. He now had three novels out, selling quite well, and one in negotiations. I had edited all but the first.

Jeremy wrote intense, intricate plots, dark film noir kind of stuff reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock, exploring character motivations while keeping up a fast, suspenseful pace. One critic had called him a “literary Stephen King.”

I missed editing Jeremy’s work.

I didn’t miss him.

As I sat at the table, staring at my walnut half that was the best part of my day so far, the fantasy of getting a job as an editor somewhere played out in my mind.