five hours, so I shelved my questions with my other family issues and smiled as I turned away. “Nothing. It’s just been a long day.”
Bea watched me for a few seconds, then shrugged and went back to work. I got busy putting together the baskets of taffy I planned to put out for that night’s guests.
Aunt Grace’s Divine Saltwater Taffy has been a staple at Divinity since the day the store opened its doors. In the beginning, she sold only a handful of flavors. Now, we offer more than a hundred and fifty—everything from amaretto to wintergreen.
Despite its name, there’s really not much salt or even a lot of water in taffy. Legend has it that back in 1883, a man named David Bradley owned a candy shop on the boardwalk of Atlantic City. One night a huge wave hit and soaked his entire inventory in seawater. He’d jokingly called the candy “saltwater” taffy after that, and I guess the name stuck.
When I was a kid, I spent hours watching the old-fashioned rotating hooks stretch the thick, glistening candy ribbons in the shop’s front window. I’d loved helping Aunt Grace cut the candy into bite-sized pieces after enough air had been worked in to make the color and texture just right, and I’d felt so important, wrapping each piece quickly so they would keep their shape.
Without a doubt, though, my best memories were wrapped up in the December evenings when Aunt Grace let the cousins make taffy by hand. We’d waited breathlessly while the corn syrup, sugar, water, and cornstarch boiled, and bickered good-naturedly among ourselves over how we wanted to pair up when it was our turn to work. We’d watched, wide-eyed and eager, while Aunt Grace turned the taffy out onto the greased counter and we’d slathered butter on our hands while Grace cut the huge mound of candy into sections just large enough for two kids to handle.
When the candy was finally cool enough, she’d added flavor and coloring, then turned us loose on the thick, shimmering mounds. It must have been pandemonium, with all of us vying for our favorite flavors and whining when our arms got tired, but I believe that Aunt Grace loved those evenings as much as we did.
I pulled a variety of flavors onto the long workbench overlooking the sales floor—chocolate, strawberry, banana, grape, cherry, cinnamon, orange, peppermint, wild huckleberry, and berry blast. Each flavor had a memory attached, and I could have lost myself in them without any effort at all, but remembering how great Aunt Grace had been only made me realize how far short I fell.
Like Aunt Grace, I had no children of my own, but I did have nieces and nephews. Unlike Aunt Grace, I’d spent most of my life on the fringes of their world, too busy with my life as a corporate attorney and Roger’s wife to make myself a regular part of their world. I’d been more like Savannah Vance— Horne —than Grace Shaw, and I didn’t like knowing that.
Well, that was then and this is now, I told myself firmly. Dana and Danielle might be teenagers, but that didn’t mean it was too late to improve my relationship with them. And Wyatt’s boys were even younger. Brody was eleven. Caleb, eight. I still had time. I just had to be smart enough to use it.
It was midmorning before I found time to take a break. Leaving Bea in charge, I hurried upstairs, made sure Karen was still breathing, then hooked Max to his leash and led him outside. Last night’s storm had blanketed the city in eight inches of soft, white powder. Today’s cloudless sky left brilliant sunlight winking off the snowdrifts all along Prospector Street. The air was crisp and almost cold enough to make my lungs hurt as Max and I hurried along the sidewalk. This was the kind of weather that drew tourists out in droves, and the city had on its best face to welcome them.
Max stopped in front of the store to investigate something buried under the snow, and I stole a glance at the store’s front window. I’d been doing my best to keep
Bea watched me for a few seconds, then shrugged and went back to work. I got busy putting together the baskets of taffy I planned to put out for that night’s guests.
Aunt Grace’s Divine Saltwater Taffy has been a staple at Divinity since the day the store opened its doors. In the beginning, she sold only a handful of flavors. Now, we offer more than a hundred and fifty—everything from amaretto to wintergreen.
Despite its name, there’s really not much salt or even a lot of water in taffy. Legend has it that back in 1883, a man named David Bradley owned a candy shop on the boardwalk of Atlantic City. One night a huge wave hit and soaked his entire inventory in seawater. He’d jokingly called the candy “saltwater” taffy after that, and I guess the name stuck.
When I was a kid, I spent hours watching the old-fashioned rotating hooks stretch the thick, glistening candy ribbons in the shop’s front window. I’d loved helping Aunt Grace cut the candy into bite-sized pieces after enough air had been worked in to make the color and texture just right, and I’d felt so important, wrapping each piece quickly so they would keep their shape.
Without a doubt, though, my best memories were wrapped up in the December evenings when Aunt Grace let the cousins make taffy by hand. We’d waited breathlessly while the corn syrup, sugar, water, and cornstarch boiled, and bickered good-naturedly among ourselves over how we wanted to pair up when it was our turn to work. We’d watched, wide-eyed and eager, while Aunt Grace turned the taffy out onto the greased counter and we’d slathered butter on our hands while Grace cut the huge mound of candy into sections just large enough for two kids to handle.
When the candy was finally cool enough, she’d added flavor and coloring, then turned us loose on the thick, shimmering mounds. It must have been pandemonium, with all of us vying for our favorite flavors and whining when our arms got tired, but I believe that Aunt Grace loved those evenings as much as we did.
I pulled a variety of flavors onto the long workbench overlooking the sales floor—chocolate, strawberry, banana, grape, cherry, cinnamon, orange, peppermint, wild huckleberry, and berry blast. Each flavor had a memory attached, and I could have lost myself in them without any effort at all, but remembering how great Aunt Grace had been only made me realize how far short I fell.
Like Aunt Grace, I had no children of my own, but I did have nieces and nephews. Unlike Aunt Grace, I’d spent most of my life on the fringes of their world, too busy with my life as a corporate attorney and Roger’s wife to make myself a regular part of their world. I’d been more like Savannah Vance— Horne —than Grace Shaw, and I didn’t like knowing that.
Well, that was then and this is now, I told myself firmly. Dana and Danielle might be teenagers, but that didn’t mean it was too late to improve my relationship with them. And Wyatt’s boys were even younger. Brody was eleven. Caleb, eight. I still had time. I just had to be smart enough to use it.
It was midmorning before I found time to take a break. Leaving Bea in charge, I hurried upstairs, made sure Karen was still breathing, then hooked Max to his leash and led him outside. Last night’s storm had blanketed the city in eight inches of soft, white powder. Today’s cloudless sky left brilliant sunlight winking off the snowdrifts all along Prospector Street. The air was crisp and almost cold enough to make my lungs hurt as Max and I hurried along the sidewalk. This was the kind of weather that drew tourists out in droves, and the city had on its best face to welcome them.
Max stopped in front of the store to investigate something buried under the snow, and I stole a glance at the store’s front window. I’d been doing my best to keep
Similar Books
