Stay Sweet(49)

I’ve never spent Valentine’s Day alone before. Of course, I’d rather be with Wayne—he went all out last year, candy, flowers, a pair of earrings—but I am excited about going to the movies with Tig. Coney Island with Betty Grable finally made it to Sand Lake.

There’s no pressure. No need for a new dress, to put on makeup or a girdle. We’re going to eat all the popcorn we want.

Hopefully the line will be long enough that I miss the newsreel. If not, I guess I’ll just close my eyes.

Sand Lake used to have its own movie theater? It had to be on Main Street, but where? Amelia’s only ever seen movies at the thirteen-screen megaplex in Beaumont. Amelia loves that theater—they have a whole wall of candy you buy by the pound—but it would be so cool if Sand Lake still had a single-screen theater. In fact, she might prefer it, because she and Cate could walk there, and parking at the megaplex is always a zoo.

She reads on, and winter turns into spring.

April 1, 1945

On Sunday, Holy Redeemer had a tag sale for the war effort. Mother wanted to hunt for things for my trousseau, and I dragged Tiggy along with us.

We’ll receive presents from the guests, of course, but Mother wants to make sure I have the essentials covered, everything Wayne and I will supposedly need to start our lives together when he comes home.

It’s funny. I used to dream about this moment. One of my favorite games to play growing up was “house.” I’d drape two tablecloths over the dining table and then I’d select things of Mother’s as if I were shopping in a department store. I always took the candy dish from the living room, always her apron with the embroidered strawberries, the gold hand mirror on her dressing table, the iron. When Daddy would come in for his lunch, he’d eat his sandwich in there with me, and I’d keep his coffee cup full like a doting wife.

Mother had me by the elbow for most of the afternoon, holding things up for me, asking my opinion, debating what was most essential. I felt as if we were asking for something bad to happen, tempting fate, but to be agreeable, I said yes to everything, which really annoyed her. I’m not sure why. And I don’t know how strong one’s opinions could be about a bathroom scale.

Eventually, things got so uncomfortable between us, Tiggy pretended to have left her purse on one of the tables and the two of us broke away and walked around by ourselves for a while.

I found an ice cream maker, a deep wooden bucket with a metal cap and a large handle you crank in a circle. When I asked Mrs. Finch if it still worked, she pinched my arm and said it takes a lot of cranking, and warned me to go easy on it. I wouldn’t want to surprise Wayne looking like an Atlas Man when he came home.

Tiggy thought my idea of playing around with it was a bit wacky, but the truth is that I can’t bear the thought of sitting home for one more miserable Saturday night. Our friends have the same trouble. Going out for Coca-Colas or to see a movie only makes us feel guilty that we are here while the boys are over there. I don’t have this problem with Wayne, of course, but everyone’s deathly afraid to be seen by the parents of their sweethearts having anything that resembles fun.

Maybe we can churn away our loneliness. And even if we can’t, at least there’ll be ice cream.

Amelia rubs her fingers across the page, feeling the grooves from Molly pressing her pen tip against the paper, collapsing the distance between then and now.

This is the day when Meade Creamery began.

She can’t turn pages fast enough, reading about those early ice cream nights on the lake, how every week more and more girls showed up. Molly wasn’t thinking about starting a business, only an excuse to be with her friends. It’s amazing how little has changed between then and now. Meade Creamery, in whatever form, has always been a place where girls come together, support each other, thanks to Molly.

Eventually, Amelia reads an entry from May 3, 1945, about a month into Molly’s ice cream nights. Molly writes about a new recipe with unconventional ingredients to substitute for the rationed sugar, and it’s a huge hit with the girls.

This has to be Home Sweet Home.

Amelia’s so close, yet heartbreakingly far. Molly didn’t leave a clue, not a single hint, of what she put in that batch.

She lays the diary down and texts Cate. It’s right around the start of Cate’s shift. How’s it going down there?

Great! I stopped at Rite Aid and bought a lipstick that I saw in Elle. It’s supposedly a “universally flattering pink” so we’re putting it to the test.

Ooooh! Lemme see!

Cate texts Amelia a picture that could be an advertisement, the three girls cuddled together. Cate’s holding up the lipstick tube, and the shade is bright, a couple of notches away from electric. On Mansi, it’s a shiny shade of coral. Bern’s lips look perfectly bee-stung. Cate is prettiest of all, sandwiched in the middle, her blond hair unbraided and mussed, her lips a deep glossy rose.

Amelia feels a sudden ache in her chest.

What brand is it?

She waits a minute for Cate to text back and then goes to the window. The line of customers is long. This gives Amelia an acute sense of dread. The more customers they have, the quicker their ice cream stock will go.

And then, slowly, as if awakening from a dream, Amelia becomes aware of Grady calling her name, his footfalls on the stairs. She has barely a second to hide the diary in her tote bag before he bursts in.

“Amelia! I’ve been shouting—come help me downstairs! And grab every towel you can find in the linen closet.”