From that night onward, Harriet and Sam baked together every day. Excuses flowed from Harriet's lips as smoothly as buttercream every time Frank asked what they were making so much food for. Bake sales, potlucks, birthdays: all these and more provided the perfect cover-ups.

Not that Frank was bothered by the amount of time they spent in the kitchen. No, he was delighted they'd found something to help them cope with Elijah's death, even if it meant the time he spent with them was mostly relegated to dinners consisting of whatever takeout had tickled his fancy on the drive home and reading bedtime stories to Sam.

The only unplanned interruptions to their baking sessions came from phone calls. Frequent, extremely irritating phone calls.

Harriet looked up from tempering a pot of chocolate as the incessant ringing started up yet again. "Could you stir this for me, honey?"

After sneaking himself a quick taste, Sam set to work stirring the chocolate while Harriet answered the phone.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Walker," said Mrs. Dawson, Sam's kindergarten teacher. "Do you have time to have a quick chat about Sam?"

Why the woman hadn't just sent her an email was beyond Harriet, but it was clear she'd keep harassing her if she said no. "Fine."

"He's been acting like something's bugging him lately. Yesterday, he kept drawing circles on the coloring sheet I gave the class, and he looked like he was going to cry when his crayon broke."

Harriet was all too familiar with that feeling. Her fingers bore indentations from getting carried away while whisking despite her new mixer, and whenever something kept her from baking for too long she often caught herself stirring the air. "You know how kids are. Some days, even something as silly as thinking about how snakes don't have arms can make them break down."

Ms. Dawson let out a mildly amused chuckle but refused to drop the issue. "Yes, they can get upset by the strangest things. But Sam's situation isn't exactly something every kid has to deal with."

"Your point?"

"How is he handling his grandfather's death? I'm sorry for bringing up what must be a very upsetting topic for you, but please understand I just want to make sure Sam is okay, or at least as okay as he can be, all things considered."

Harriet's knuckles paled as she tightened her grip on the phone. "He's managing perfectly fine."

"I know it might seem that way, but sometimes it can be hard for kids his age to express how they're feeling. In fact, even adults need help expressing their emotions in a constructive way sometimes."

"Are you implying I wouldn't be able to tell if my own son got upset?" Harriet said, her voice tightening with impatience at being kept away from the stove so long. The sound of the wooden spoon scraping the bottom of the pot felt as if it was scraping away the last dregs of her patience.

"Goodness, no! I thought he could use a little help is all. Maybe a journal to help him sort out how he's feeling or some grief counseling. At the very least, I'd like to have a meeting with you and your husband so we can discuss how we can help Sam get through this difficult time."

"I can help my son manage just fine on my own, thanks," Harriet said drily. The stench of burning chocolate invaded her nose as Sam called for her attention. "Now, if you'll excuse me, you've made me burn our dinner."

Harriet ended the call and turned down the heat. Congealed clumps of chocolate clung to the bottom of the pot. She tossed the pot into the sink to soak and rummaged through the cupboard for more chocolate.

"I thought all I had to do was stir it," Sam said apologetically.

"Chocolate is super easy to burn if you heat it too long," Harriet said. "Which wouldn't have been an issue if your teacher hadn't decided to pester us."

Sam joined the search for chocolate as his mother failed to locate any in the cupboards. He stood up on his tiptoes to peer into the higher shelves in the pantry. "I think there might be some back there," he said.

Harriet reached past boxes of fruit snacks and granola bars until she finally grabbed the bars of baking chocolate. They had expired quite a while ago, having been bought for some kind of fancy dessert for her and Frank's 5th anniversary that they'd forgone in favor of ordering a variety of pastries from Carol, but that didn't matter. She didn't need what she made to taste good; she just needed it to help her get her feelings out of her system.

"Good spot, Sous Chef. If it weren't for you, we'd have to scrap the whole recipe," Harriet said as she made a mental note to buy more chocolate the next time she went out.

Sam broke the bars into pieces and tossed them into a fresh pot. "Stupid Mrs. Dawson almost ruined the recipe. She's worse than broccoli!"

"That's quite an insult, honey, but I have to agree. That woman does not know how to mind her own business."

"I wish I didn't have to go to school tomorrow. Or ever."

"You gotta get yourself an education," Harriet said, reciting the same advice her mother had practically engraved into her brain from a young age. "But that doesn't mean you have to enjoy it."

"Peter's mom didn't," Sam said with a pout.

"That's different," Harriet said. "She was practically born with a wooden spoon in her hand. You just had scales on your belly."

"Did not!"

"They mostly fell off, except for this one." Harriet tickled Sam's stomach, smiling as his giggles echoed through the kitchen. "With an appetite like yours, you might as well be half dinosaur."

Even as Sam's giggling faded into straight-faced concentration as he muttered to the melting chocolate, Harriet's concern did not. Mrs. Dawson would not be content to drop the issue, she knew. There'd be more calls and conferences and curbside confrontations when she picked Sam up from school, all irritations that would keep her out of the kitchen for much longer than necessary.

She had to do something to stop the constant interruptions before she blew a gasket.

"How would you feel about being homeschooled?" Harriet asked.

Sam grimaced. "Logan says his mom makes him work way harder than Mrs. Dawson makes us. And he doesn't even get recess!"

The whole day was recess for that kid. He was full of pure chaotic energy teachers seldom even tried to adapt to, although he had been doing better ever since he'd been put on Adderall. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"A baker!" Gone were his ambitions of excavating dusty old bones. Once he'd started baking with his mom, he'd traded in his future shovel for a whisk.

"I can teach you everything you'll ever need to know to be one. With me, the only math you'll ever have to do will be measuring ingredients, and your only reading assignments will be recipes. Sound like fun?"

"That would be awesome!"

"Sounds like a plan, then. I'll have to convince your dad, but once we get the paperwork sorted you'll never have to leave this kitchen ever again."

"Except to sleep and go to the bathroom," Sam said.

"That's right, plus trips to the grocery store with me if you want to help the chef decide what to make next."

And even that was a stretch. Her phone may have been a constant source of irritating calls, but with the right grocery delivery app leaving her house would become a mere memory like the bitter aftertaste of burnt cookies left in the oven a bit too long.