The Husband Hour(45)

“Lauren, I want your word that you won’t participate in this film.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Are you trying to say my brother’s legacy isn’t my business? It isn’t your business. You were barely married by the end.”

She felt herself begin to shake. “We were married. And if I want to talk about my late husband, that’s my right.” The rage was more about a conversation that had taken place behind her back half a decade ago than about the one taking place in that moment.

“If you say one word against my brother, we’re going to have a big problem.”

“Are you threatening me, Emerson? Don’t bother. Rory’s gone. There’s nothing more you can take from me.”

“Take from you? That’s a joke. You ran away so fast, you left skid marks. The going got tough, and you sure as hell got going.”

“Fuck you, Emerson.” She walked toward the restaurant, but then turned back for a moment. “Oh, and if you want to know if I said anything on camera, you’ll have to buy a ticket to the movie.”



Beth spread out all her tools: doughnut cutter, rolling pin, doughnut pan, piping bag, and parchment paper. Ethan seemed most fascinated with the electric mixer.

“How long will it be before we can eat them?” he asked.

“Well, it takes about a half hour to do all the baking, but there are periods where we have to let the dough rest, so it will be about two hours.”

“Two hours?”

She laughed. “It goes by quickly. And it’s worth the wait. All good things are. Besides, it’s only nine in the morning. We can’t eat doughnuts before lunch.”

He seemed to contemplate this reasoning.

“What kind are we making?”

“I thought we’d start simple for our first try. Just regular glazed. But if you like helping out, we can really make any kind of doughnut.”

“Chocolate?”

“Sure. Chocolate, coconut. I made an apple-pie doughnut once that was delicious. If you could make any doughnut in the world, what would you make?”

He thought a minute. “Peanut butter and jelly.”

“We could do that,” she said, already thinking about what kind of peanut butter would work best as filling. “But for now, we start with the basics. In the kitchen, you have to be organized. So we have all of our ingredients there, and we have our equipment here.”

She pulled a bowl in front of them and combined the yeast, milk, and flour, explaining to him that baking was like science. “You have to measure and be very precise. Now we’re going to stir this into a paste, and then it has to sit for a half hour.”

“That’s it?” he asked, disappointed.

“No, it’s just the beginning! When it’s ready, we’re going to combine it with other ingredients in the mixing machine, and then the fun part: we get to roll out the dough.”

The deck door slid open. Stephanie appeared, wearing the same clothes she’d worn at dinner the night before. Beth swallowed her rage as Ethan ran to his mother.

“Mommy! Where’d you go?”

“Hi, hon. I went for an early walk,” Stephanie said, eyeing Beth. “Are you baking with Gran?”

“We’re making doughnuts,” he said. “Today just plain but Gran said we can make any kind. Even peanut butter and jelly.”

“Well, your gran is an amazing baker, so if she says so, it’s true.”

“Stephanie, can I talk to you for a minute? Ethan, hon, like I said, that mixture in the bowl has to rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes and we’ll do the next step.”

She took her daughter by the elbow and practically dragged her up to the second floor.

“Where the hell have you been?” Beth whispered.

“Mother, I’m a grown woman. Last I checked, I don’t have a curfew.”

“No, but you have a child. You can’t just run around all night. This is unacceptable, Stephanie. It’s time for you to grow up!”

Stephanie brushed past her and headed upstairs. Beth’s eyes filled with tears.

Howard had been right. This summer was a disaster.





Chapter Twenty-Five



Matt packed up his camera. His laptop and clothes were already in the suitcase, and his key was on the desk. The only thing left were the index cards organized and spread out on the floor. He bent down, looked at the timeline of Rory’s story, the painstakingly constructed puzzle, and then scooped them up and tossed them into the trash.

All that was left to do was say good-bye to Henny. Technically, he could just walk out, let the door lock behind him, and be done with it. Maybe he was procrastinating; when he got into his car and drove onto the highway, it would really be over.

He walked to the back deck, where he could usually find Henny sanding or painting first thing in the morning, but the tables were empty and she wasn’t outside. Her car was in the driveway, so he walked to the front porch and rang the doorbell.

“What are you doing out here? You lock yourself out again?” she asked when she finally opened the door. It took her so long to respond to the bell he thought maybe she wasn’t home after all.

“No. I’m checking out. I left my key on the desk. I just wanted to say good-bye.”