The Secret to Hummingbird Cake
A
CCLAIM FOR
T
HE
S
ECRET TO
H
UMMINGBIRD
C
AKE
“The book starts out as chick lit but then takes a sharp turn on the genre and gives us something much more . . . gives readers is a real look at the kind of remarkable female friendships that so many of us experience in real life but few books ever capture. I laughed and I wept, and readers will too. Wow.”
âLinda Stasi, Columnist
New York Daily News
, author of
The Sixth Station
as well as six nonfiction books, TV Commentator for NY1, (What A Week)
“A delightful, heartwarming, and heart wrenching story that captures the beauty and essence of living in a small, southern town. A must read for ALL girls, 18 to 80.”
âLadies Southern Lit Society
“McHale's debut novel is such an amazing surprise. Just when you think you've heard this song before, the music changes. It will make you laugh out loud and make you cry and stay with you long after the read is done. All in all, a brilliant raw look at life.”
âMelissa Grego, Editor-In-Chief at
Broadcasting & Cable
“McHale's magnificently penned novel is a story which demonstrates the power of genuine female friendships. The writing is sharp, fresh, and delivered to the reader with finesse and humor . . . a remarkable debut novel that is a must read for all who sincerely believe true friendship is a gift to be treasured.”
âMK Torrance, Goodreads Master Reviewer
“Highly recommend this book to bookclubs everywhere. In a world where fake friendship is celebrated, it was most refreshing to read a story that defines what true friendship really is.”
âThe Dallas Dozen Bookclub
“Finally! A REAL story about REAL friendship! Get the tissues ready . . . for the happy tears and sad ones too.”
âGrant Junior League
The Secret to Hummingbird Cake
Copyright © 2016 by Celeste McHale
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâelectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or otherâexcept for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Publisher's Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
ISBN 978-0-7180-3423-8 (eBook)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McHale, Celeste Fletcher, 1961-
The secret to hummingbird cake / Celeste Fletcher McHale.
pages cm
Summary: "Southern charm, hilarity, heart-wrenching emotion, and the remarkable bond of friendship. Carrigan, Ella Rae, and Laine have been friends since kindergarten, since the day Ella Rae beat up a boy who tried to pick on Laine. They all still live in the small town of Bon Dieu Falls, Louisiana, and they've been through everything together, from a State Softball Championship to Carrigan's elopement at seventeen. And Laine is still trying to keep the other two out of trouble.But when cancer threatens to rip the trio apart, their world spins in a way they've never known before. How deep do the bonds of friendship go? Through it all, they just may discover the secret to the divine taste of hummingbird cake--and the secret to a friendship that never ends"-- Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-0-7180-3956-1 (paperback)
1. Friendship--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3613.C4998S48 2016
813'.6--dc23
2015032143
16 17 18 19 20 21 RRD 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Lynn and Richard, who were my friends . . . and so much more.
C
ONTENTS
I glanced at the grandfather clock. Almost midnight. I padded across the dark hardwood floor of my living room to peer out the window.
Again.
Where
was
he? Just as I reached for the curtain, the phone rang and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Somewhere in the background, I heard my long-gone grandmother asking, “Guilty conscience?”
I'd certainly been nursing one of those lately.
I looked at the caller ID. A man, but not the one I was looking for. The familiar pang of remorse punched me in the belly. I'd brought this on myself, and what was I supposed to do about Cell Phone Romeo now?
“What are you doing?” came a voice behind me.
I jumped. “Good Lord, Laine, don't you ever knock?”
She plopped down on my sofa. “Come on, Carrigan. I'm your best friend. I've been living across the street from you
forever. Why start knocking now? And why did you look like a deer in headlights when I walked in?”
I shrugged. No sense in bringing up issues that would send her into one of her classic tizzies. “I don't know, just jumpy, I guess. I tend to get that way when somebody breaks into my house in the middle of the night. What are you doing still up?”
“I had to make a cake for the bake sale tomorrow,” she said. “I've been so busy today. I just got the layers in the oven. Your lights were on, so I decided to kill that fifty minutes over here.”
My mouth watered. I could taste the creamy white icing and the sweet pineapple. “One of
those
cakes?”
“Yes, one of those cakes.”
“I could help you.”
“Nice try.” She winked.
“Why won't you tell me what's in that cake?” I had to ask the question, even though I knew it would do no good. I'd been trying to get Laine's recipe for years. We all had.
“Because it's not your business, and if I told you, you wouldn't believe me.” She sat back and crossed her arms. “Now, give. Why were you so antsy when I came in?”
I avoided her gaze. “No reason.”
She picked up my new
Southern Living
magazine and flipped through the pages. “Okay, that's fine,” she said. “I'll just read about the geraniums inâ” She stopped abruptly as the light bulb went off. I could almost see the glow above her head. It might have been comical had I not known what was going to happen next.
She threw the magazine on the table, and the previously
mentioned tizzy commenced. “It was him, wasn't it? I heard your phone ringing when I was on the porch. It was him!”
The way she said “him” would make an innocent bystander believe the devil himself was calling me. And that assessment might not be too far from the truth.
I winced. “Yes, it was him,” I said. “But I didn't answer the phone. I haven't answered his calls all week. It isn't my fault.”
“Oh, it never is your fault, is it?” she asked. “This is a bad situation, Carrigan, bad, bad, bad.” She began pacing. “I can't believe you got yourself into this.”
“Okay, I know it's an . . . uncomfortable situation, but it's been over for weeks. He's just having some trouble letting go. I can handle it.” I hoped telling her this would calm her a little. Or maybe a lot.
She stopped pacing and glared at me. “Are you kidding me?”
Clearly I had said the wrong thing. She had no intention of being calm. I braced myself for the scolding and/or lecture.
Laine put her hands on her hips. “Let's just examine that statement, shall we?”
I recognized the content immediately. At least the suspense was over and I knew I'd be dining on the lecture portion of my best bud's verbal buffet tonight.
“You always do this, Carrigan,” she said. “You dive off into things and never consider the consequences. You flirt with disaster. You walk right up to the edge of the cliff and teeter there until somebody yanks you back to firm ground. Don't you know that one day you'll go over? This has got to stop! It's time to grow up. No, it's past time to grow up.”
I sighed. It wasn't that she was wrong, I just didn't want to hear it. I searched for the pacifier. “I know. You are right. I'll do better, I promise.”
“No,” she said, “don't you dare do that!”
“Do what?” I tried to sound innocent, but I knew I was busted.
“You know that thing you do when you say what you think I want to hear so I will shut up. I've known you a long time, Carrigan. I know your tricks.”
Ouch. There were some distinct disadvantages to having your conscience living directly across the street.
I took a breath and tried to choose my words carefully. “Look,” I said. “I know I did a really stupid thing . . . and believe me, I'm not proud of it. But I had my reasons.”
“Oh, Carrigan, stop! Jack is not having an affair. And even if he were, it doesn't give you a free ticket to do the same thing. Nobody can make you do anything. Your choices are your own.”
She might as well have thrown a lit match into a gas can. “Do you ever get altitude sickness from the moral high ground, Laine? What's the view like from up there? 'Cause we can't all be saints, you know.”
I was furious with Laine. She had seen me fret, worry, and agonize over my husband for the past year. At some point all that emotion finally turned into defiance. That shouldn't be difficult for anyone to understand. Especially a best friend. She should want me to be happy, shouldn't she? Isn't that the job description for a best friendâhide the bodies and encourage the bliss?
Our other best friend and my partner in crime, Ella Rae Weeks, didn't care what I did, what I said, or who I said it to. She wanted me to be happy. Period. The end.
Laine, on the other hand, wanted us to get baptized once a week, run a soup kitchen, volunteer at the local day care, and neuter dogs on the kitchen table in our spare time.
Laine was talking again, this time in her subdued voice. “All I meant was, this is not a competition. You forget that sometimes.”
Remorse washed over me. I had hurt her, and that was the last thing on earth I'd ever intentionally do. “Sorry.”
“It's okay, Carri,” she said. “I . . . just want what's best for you.”
“I know,” I said.
And I did.
Ella Rae and I met Laine on the playground when we were five years old. She moved to our little town of Bon Dieu Falls, Louisiana, when her daddy got transferred from his job as a state policeman to the troop that served our area. Even at five, a small-town girl in the South has learned to be suspicious of newcomers. You're either born here, married to someone from here, or your grandparents live here. You don't just show up out of the blue.
But the Landrys did. They could've gone to Natchitoches or Alexandria, both fairly large towns within forty-five miles of Bon Dieu Falls. Instead, they moved here. And a dark cloud of suspicion moved with them.