Unhealthy Coping Mechanism

Chapter 3

"Come on in," Carol said as she ushered Harriet inside with flour-dusted hands. "I've already got all the ingredients laid out for us, so we can get right to it."

"Thanks a bunch for inviting me," Harriet said.

For someone who always seemed so put together, Carol sure didn't keep her house clean. Harriet tiptoed around the clutter scattered across the floor, wincing as a stray Lego dug into her foot. Dark stains melded together on the carpet, filling Harriet's nose with what could best be described as the offspring of unwashed gym socks and lima beans left to rot in some forgotten corner. That was par for the course considering she had a kid, but the worn carpet marking the path to the kitchen was not.

All that was before she'd even set foot in the kitchen itself.

A heap of batter-stained bowls lay in the sink, and the countertops glistened with spilled sugar. Gone was the putrid scent of the rest of the house, replaced by the aromas of the baked goods beckoning to Harriet from inside precariously piled Tupperware. It took all of her willpower not to ask for a sample of the turnovers topped with a lemon drizzle.

"Wow, you've been keeping busy," she said as Carol bustled around the kitchen, snatching ingredients out of cupboards.

"I've snagged a bunch of new clients. You know how the holidays are." Carol heaved a thick cookbook onto the countertop with a grunt. Her fingers caressed the pages with the familiarity and tenderness of a lover. "Now that Ryan is out of the house, I finally have the entire kitchen to myself. I'd live here if I could."

"I don't doubt that." Harriet eyed the mess surrounding her as if she'd be swallowed up by a rogue clump of batter at any moment. "I can help you tidy up a bit before we get started if you'd like."

"I wouldn't."

"But it'll take time to get everything measured. Can't I just—"

Carol shot her a look that could curdle cream. "Do you want to bake or not? These cookies aren't going to make themselves, you know."

Harriet held up her hands. "Sorry, I just wanted to help out a little."

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the profoundly agitated look lingered on Carol's face. What had happened to the cheerful woman she used to know, always as sweet as peaches and cream? The divorce had left hard lines in her forehead where there'd been none before and hidden away the joyful dimples that had often softened her cheeks.

Carol nodded curtly. "You can help by giving this a read." She gestured to a recipe annotated with a tightly looping scrawl.

"Butter cookies, hm?" Simple, yet classic. It might not be as exciting as what Carol usually shared with everyone, but it suited Harriet just fine to stick to something basic. The last thing she wanted was to get in Carol's way and make her even more upset.

"Not just any old butter cookies. Read this."

Unlike the other notes, this one leaped from the page in bright red cursive with an asterisk scribbled beside it. Harriet's brows knitted together. "This sounds like it expects the dough to give me therapy."

"It'll do much better than that," Carol said with a chuckle. "You tell it what's bothering you, and I swear this dough will make you feel better lickety-split!"

"If you say so."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it. And it works for any other recipe, too. This is just the first one Grandma tried it with, and I thought it might help you, too." She laid a hand over Harriet's as warmth seeped back into her voice. "With all that's been goin' on, I figure you could use some help."