Food for Thought
by Jenny Majesky
The Scent of Ginger
Baking cookies is good for the soul on so many levels. The most basic virtue is simply the smell of a batch of cookies in the oven. The scent of ginger and butter floats through the house, lingering for a few hours afterward. The addition of a pinch of cayenne in gingerbread might seem unorthodox, but it’s subtle and gives it a little extra bite.
GINGERBREAD BARS WITH ORANGE CREAM CHEESE FILLING
3/4 cup butter, softened
3/4 cup sugar
1 egg
1 tablespoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 1/4 cups flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup molasses + 3 tablespoons hot water
ORANGE CREAM CHEESE FILLING
1/2 package (4 ounces) cream cheese, softened
1/3 cup powdered sugar
2 tablespoons orange juice
1 tablespoon Cointreau, Grand Marnier or Triple Sec (optional) Preheat oven to 350°F. Line a 13 x 9 x 2-inch baking pan with wax paper. Spray with no-stick cooking spray and dust with flour. Beat butter until smooth. Beat in sugar and egg. Gradually mix in dry ingredients, alternating with the molasses/water mixture. Spread in prepared pan.
Beat cream cheese until smooth. Stir in sugar, orange juice and Cointreau. Spoon by teaspoons over batter in pan. With a knife, swirl through batter with long strokes in each direction to create marbled effect.
Bake for 30 minutes or until gingerbread begins to pull away from edges. Lift out of pan using edges of wax paper. Cool on wire rack. Cut into bars. Store in refrigerator.
Seventeen
June 19, 1995
D
ear Mom,
If you ever show up in my life again, you’re going to have a lot of reading to catch up on.
Since I was old enough to write, I’ve been telling you about my life, just in case you’re interested, and I’ve saved everything in boxes at the back of my closet. Actually, it’s pretty clear to me now that you’re
not
interested, but writing stuff down has become a habit. In high school, my teachers all told me I was a good writer. I always thought I would study journalism in college. More about that later.
Looking back through these pages, I realize so much has changed since I last put my thoughts down for you. I figured after high-school graduation I’d have all kinds of time to devote to my writing, but things have a way of throwing me off track. Like losing Grandpa. It hurts to see those words in my own handwriting. To put them down in ink on this page.
Do you even know he died, Mom? That near the end, he sometimes called me by your name? And at the very end, I didn’t even bother to correct him? I think you’d know why.
Gram is a totally different person now. Everyone’s been so good to her, the whole town, really. For weeks after Grandpa died, it was raining tuna casseroles. People visited, they brought food, they sat with us. She did real well at first, but once all the formalities were over, she just seemed empty. Even when she went to church, she would come home lonely and lost. They were married so young, and they survived so much together.
We’re broke now, did I tell you that? Grandpa’s insurance and Medicare didn’t cover everything, not even close. When Grandpa was first diagnosed and we saw the way things were going, we filed for bankruptcy in order to keep from being sued to kingdom come for nonpayment of debts. If I had to pick the top three humiliating moments of my life, going through bankruptcy with Gram would definitely be in one of them. It wasn’t that we did a bad job or anything like that. We just had to do it as a way to keep from having to let all our employees go and close the bakery.
So you’ll understand if I’ve been too busy to fill these pages with sweetness and light.
Gram says you were never one to worry about money, even though you liked having nice things. You never seemed concerned about finances and, in fact, you always acted as though the land of milk and honey was right around the corner. According to Gram, anyway. She still talks about you sometimes. Still misses you. To be honest, I don’t. I’m sure, at the age of four, I adored you. But for me, missing you is like missing a shadow or a dream. I can’t quite grasp it.
When Nina’s little girl, Sonnet, lost a helium balloon at a parade, she cried more about that than she did when her great-grandmother Giulietta died the next day. It’s the way kids are, I guess.
I’m in love with two different boys, did I tell you? Oh, it gets worse. They’re best friends
—Joey Santini and Rourke McKnight. They’re summer people. Rourke is working at Camp Kioga, same as he has every year. Joey’s been in the army to earn money for school, but he’s got a compassionate leave this summer because his dad was in a car wreck and has a long recovery. Joey comes up to work on weekends and holidays at the camp. When his dad gets better, Joey’s going to reenlist for another tour of duty, because now he wants to go to medical school and will need all the education money he can get. He plans to be a ranger now, which I understand is one of the most secret and dangerous things you can do in the military.
I like Joey because he loves the world and makes me laugh, and I’m not going to lie to you. Being in the army has turned him into a total hunk. Of course, Rourke was already a hunk, and he’s so strong and smart, and sometimes just looking at him makes me dizzy. It’s as if my heart doesn’t want me to choose one over the other.
Okay, I lied. It’s Rourke. I’ve been crazy about him since I was in pigtails. He’s really intense, and he has this awful father he hasn’t spoken to since he got out of high school and refused to go to the “right” school, choosing instead the state school at Stony Brook, where he studies law enforcement. He fascinates me, and he’s the sexiest boy I’ve ever known. We’ve never done anything, though. We have this unspoken agreement that we’re just friends. It’s the only possible way I can see any kind of relationship with either guy working—I keep my feelings for Rourke in check and go along with the charade.
Gram likes to remind me that people like the McKnights and the Majeskys don’t mix.
Besides, Rourke claims it’s not cool to like the same girl your best friend wants and he goes out of his way to hang out with other girls. Not that either of them consulted me about any of this.
And sometimes, I wish I
could
have deeper feelings for Joey. I mean, I do, but more as a friend than a boyfriend. It probably doesn’t matter, because Rourke’s in college now and Joey’s leaving again at summer’s end. As for me…well, I need to stay with Gram so she doesn’t start feeling as if
everyone
has left her.
After the traditional Fourth of July parade, there was an enormous picnic at the county park by the river. At dusk, people made their way up the mountain to Camp Kioga for a display of fireworks over Willow Lake. The camp directors invited the whole town. Jenny and Nina went up together, with Sonnet strapped in her car seat in the back. “Her first fireworks display,”
Nina said. “Think she’ll be afraid?”
“She’s not afraid of anything.” Jenny half turned to gaze at the little girl, cute as a Cabbage Patch doll in red, white and blue overalls, clapped her hands in delight. She was potty trained, although Nina toted along a diaper bag just in case.
Nina pulled into the gravel parking lot. “Where did Rourke and Joey say they’d meet us?”
she asked.
“Main pavilion,” Jenny said, gesturing at the large, timber lodge. She spotted the guys in their gray athletic sweatshirts with the Camp Kioga logo. As always, the sight of Rourke caught at her heart and as always, she ignored the feeling. It was, she knew, yet another facet of being an adult. After losing her grandfather and going through bankruptcy, keeping herself from falling for a boy should be a cakewalk.
Except that it wasn’t. When she looked at him, she felt a searing pain that left her breathless.
“I’ll carry her,” Jenny offered, holding out her arms for Sonnet. In addition to being a welcome armful, the little girl was a shield Jenny could hold up to keep her distance.
Unlike Jenny, Sonnet didn’t hold in her feelings by any measure. She took one look at Joey Santini and shrieked with joy. The first time she’d seen him, she had decided that he was the love of her life. While it was sad that she was growing up without a father, it had its advantages. There were so many people in the little girl’s life who adored her. Surrounding a child with love was the key, not whose DNA she carried.
Like most young men, both Joey and Rourke regarded small children with the same horrified caution as a cottonmouth snake. And like most toddlers, Sonnet didn’t care. She squealed and bucked in Jenny’s arms until Jenny surrendered her to Joey. He gazed into the small, nut-brown face. “One peep outta you, and I’m giving you back,” he said.
“Peep,” said Sonnet, gazing back at him.
As they headed down to the beach with their guests to enjoy the fireworks, Rourke kept his distance, as though Joey was holding a volatile substance. It was dusk, and people gathered around the campfires strung along the lakeshore. They toasted marshmallows and lit sparklers, which the kids whirled tirelessly in circles and figure eights. When darkness fell, the fireworks began shooting from the island in the middle of the lake. Colorful starbursts were reflected in the still water, greeted by the
oohs
and
aahs
of the onlookers. Sonnet adored the fireworks, clapping her hands and chortling with each explosion. But, like most toddlers, she soon grew bored with the display and wanted to go swimming in the lake.
“Not a good idea,” Nina said. “We don’t have our swimsuits and it’s dark.”
“Mom,” said Sonnet, her Minnie Mouse voice edged by the threat of a tantrum.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Nina suggested, jumping up.
The four of them slipped away. Rourke shone his flashlight along the lakeshore trail. They passed the boathouse and then the staff pavilion, informally known as the party shack, where camp workers and counselors were already gathering now that the campers were down for the night. “Where you going, Rourke?” called a flirty female voice. He walked faster, the only indication that he’d heard.
“What’s that?” Nina asked, pointing to a large, bulky structure off by itself, well past the staff cottages.
“It’s where the caretaker lives in winter,” Joey said. “It’s empty now. Let’s go check it out.”
“It’s probably locked,” said Rourke.
“It’s definitely locked,” Joey agreed. “Good thing I have a key.”
It was a beautiful old lodge, musty with disuse and filled with peeled log furniture and camp memorabilia. Originally the camp owners’ residence, it was now used by the Bellamys as an off-season retreat or guest cottage. Joey opened the fridge but found nothing. Sonnet scurried around, exploring everywhere, helping herself to games and toys stashed in a bench. She stopped in front of the moose-head trophy over the river-rock fireplace and went very still.
“Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you,” Joey said, lifting her up. Then he set her down as though she was on fire. “God, what’s that smell?”
“I pooped,” Sonnet explained.
“God,” he said again. “It’s making my eyes water. I thought you said she was housebroken.”
“Potty trained. And the bad news is,” Nina said, “the diaper bag is in the car.”
Sonnet started to sob as though her heart was breaking. It was decided that Joey would show Nina back to the car while Rourke and Jenny put away the toys and games Sonnet had taken out. Jenny opened a window to air the place out. She tried not to laugh at Rourke’s horrified expression, but couldn’t help herself.
“You think that’s funny?” he asked.
“No, I think your reaction is funny. It’s not toxic waste, Rourke.”
“They should use kids like her in high-school parenting classes. The birth rate would go way down.”
She rounded up the cribbage pieces Sonnet had spilled. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“Maybe not to you.”
“Honestly, changing a diaper is far from my favorite thing in the world, too.” She thought how amazing Nina had been, right from the start. Changing a diaper was only one tiny facet of an awesome responsibility. Despite being so young, she treated Sonnet with endless patience and love.
“My grandfather used to come up here in the winter,” Jenny said, paging through a photo album with old pictures glued to black pages. She stopped at a shot of him standing on the dock, smiling sweetly. “He and Mr. Bellamy would go ice fishing.” She touched the face in the photo and grief crashed over her in a wave that felt almost physical.
“I’m sorry,” Rourke said. Like so many people, he seemed to be at a loss for what to say.
“It’s okay.” Her voice sounded thready and uncertain as she gently closed the album. “It’s just…I miss him so much.”
And then—she never quite worked out how it happened—she was in Rourke’s arms, and she felt such an overwhelming sense of comfort that she hugged him back, and then they were kissing.
Finally, miraculously, they were kissing. It was the kiss she had imagined a thousand times
—long and deep, the kind that made the world stand still, the kind she never thought she’d experience, even though it had been building between them, summer after summer, for years. She was lit with fire, and for the first time in her life she felt swept away. Oh, she wanted this, she had been wanting it forever, and it was even better than all her fevered imaginings. It was a perfect moment, and she didn’t want it to end. Finally, when they came up for air, she made a bold move, slipping her hands beneath his sweatshirt. He caught his breath as though she’d hurt him.
The moonlight streaming through the window glinted off the pale scar on his cheek. And Jenny faced a cold truth—from this moment onward, every other kiss would forever be ruined for her.
“Rourke—”
“Sorry,” he said, moving away from her. “I shouldn’t have—that won’t happen again.”
But I want it to,
she thought. She wanted to kiss him again, and she wanted whatever came next with him.