Page 19 of The Unbound Bookshop
Chapter 11
ABBY
Abby arrangedsmall jars filled with colorful sprinkles on the antique table formerly reserved for fresh floral arrangements and travel brochures while Tyler wiggled in his seat, drooling over the tray of plain sugar cookies.
From this vantage point, she had a clear view of the Belles on the other side of the sitting room.
Each woman sat in her usual spot. Gail Lewis and Janet Hill occupied the twin wingbacks—Gail with her impeccable posture and Janet lounging with her legs crossed. Faye Thompson, in her brocade skirt and vest combo, blended into the vintage Rococo chair. Verna shared the sofa with Sage’s grandmother, Shirley Milton, who, from the pinched expression on Verna’s face, wore a little too much patchouli today.
While they each held a copy ofThe Secret Book of Flora Lea, they weren’t focused on the open pages. Their collective gaze illuminated the love seat like an interrogation lamp. Piper sat in the middle, sinking into the plump cushions as if she hoped to disappear inside.
Abby almost felt sorry for the woman. The Belles had roped her into their book club, resolutely ignoring her many attempts to decline. When Piper mentioned she hadn’t read the book, Janet admitted that she hadn’t, either. “I come for the good food and the gossip,” she’d said. “You’ll fit right in.”
Piper used Tyler as her next excuse, but Verna gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, Abby can look out for him,” she’d offered. “She’s always coming up with fun activities for Max. She can keep him busy while we ladies chat.”
Piper looked mortified by the prospect, but Verna and the Belles wouldn’t take no for an answer. Hence, the impromptu sugar cookie decorating.
Abby situated six cookies on a sheet of parchment paper—three flower cutouts and three ladybugs. She’d also assembled a plethora of supplies, including her best piping nozzles. Probably overkill for a five-year-old, but she wanted him to have options.
“Does this have Red 40 or Yellow 5?” Tyler squinted at the jar of rainbow sprinkles, his chubby little face scrunched with concern.
Abby blinked. How did he know about food dyes? “No, they don’t.”
“What about those?” He pointed to the pastry bags stuffed with frosting.
“Nope. I never use artificial coloring in my cooking.”
“Good. ’Cause my mom doesn’t let me eat that stuff. She said it’s a ’spiracy between FDR and Big Pharma to make us sick.” He lisped when he tried to pronounceconspiracy, and Abby bit back a laugh.
“You mean the FDA?”
“Yeah, him. And the other guy. They’re bad dudes,” Tyler told her with adorable earnestness.
“They sure sound like it.” Abby matched his serious tone, hiding her surprise. She hadn’t pegged Piper for the kind of mother who worried about food dyes and artificial ingredients. Dragging Tyler halfway across the state in some fraudulent paternity scheme didn’t exactly screamstellar mom material.
As she set the rest of the cookie-decorating utensils on the parchment paper, she couldn’t stop the unwelcome thoughts from invading her mind. What if she and Donniehadbeen able to conceive? Would their child have been anything like Tyler? Would she have been a good mother back then?
A familiar tightness crept up her chest, and she swallowed, shoving her emotions—and all the haunting what-ifs—deep inside where they belonged.
Forcing a smile, she helped Tyler get started on a ladybug, then surreptitiously turned her attention toward the conversation happening across the room.
“So, ladies. What did you think of the book?” Verna asked her cohorts.
“I loved it. Five stars from me.” Faye smiled, and her full, round cheeks shifted her glasses slightly higher on the bridge of her nose.
While she didn’t doubt Faye’s sincerity in this instance, Abby couldn’t imagine the kindhearted, cajoling woman rating a book anything less than five stars. Even if shedidn’tlove it.
“Would you say it was historically accurate, Gail?” Faye asked.
Gail sipped her tea, pondering the question before announcing in her authoritative, retired-history-teacher tone, “Yes. As far as fictioncanbe accurate, Faye.”
Abby braced herself for one of Gail’s lectures on how creative liberties needed to be balanced with exhaustive research when Verna interjected.
“What fascinated me,” she said, “is the concept ofsecrets.Secretscan be quite complicated, can’t they?” Verna looked directly at Piper, overenunciating the wordsecretsto a less-than-subtle effect.
“I suppose so.” Piper shifted in her seat, carefully balancing her teacup and saucer as she squirmed.
“There’s also the theme of storytelling,” Verna continued. “And how stories can impact our lives, for better or worse. Isn’t that interesting?” Once again, Verna directed her question at Piper.
