After dropping Sam home, still wide-eyed and trembling from a bumpy ride full of screeching tires and brakes slammed moments before red lights, Harriet marched straight to Carol's.

Ryan stood outside the house, fidgeting with his tie as if it was a noose tightening around his neck. "I take it you heard?"

"Kind of hard not to." Harriet mopped sweat off her forehead. What right did Maryland have to still be this hot in November? The sun threatened to shrivel her into a raisin under its harsh glare as it blissfully ignored the fact it was fall.

"I figured." He quietly stared at his hands, thick-fingered paws that looked better suited to life on a farm than a desk job at an advertising firm. "Thanks a bunch for letting Frank handle Hershey's for me, by the way. I don't think I could have taken care of such a big client just now."

Harriet narrowed her eyes. "Oh, that was all Frank. If he wants to go prancing around Pennsylvania, that's up to him." Damn it, would it kill Carol to open the door already?

"Well, thank him for me then." He tightened his tie some more, pressing the crimson fabric up against his throat. "Sounds like he nailed it. Must be exciting to have your husband involved in a new product launch. Such a shame they have to film the reshoots so close to the holidays, though."

"Reshoots?" This was the first she'd heard of them, although she couldn't say she was too surprised. Frank's clients often had to keep things hush-hush so nobody would spoil the surprise of a new product hitting the market. Still, he couldn't possibly be going away again so soon, could he? "That can't be right. He hasn't said a peep about anything like that."

"Eh, maybe it was just a rumor. You know how weird these companies can be about last-minute tweaks." Ryan thumped his knuckles against the door like a rabbit trying to warn the rest of its warren about a circling hawk. "You about ready?" he called.

"Almost!"

After they spent a few more moments waiting in the sweltering heat, Peter swung the door open and dragged out his suitcase. The thing was almost as tall as he was, and he grunted as he struggled to shove the bursting bag toward his dad's car.

"Let me handle that for you, buddy." Ryan picked up the suitcase with a wince and waddled over to deposit it in his trunk. "I'll come pick up the rest in a couple days, but this should at least get us started. Got your toothbrush? Underwear?"

Peter nodded. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and he kept fidgeting with the waistline of his pants. Had they always been this tight on him, Harriet wondered, or was that junk food diet packing on the pounds?

"How about your cat?"

Peter looked at his dad as if he'd asked if he wanted a neon pink hippopotamus for Christmas. "We don't have a cat."

"You do now! He's the biggest, fluffiest fella I could find, and he's all yours." He showed them a picture of the cat in question, a plump puff of whiteness with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as if he knew he was Ryan's ticket to making absolutely certain Peter didn't raise a fuss about his new living arrangements.

Peter tackled his dad with a hug. "What's his name?"

"You tell me." He ushered Peter into the car as a slew of cat names flew from his mouth. Harriet was especially partial to Marshmallow. That or Homewrecker.

Peter waved goodbye to Harriet as he and his dad drove off to his house. He looked weirdly happy for someone who was being ripped away from his mom.

With them gone, Harriet rang the doorbell.

"It's still open," came Carol's voice.

It was no surprise her voice had come from the kitchen. The state of that room was another matter entirely.

The first thing Harriet noticed was the stench. The rancid smell of rotten meat emanated from the refrigerator, which now housed a thick cloud of flies. Just as overpowering was the scent of countless cookies, brownies, and other desserts piled up in mountains of Tupperware.

Carol barely looked up from stirring a bright yellow mixture. "Are they gone?"

Her voice was flat and lifeless, without even a ghost of emotion. Harriet shuddered. She longed to have a go at that filling herself.

"Yup, off to go check out their new cat." She shifted from foot to foot, not quite sure what to say. "We missed you at the mall."

"I bet." The tip of her finger dipped into the filling, her mouth twisting into a puckered smile at the taste of lemon. "How'd Halloween with your dad go?"

Harriet's thoughts drifted to the bliss brought by the cupcakes they'd made and the ornament waiting at home with Sam. "About as well as the couple's massage Frank booked. If you ever want to feel like you spent a long flight sitting in front of a kick-happy kid, try acupressure."

Carol snorted, the first real sign of emotion she'd shown since Harriet showed up. "What're you doing standing there, then? The meringue isn't going to whisk itself."

Harriet approached the bowl of egg whites with muscles as tense as a taut bowstring, aching for release. She poured her worries into the bowl as she whipped the egg whites into a foam. "I wish I'd known how to do this sooner," she said.

"I always thought my grandma was crazy for using baking like a crutch," Carol said. "Then Ryan and I got divorced and I figured if my life is going to break, I'm gonna need a crutch to make sure I don't fall apart."

She'd been at it for a few months, then. That explained the uptick in shared desserts and the dusting of flour and sugar that always covered her hands. "You ever think Ryan would have stayed if you'd gotten him involved?"

She waved off the thought as if it was a pesky fly. "That man would use a cup of daisies if a recipe called for flour. He's not exactly the type of person who should be allowed in the kitchen. Heck, even Peter's a better cook than him. Shame he never wanted to give baking a try."

"Frank's at least okay when he's not too worn out," Harriet said. "He makes a mean apple pie. Sam's more of an eater than a baker, I think."

"Still worth trying to get them involved sometime," Carol said. She poured the filling into the waiting piecrust.

"Maybe," Harriet said with a shrug. "I don't think they need it like we do though. All Frank usually needs is a nap, and Sam isn't much different when he's had a rough day."

Baking might be more labor-intensive than snoozing on the couch, but the relief it provided was far greater than what she'd get from a little shuteye. The wrinkles in her forehead flattened as she whipped the meringue into stiff peaks topped with a torrent of complaints. Soon, the pie's lemon filling disappeared under a sheet of whiteness.

Yet, despite the familiar numbness brought on by the pie, Harriet's fingers curled as if waiting to whisk together another bowl of filling to ease the tense muscles in her back. "I'd better go for seconds."

Carol gave her a sympathetic nod. "I know the feeling. Sometimes, I end up dragging myself out of bed just to bake a batch of brownies. Whatcha craving?"

She needed something to remind her of better times. Times before working late became the norm for Frank, before her dad's COPD got bad, before Sam.

"Do you have any canned pineapple, by any chance?"

What better way could there be to relax than to send her taste buds back to Hawaii? The island of poolside pineapple chunks and black sand beaches darker than her skin called to her from over a decade ago. She hadn't been Mrs. Walker then but Ms. Johnson, a massage therapist on vacation with no responsibilities but her room key and a date with the sexy young digital media assistant she'd met when he'd accidentally spilled a passion fruit smoothie on her. They'd spent hours sucking on pieces of pineapple by the overcrowded pool before sharing and bitching about the overpriced massages in the spa. She'd promised to give him a better one back in his room, and the rest was history.

"Aloha pineapple upside-down cake," Harriet said as Carol reemerged from her pantry with a can of diced pineapples.

With flour on their hands and grievances on their lips, the pair baked for hours.