Original short fiction from Rarle USA. Characters and events are fictional.
Marian recognized the handwriting before she recognized the woman. The envelope in her coat pocket held the latest letter from Beth, whose rounded capital letters had arrived in Marian’s mailbox for twenty years. The woman at the station carried the same green scarf Beth had once described in the margin of a banana bread recipe.
They had met through a recipe exchange in a small community newsletter. The first envelope contained a soup recipe and a question about whether the beans could be changed. Marian answered both. Beth replied with a cake that needed no electric mixer. By winter, the recipes had become an excuse to write about everything else.
There had been letters about school concerts, repaired roofs, jobs that ended and jobs that finally began. Some included photographs. Some included only three sentences and a recipe copied from a family notebook. Neither woman had demanded constant updates. They had simply kept making room for another envelope.
Now Beth was visiting her sister nearby, and they had agreed to meet. Marian had cleaned the kitchen so thoroughly that her husband asked whether an inspector was coming. Then she burned the first loaf she meant to serve and considered pretending the bakery bread was homemade. Beth, of all people, would know that was unnecessary.
At the station, they approached each other with matching uncertainty. A hug seemed too familiar and a handshake ridiculous. Beth solved the problem by holding up a paper bag. “I brought the tea you said you couldn’t find,” she said. Marian laughed. “I bought bread,” she answered. “The loaf has a story.”
At the kitchen table, the first few minutes were oddly formal. They knew the names of each other’s children and the history of
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