Stir mixture once each day on days 2, 3 and 4.
Day 5: Add 1 cup sugar, 1 cup flour and 1 cup milk, and stir.
Stir mixture once each day on days 6, 7 and 8.
Day 10: Add 1 cup sugar, 1 cup flour and 1 cup milk. Remove 3 cups of mixture and give 1 cup each to three friends, with instructions. Save remaining starter for yourself.
FRIENDSHIP BREAD
1 cup starter
1 cup oil
1 cup sugar
½ cup milk
2 teaspoons cinnamon
½ teaspoon baking soda
2 cups flour
1-½ teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 eggs
1 large box instant vanilla pudding mix
Combine starter with all the other ingredients, mixing thoroughly. Grease 2 large loaf pans and dust with mixture of cinnamon and sugar. Spoon batter into pans. Coat top of batter with butter and sprinkle with remaining cinnamon/sugar mixture. Bake at 325°F for 50-75 minutes, or until done.
CHAPTER TWELVE
There was something melancholy about Greg Bellamy’s new home. Jenny sensed a curious press of sadness immediately as she stepped inside the boxy Victorian house on Spring Street. From the outside, it was fairly typical of the homes in Avalon, a tall, gabled house surrounded by white snow and bare trees, like a blank canvas waiting to be painted.
Inside was a different story. Items were placed haphazardly here and there—moving boxes, the odd article of furniture, a stack of mail on a windowsill. It reminded her of a hotel. Except she knew it was not. Greg and his two children, Max and Daisy, were here to stay.
“Let me take your coat,” Greg offered, greeting her in the vestibule.
Philip was already there, seated on a stool at the counter, nursing a glass of wine. Rourke had been invited tonight but he’d declined, saying he was working late. And he probably was, but she had the impression that family gatherings weren’t his thing. Offering Philip a tentative smile, she wasn’t sure they were her thing, either, but at least she wasn’t afraid to give it a shot. The whole idea of having relatives blew Jenny’s mind. She’d grown up believing herself to be the only child of an only child. Now there was this whole undiscovered family of strangers.
“This is for you.” She handed Greg the parcel she’d brought. “Friendship bread. It’s said to bring good luck to a new home.”
“Hey, thanks.” Greg flashed her a boyish grin. “I need all the luck I can get.”
Daisy and Max came thumping down the stairs, Max swinging around the newel post with a flourish. “Hey, Jenny,” he said. “Hey, Uncle Phil.”
Jenny was looking forward to getting to know her uncle and cousins. They had the trademark Bellamy looks—straight hair and straight teeth, good posture and natural charm.
A senior in high school, Daisy was understandably complicated. She was blond, beautiful and quiet, and her manners as she greeted Jenny and Philip were more than adequate. Max was in fifth grade. He was tall and lanky and filled with a marked exuberance, evident in his ready smile and restless enthusiasm.
Jenny gave them a container of bread starter and explained how to cultivate it and share with friends. “So in theory, you can send it on in an endless chain,” she concluded.
“What if you don’t feel like making bread every ten days?” Max asked. “Is there, like, a curse if you break the chain?”
“Yes, how did you know?” Jenny asked. “The youngest member of the household gets a rash on his scalp and has to shave his head.”
Max’s hand went to his thick, sandy-brown hair. “Very funny.”
“I suppose you could ignore it and find out,” Daisy said.
“Honestly,” Jenny said, “you can put the starter in the freezer and leave it there indefinitely.”
Connor and Olivia arrived in a swirl of snow blowing on an icy wind. As they greeted everyone, Jenny stood back and quietly observed the family dynamics. She was such a novice at this. Olivia effortlessly exuded affection for her uncle and cousins, and particularly for her father. The two of them shared an easy bond that could only have come from a lifetime of intimacy. Jenny felt a pang, not of envy or resentment, but of regret that she had missed out on this part of her family.
She felt someone watching her and looked up to see that it was Connor. He was a big, ruggedly handsome man who, Jenny knew, had endured a difficult childhood of his own, yet he seemed supremely content with Olivia, and comfortable in his own skin. “Don’t worry,” he said as if he’d read her thoughts, “you’ll get used to it.”
“Housewarming gift,” Olivia said to Greg, handing him a voluminous shopping bag.
“This is the third one since we moved here,” Greg protested. “You have to stop.”
“Not until this house is warm,” Olivia said with a teasing laugh. “It still looks like a transit station.”
Jenny could easily pick out Olivia’s other contributions around the house. There was a fringed blanket of warm, moss-colored cashmere, flung over the back of a chair. Next to it was a pillow covered in a rich brocade. Both items bore the stamp of Olivia’s exquisite taste. Her current gift was a small reading lamp with a shade of leaded glass, clearly intended to turn the plain brown armchair and end table into a reading nook.
“I have to admit,” Greg said, “you’re good at this. You ought to do it for a living.”
“Good plan.” Olivia surrendered her coat and muffler to Max.
It was more teasing, of course. Olivia did do this for a living. She was a real estate expert, or what was known in the business as a house fluffer, specializing in preparing property for sale. She was so adept at decluttering, repurposing and remixing that she had founded her own firm in Manhattan, called Transformations.
The current decor of Greg’s house, if it could even be called a decor, was early frat house. In place of a dining table, there
