Stay Sweet(64)

*

Grady parks the Cadillac but leaves it running, headlights on. Together, in the bright beams, they pull honeysuckle flowers off the bushes. Amelia holds out the hem of her shirt and they fill it like a basket.

“How much do you need?”

“Three handfuls.”? The smell is intoxicating, wafting up directly into her nose.

He holds a blossom up to the headlight beam. “This looks like your pin.”

Amelia looks. Five petals, exactly the same size as the Head Girl pin. The secret was in plain sight all along.

*

Her parents have waited up for her. They are watching Independence Day—her father’s favorite movie—each with their own bowl of popcorn, because Dad likes butter and Mom doesn’t.

“How’d your fireworks show go off?” Dad asks.

“With a bang,” Amelia teases, and kisses them both on the cheek. She doesn’t want to lie. But she doesn’t want to get into it either. Though, as she kisses each of them on the cheek, she feels lucky. Lucky that she has always had their support, their trust, and their love.

In her bedroom, Amelia plugs her phone into the charger and waits until it come back to life. It is now close to one in the morning. As soon as it has enough juice, she texts Cate.

I’m so sorry.

Cate doesn’t write back immediately. Amelia puts her phone down on the bed, watching the screen as she changes into her pajamas.

Did you find the recipes at least?

Yes.

There’s another stretch of lag time. Amelia takes the phone into the bathroom with her to brush her teeth when Cate finally responds.

What’s the secret of Home Sweet Home?

For a second, Amelia hesitates, her mouth full of minty foam. Should she tell? But to not share this with her, Cate of all people, feels like a betrayal. She spits, bites down on her toothbrush, and uses both hands to text.

Honeysuckle. Molly picked them in her fields and steeped the flowers in the ice cream base overnight.

Cate doesn’t text back, and Amelia doesn’t expect her to. But she hopes that as things at Meade Creamery finally get back to normal, she and Cate will get back to normal too.

July 5, 1945

The Red Cross benefit is in two weeks. I’m so grateful for all the help I’m getting from the girls. They are a talented bunch. Painting the banner for my table, sewing us all matching aprons. Martha even decorated a tin box to keep the money in. They’ve taken care of everything.

All I need to do is make the ice cream.

It will sound terrible to write this, but I’ve always thought of myself as unremarkable, even though I’ve been told all my life how beautiful I am. But now . . . I wish I knew how to put it into words. When I’m making ice cream . . . I . . . feel as if I have found my whole self.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


AMELIA WAKES UP TO A text from Grady.

No cereal this morning.

And when she arrives at the farmhouse, he is already holding the screen door open for her, Moo cradled in his arms. He has made them both a full breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, crispy bacon, sliced banana. He’s even dressed up, a madras plaid shirt and a polka-dot tie.

“You are good at eggs,” she admits, taking a bite.

“Told you,” he boasts.

They eat quickly, excited to get working, and descend the basement stairs.

“I called Marburger Dairy and asked them to resume the deliveries Molly used to get. They should come by later this afternoon.”

“What if I don’t get it right?” Amelia asks, tying an apron around her.

“I have complete faith in you.”

She quickly ducks her head in the refrigerator to hide her blushing cheeks. Inside is a large plastic container of the Home Sweet Home base that she prepared last night. The honeysuckle flowers have floated to the top.

“Grady, can you help me? I don’t want to spill any.” Even though he just got comfortable on the couch, he jumps right up. “I’ll hold the strainer,” she tells him, unhooking a huge silver conical sieve from the side of the worktable and grabbing an empty plastic tub. “Take this tub and pour the base through the strainer into this.”

He does exactly what Amelia says. The cream is tinged a soft yellow. The strainer holds all the bruised flowers of honeysuckle, coated with the cooked cream. She selects a blossom and pops it into her mouth, sucking it clean. It tastes deliciously, delicately sweet.

Amelia walks over to the ice cream maker, clicks it on, and sets the time and the temperature to what Molly Meade indicated in her recipe, which Amelia has hung on the refrigerator door. She also took a photo of it with her phone as a backup. Just in case.

She flips up the silver hatch at the top of the machine and pours the base in.

“Eight minutes,” she says.

“Okay.” Grady flops back down on the couch and taps his foot.

Amelia is so nervous, she can hardly handle it. She stands next to the machine and listens to it churn and spin.

“I could put on a record,” Grady offers.

“Yeah, sure.”

He picks one out. The Mills Brothers. Four African-American men in white suit jackets and bow ties. “These dudes look cool.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you in that same outfit.”

“Hardy har.” He puts the needle down and a jazzy harmony kicks in. Grady sits on the couch and taps his foot along with the beat. “I can’t believe you figured out how to use that thing,” he says, pointing at the huge silver vat of the pasteurizer.