The Sunday Potluck Club

Book 1: Sunday Potluck Club

by Melissa Storm

Genres: Romance; General Fiction; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

A recipe for living ... New friends can be found in unexpected places. For Bridget and Amy, that place was the cancer ward of an Anchorage hospital. Now, as each struggles to overcome loss, they lean on each other for support—sharing suppers, laughter and tears. Bridget and Amy aren't about to let hardship knock them down—Bridget plans to return to her veterinarian school studies, Amy to her position as a second-grade teacher—but neither feels quite ready. And so the Sunday Potluck Club is born, a way for Bridget, Amy, and other women who have lost a loved one to find solace and understanding. Savoring favorite dishes while sharing memories and the comfort of connection, the members of the Sunday Potluck Club nourish body and soul. As weeks go by and the group grows in unforeseen ways, both Bridget and Amy are inspired to find greater purpose. Amy reaches out to a student whose father bravely faces his own struggle. Bridget volunteers at the local animal shelter, rehabilitating dogs whose unconditional love will bring others a chance to heal. And with the help of a special man, Amy is realizing that there's always room at the table for love and rekindled joy ...

Release date: March 31, 2020

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 272

Sample

Amy Shannon snipped a loose thread from the hem of her funeral dress. Yes, she had a funeral dress, and she wore it so often that it was now falling into disrepair.

Her friend Hazel’s father had died first. A few months later, her own mother succumbed to her battle with neurocancer and moved on to what Amy prayed would prove a better place. Today’s funeral was for their friend Bridget’s mother.

The three friends first found one another in the hospital cafeteria a little more than one year ago. They were each seeing an ailing parent through chemotherapy, which made them frequent installations at the hospital and soon in one another’s lives.

Now it was loss that bound them.

Together with their fourth friend, Nichole, who’d been fortunate enough for her father’s cancer to slip into remission, they’d formed an impromptu support group. Every Sunday they each cooked a dish and met up for a hot meal and a bit of friend-to-friend therapy.

Amy was always the one who brought dessert, because she was seen as being the sweet, motherly one. But, to be honest, she wasn’t sure how well that reputation fit her anymore. Some days she wanted to scream, punch a pillow, or even take to the shooting range and unload dozens of bullets into that annoying silhouette target guy. But she never did any of those things. Instead, she brought cookies and cupcakes and hugs, a listening ear, a friendly shoulder, and an eternal sense of optimism.

Lately she’d had to fake it, though.

All the deaths, the constant tears . . . it was just too much.

For months, she’d needed to pretend it didn’t destroy her when the tumor pressing down on her mother’s brain caused the woman to forget everything that had once mattered to her. Sometimes the tumor took such intense control that it caused Amy’s once meek and kindly mother to fly into an unprovoked rage.

She’d stuck to her mother in the final days every bit as closely as that tumor, hoping that her good energy could somehow outweigh its bad. In the end, however, the cancer won, but not before leaving an indelible mark on Amy herself.

It wasn’t just the lingering bruises from her mother’s attacks. More, it was the beating she’d taken to her heart. Even now she found herself angry, jealous of her closest friends. They’d each gotten to keep the parent they knew and loved until the very last hour.

Not Amy.

She’d lost her mother months before death finally claimed her. Why couldn’t the cancer have attached itself to her breast or lungs instead? Why did it have to be her brain, the very thing that gave her mother that beautiful personality of hers?

Whenever Amy felt these thoughts creeping along the dark edges of her mind, she turned the radio up loud and sang through the tears until numbness overtook her. Sometimes she felt like the worst kind of person, envying her closest friends, when they, too, had experienced traumatic loss.

Because at the end of the day, there were no winners when it came to cancer. Even remission couldn’t be seen as a victory. That’s what had happened to Bridget’s mother, the woman whose life they were gathering to celebrate today.

She “beat” breast cancer for years, but that was merely round one. When the disease came back swinging, it landed the ultimate knockout blow.

Poor Bridget. She was still so young.

They all were. Each of them would be missing a parent when it finally came time to walk down the aisle, when they had kids of their own, when they made any big change or achieved a special accomplishment.

Amy was twenty-nine now, but Bridget had only just turned twenty-three. She’d become the kid sister of their friend group, so naturally they all wanted to take care of her, now that her mother had passed on, too.

The last thing Bridget needed was Amy envying her today.

At least this should be the last funeral of the season. They were done now. Losing the last of the parents gave them the clearance to move forward with life. They could finally exit that tortuous cycle of caregiving, loss, and grief. Just one more funeral, that’s all that was left before they could start to live again.

Amy sighed and checked over her appearance one final time before heading for the door. With any luck, the funeral dress could be put in storage after this—or maybe even ceremoniously burned. That would be a cathartic activity for their next Sunday get-together, dousing the wretched garments in lighter fluid, then watching as the black fabric turned to ash and floated away on the night breeze.

Picturing it now comforted her in a way little else had.

Why couldn’t they have belonged to one of those cultures that burned their dead on a massive pyre? It felt so much more final—so much more freeing—than simply slipping the lifeless body into the ground, where the earth could eventually reclaim it.

Even though she still hadn’t come to terms with it all, Amy knew the socially acceptable length of time for mourning was nearing its end. In just a couple days, she’d return to her position as a second-grade teacher at one of Anchorage’s top elementary schools. She couldn’t be teaching the children stories and simple math equations when she was fixating on the way the undertaker’s makeup job had turned her mother into a caricature of herself.

No, Amy’s job was to be the peacemaker, the cheerleader, the smiling face that everyone loved seeing in the mornings. She was terrified that loss had changed her, though. Not just the loss itself, but the manner in which it was sustained.

Who are we really, if at any moment our minds could leave us?

That was a difficult question for her as a teacher, especially. After all, it was her job to shape young minds and prepare the next generation. But all the preparation in the world couldn’t save them from life’s awful eventualities. There was no way to plan for a broken heart, a lost family member, or any number of terrible tragedies that plagued humankind.

But could she say that aloud?

No! Lately Amy had to keep everything stuffed deep down, lest it escape and wreak havoc on the remaining pieces of her life. There was no place deep enough, however, that she could hide from herself.

If only.

Returning her thoughts to the present day’s agenda, she pulled up outside Bridget’s family church, a squat brick building that looked more like a school than a place of worship. It didn’t take long to find her friends. They all waited outside the main door, ready for a fresh round of hugs once Amy joined them.

She expected to find Bridget in tears, but instead her youngest friend wore a bright smile and a tropical, floral-patterned dress. “Thank you for coming today. We have a really beautiful celebration of Mom’s life planned.”

Amy nodded and searched through her purse for a tissue. Well, if Bridget wasn’t going to cry today, Amy could cry enough for the both of them. She’d met Bridget’s mom a handful of times and always enjoyed their visits, but mostly she mourned for herself today, for her own mother.

Still.

Wasn’t the pain supposed to be gone by now?

Or would it be with her forever, like Peter Pan’s shadow? An evil, sentient creature that became a life force all its own. She shuddered at the thought and wiped fresh tears from her eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Bridget said, rubbing her hands over Amy’s shoulders and forcing her to look up. Her chubby cheeks bounced as she shook her head from side to side. “No crying. Mom wouldn’t have wanted that.”

This was one of their rules. Each person was entitled to mourn in her own way, and each daughter set the tone for her parent’s funeral. Bridget, for whatever reason, wanted everyone smiling today, so by golly, Amy would try her best.

“There, that’s better. Isn’t it?” Bridget said when Amy finally managed a smile.

She nodded. Better was a very appropriate word for what they now faced. Things would never be fine again. They could only become marginally less terrible.

Better.

Sure.

The service itself was beautiful. Bridget delivered her mother’s eulogy to a mix of laughter and tears from the large crowd who’d gathered to say goodbye. When it was finally over, Amy found herself exhausted and ready to head home.

Unfortunately, the women had already made plans to accompany Bridget to the interment and to come for the “after-party” directly following that.

Amy still found her friend’s special brand of mourning strange, but then again, Bridget herself was strange. She’d once told Amy that she’d decided to pursue veterinary studies because animals made a lot more sense to her than people ever had.

Other than the geriatric cat companion she’d had since childhood, Amy much preferred spending time with people. And those people always seemed to enjoy having her around as well.

Lately, though, it had all become too much.

Even a couple months after her mother’s death now, it was as hard as ever to find a reason to smile. How was it that Bridget not only smiled, but also found a way to crack jokes and laugh directly on the heels of her own mother’s funeral? Maybe Bridget was lying to herself, or maybe Amy needed to be stronger. Maybe she just needed to squeeze in some extra kitty cuddles when she finally returned home that night.

But first came the processional.

“You did great up there,” their friend Hazel said, slinging an arm over Bridget’s shoulder. “Your mom would have been so proud.”

Nichole and Amy exchanged a quick look as the four women marched toward the parking lot. It seemed Nichole also questioned Bridget’s cheery demeanor on that day.

Everyone piled into Bridget’s freshly washed vehicle and waited for the other cars to get in line. They were second in the procession, right after the hearse.

“I’ve always wanted to drive in one of these things,” Bridget quipped as she adjusted her rearview mirror and applied a fresh coat of lip gloss. “I love how the whole world has to stop just for you.”

Amy let out a nervous laugh. Lately everything stopped for them. That’s what happened when you became primary caretaker for someone with a terminal illness. You put your life on hold for a while, and then suddenly one day that person who’d become the entire center of your universe passed on to a better place and you were left all alone, expected to pick up the pieces of a life you could barely remember, and to be normal again.

Amy had more than a few doubts whether normal would ever be possible for any of them.

Bridget, on the other hand, flipped on her radio and unleashed a steady beat of pop music into the car. “Oh, look, we’re starting to move,” she crooned, tightening her hands on the steering wheel in anticipation.

“You’re coming to the after-party, right?” she asked next, making eye contact with Amy and Nichole through the rearview mirror, then turning briefly to Hazel beside her.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Hazel answered for the group. She smiled wide and seemed to mean it. Of course, Hazel had been the first to lose a parent. She’d had the longest time to heal, and she’d also found love, at the hospital of all places. Her boyfriend, Keith, worked as a nurse in the oncology ward, and even though Amy had once harbored a secret crush on him, too, he only ever had eyes for his Hazel.

“Can I borrow a tissue?” Nichole asked in a whisper, her green eyes cast down as she waited.

Amy dug into her purse and pulled a fresh tissue from the bunch she always kept on her person now. “Keep it. It’s yours.”

Nichole gave the thumbs-up, then wiped aggressively at her nose while Bridget and Hazel chatted in the front seat.

“Do you think that maybe B’s being a bit too cheery today?” Amy asked, keeping her voice low, lest the object of her speculation overhear.

“Today, yesterday, and pretty much every day since I’ve known her,” Nichole answered with a new scratchy quality mingling with her already husky voice.

“What do we do?” Amy was seriously starting to worry about their youngest friend. All that repression couldn’t be healthy.

“Nothing,” Nichole shot back. “That’s the deal we made when this all started. Everyone grieves in her own way, and none of us are supposed to get in the way of that.”

Well, everyone grieved in her own way except for Nichole, who was the only one of them not to lose her sick parent. Did that make her opinion less important? Amy didn’t know. She was so happy for Nichole, but so sad for the rest of them. Might Hazel have another take on how they could help Bridget address and overcome her feelings?

“I know that look,” Nichole said, bumping her shoulder into Amy’s. “It’s the look you get whenever you’re about to announce a new project. Our friend isn’t a project, though. She’s a person, and she’s entitled to act however she wants right now.”

Amy bit her lip to keep from responding. Maybe she wasn’t any better than Bridget at the end of the day. After all, she kept her own anxiety packed away so neatly that no one ever suspected the giant, sprawling mess that lay hidden inside. Was Bridget doing the same? Or was she perhaps lying to herself, too?

What if the younger woman truly didn’t have a grieving bone in her body right now? Had she managed to work through her devastation before her mother even died? Was she celebrating a life well lived or, rather, the end of suffering for both her and her mother?

“You okay back there?” Bridget asked in a clear, commanding voice.

“We’re fine,” Nichole said, even though that was most definitely a lie.

Amy plastered on a smile and nodded, meeting Bridget’s eyes in the rearview mirror as they followed the hearse through a solid red light. “Tell us about the after-party. I’ve never been to one for a funeral before.”

Bridget turned the music down and launched into a description of the oddly celebratory evening ahead of them. “It’s my first, too,” she added matter-of-factly. “But Mom insisted on it. She wanted everyone to remember her with a smile. It was her dying wish.”

To be remembered with a smile. Was that now life’s primary aim? It was a lovely thought, but Amy had always longed for something greater. She wanted to leave a bigger imprint on the world than a string of nostalgic smiles in her wake.

Although now she was hard-pressed to find even one true smile within herself. When would the hurting finally stop? When would she at last become someone she recognized? Someone she liked?

She just had to get through today; then she could slowly begin rebuilding her life. They’d all been focused on death and dying for far too long. Maybe today really could be a celebration, not just of an end but of new beginnings.

She tried to smile again for her own benefit just as much as Bridget’s. “I like that,” she said. “Your mother was one smart lady.”

She thought she saw a trace of sorrow flit across Bridget’s face, but just as soon as she’d spotted it, it disappeared again.

“She taught me everything I know,” Bridget said, shifting her focus back to the road ahead. “Everything.”

Somehow Amy didn’t doubt that. After all, her mother had also been the one to shape everything about the woman Amy had become. Would she be proud of her now? Or had grief already turned Amy into a massive disappointment?

She’d never know. That was the hardest part of everything.

She could remember the past. She could speculate on the present, but her mother could never be a part of her future.

Still, Amy wanted to find a way to make her proud—even if it was all only hypothetical. It was better than nothing, better than admitting that she didn’t have any family left to care about what became of her.

The interment didn’t take up too much of their afternoon. The pastor recited a quick blessing; then everyone in attendance waited in line to place a brightly colored flower onto the casket.

“Birds of paradise,” Bridget explained to those who had gathered in the normally sleepy cemetery. “They were always her favorite.”

Amy simply nodded and did as she was instructed. She’d covered her mother’s grave with the traditional white lilies. Might that have been the wrong choice? Then again, were there really any right choices in these situations?

Who even knew anymore?

The Moore family funeral had proven an interesting experience, and it wasn’t even over yet. Once the burial was finished, everyone proceeded to Bridget’s father’s house for the after-party. Bright Mylar balloons were tied all around, and a large, catered buffet took up the better part of both the kitchen and the dining room.

Amy had never been here before. Bridget had always hosted the friends in her small apartment downtown, but this cozy quad-level home of her childhood felt exactly how Amy would have expected it to feel.

Like warmth and love and Bridget.

“Come with me,” Bridget said, once the friends had all stuffed themselves to contentment. She guided them upstairs to one of the bedrooms and motioned for them to head inside. Amy, for one, was grateful to be free of the older relatives and family friends who mistook her for kin as they tearfully shared their favorite memories of the deceased.

This new room was tiny but comfortable. The walls had been painted bright sunshine yellow. Various posters of previously popular musicians and actors covered one wall in its entirely, showcasing a messy homemade collage.

“Let me guess,” Nichole muttered, walking straight up to one of the posters and running a finger along its subject’s jawline. “This was your room growing up.”

Bridget plopped down onto the unmade twin bed that sat along the opposite wall. “How’d you know?” she asked with a giggle.

Hazel, who was a successful interior designer, glanced around longer than the rest of them before declaring, “Nice high ceilings. This room has good bones. If not the best artwork.” She sat beside Bridget and wrapped an arm around her with a smile.

“Why’d you bring us up here?” Amy asked in a way she hoped would come across as tender and not judgmental.

“To help me with a project,” Bridget answered, shaking loose from Hazel’s arm and trotting toward the closet.

They all waited while she rummaged through the messy stacks of clothes and boxes until she finally found the one she wanted.

Bridget removed the lid to reveal a giant stack of glossy photos. “Some of these are the originals, but most I had printed at the pharm. . .