Then, one night, I got sick with appendicitis. If I had known that my appendix had already burst, I might not have gone to the hospital. If I had stayed home for just another hour or two, I could have ended it all. I had been given a way out. I don’t know why I didn’t take it. Perhaps, in spite of my self-loathing and pain, some part of me still longed to live.

As I lay in bed wracked with fever, I thought about my life. It was then that I had an epiphany. It came to me that one day I might see my sweet little girl again. What if she asked me what I had done with my life? I was not honoring her by retreating from the world—from life. At that moment I resolved that things might be different. That I might be different. That I might be better.

Then my husband divorced me.

Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER

Twelve

Even in the darkest of days there are oases of joy. And there’s usually pie.

Elise Dutton’s Diary

As a rare gesture of magnanimity, Mark closed the office two hours early on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. On the way home from work I stopped at the grocery store for pie ingredients. It had been years since I’d made pies. I unearthed the old cookbook my mother had written her pie secrets in; that cookbook was one of the few possessions I got after my mother’s death.

Before settling in to bake I put the Mitch Miller Holiday Sing Along CD on my stereo to set the mood. The truth was, I was already in a good mood. It seemed that I always was when I was about to see Nicholas.

Nicholas arrived at my apartment a little before six. I had finished making all the crusts, and the cherry and apple pies were in the oven, along with a baking sheet spread with pecan halves.

“I got here as soon as I could,” he said apologetically. He carried a paper coffee cup in each hand, and a large white plastic bag hung from the crux of his arm. He breathed in. “It smells heavenly.” He handed me a cup. “I got you a salted caramel mocha.”

“How do you always know what I want?”

“It’s easy. I find the sweetest thing on the menu and order it.”

“You’ve pretty much got me figured out,” I said.

“It’s probably sacrilege, but I brought us Chinese for dinner. I got wonton soup, sweet and sour pork, walnut shrimp, and pot stickers.”

“Which will all go nicely with pumpkin pie,” I said. We walked into the kitchen. Nicholas set the bag of Chinese down on the table.

“So, I’m making apple, cherry, pumpkin, and pecan,” I said. “The apple and cherry are already in the oven. They’re just about done.”