Virginia Lowell - Cookie Dough or Die

At that moment, the Chatterley Heights Gospel Chorus erupted into deafening four-part harmony. Except Chatterley Heights didn’t have a gospel chorus, and it was barely past four o’clock in the morning.

This was vintage Maddie. Her aunt Sadie, who’d raised her, used to complain that Maddie would awaken with a masterpiece in mind for the school bake sale, pay no attention to the time, run down to the kitchen—oblivious to the absence of sunlight—and jump headfirst into her project. Never mind that someone might be in hearing distance, trying to complete an adequate night’s sleep. Only she’d never before pulled this stunt in The Gingerbread House.

On the plus side, Maddie was responsible for several wildly creative ideas that had already made The Gingerbread House a shopping destination for customers from DC and Baltimore. Everyone loved her, and she was fun to work with. Most of the time.

Olivia grabbed her keys from the kitchen wall hook and draped them over the waistband of the sweatpants she’d worn to bed. She would simply explain to Maddie that most people don’t find loud music conducive to slumber, they would come to an agreement, and Olivia could enjoy another few hours of sleep.

First, she stopped at her bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. It didn’t help. The woman she saw in the mirror had sleep-crusted bluish gray eyes, one creased cheek, and serious bed hair. She consoled herself with the thought that she looked terrifying.

Olivia’s laceless sneakers flopped as she trudged down the stairs to unlock her front door, which opened into the house’s original entryway. A wealthy Baltimore family had built the little Queen Anne in 1889 as a summer getaway. During the following century, new owners had transformed the house into a duplex by blocking off the staircase and adding two inner doors inside the entryway. One led upstairs, the other opened into The Gingerbread House. This double entry had sold Olivia on the idea of sinking a good chunk of her divorce settlement into a mortgage. The location, the northeast corner of Chatterley Heights’s busy town square, couldn’t be more perfect. She’d decided to open a cookie-cutter store downstairs, complete with its own kitchen, and she could live upstairs, all for one hefty monthly payment.

On this particular morning, she questioned the wisdom of her business and residential choices.

Olivia unlocked The Gingerbread House and stepped inside, bolting the door behind her. She could make out shapes in the darkness, but she knew better than to feel her way along without light. The store was a glorious cookie-cutter minefield—cookie cutters served as lamp and curtain pulls, themed cookie-cutter mobiles swung from the ceiling, and small tables holding elaborate displays dotted the room. Customers with aesthetic leanings felt free to rearrange tables on whim.

Olivia twisted the dimmer switch enough so she could cross to the kitchen without breaking several toes or her neck. Even in her crabby, sleep-interrupted state, she felt a ping of pleasure as dozens of metal cookie cutters caught the light and glistened like waves in the moonlight. For Olivia, each day began like her childhood Christmas mornings, when she would sneak downstairs before anyone else was up. She would plug in the tree lights and sit cross-legged in the dark, staring at the sparkles of color. If she swung her head back and forth fast enough, the lights would blur and appear to move, like multicolored shooting stars.

Then her younger brother Jason would bound downstairs, whooping and jabbering with excitement. He’d flip on all the lights and dive for his presents, ripping the shiny paper into shreds. She loved her baby brother, but he sure could destroy a moment of enchantment.

As she reached for the kitchen doorknob, Olivia took a deep breath to prepare herself for chaotic reality. At least the gospel music had stopped. Maybe Maddie was winding down, cleaning up the kitchen. Olivia turned the knob and opened the kitchen door. A blast of the Bee Gees singing “Stayin’ Alive” knocked her a step backwards.

Olivia stepped inside to buttery warmth laced with nutmeg, which almost made up for the state of the kitchen. Maddie had a gift for exuberant baking, which always resulted in a huge mess, but this time she had achieved a personal best. Apparently, it had snowed in the kitchen. Flour dusted the surface of the large kitchen table, the counter, the floor. Globs of cookie dough stuck to the walls, the door, even the refrigerator.

Maddie’s pretty round face showed smudges of flour wherever she had rubbed or swiped, including the tip of her nose. At least she’d thought to put an apron over her jeans and T-shirt. A magenta bandanna held back her springy red curls. Her curvy hips were swaying in time to the disco beat as she studied a color chart.

Olivia couldn’t help but smile.

On the kitchen table, several dozen cut-out cookies lay cooling on racks. As always, they were baked to perfection and not one second beyond. At least a dozen soupsize plastic containers, plus a large mixing bowl filled with cream-colored icing, crowded the table. Maddie had her back to Olivia while she selected a small bottle from an impressive collection of similar bottles that lined the shelves next to the color chart. After executing a smooth disco spin around to the table, Maddie scooped some icing into one of the containers, then opened her bottle of food coloring. She existed only on Planet Maddie, alone with her colors, her tunes, and a gallon of royal icing.

Olivia saw only one easy way to get Maddie’s attention. She pushed the stop button on the CD player. Maddie’s hand froze over the bowl of icing. As her head snapped toward the CD player, a drop of royal blue coloring retreated back into its dropper.

Catching sight of Olivia, Maddie grinned. “Livie! Hey, sleepyhead.”

“I don’t suppose you know what time it is?”

“Not a clue. Is it time to open? Because I stowed some work clothes in the bathroom, so I can be changed in a jiffy.” Maddie’s eyes flicked to Olivia’s attire. “You’re in your jammies. Are you sick or—?”

“Or,” Olivia said, “it’s the middle of the night.”

Maddie twisted her head to check the clock over the sink. “It’s almost five o’clock.”

“That’s four twenty-four. In the morning. Your music woke me up at four. I was catching up on paperwork until midnight, so I had my heart set on at least three more hours of sleep. I need those three hours.”

“Oh, Livie, I’m sorry. You’ll get those three hours, I promise. I’ll open the store; you can sleep till noon if you want.” Maddie reached toward a rack of cookies. “Only first let me show you what I’m making for our special spring event on Saturday. You’ll love it, and you’ll sleep so much better knowing how fabulously fun it will be. Please?”

“What the heck, I’m awake now.” Olivia dragged a tall stool over to the table and crawled onto it. “I don’t suppose you’ve made coffee?”

As Maddie shook her head, a red curl escaped its restraint and bounced on her cheek. She swept it behind her ear. “I’ve got extra icing, though. A good dose of sugar would perk you right up.”

“Tell me your brilliant idea.”

Maddie’s face lit up. She pushed the rack of cookies toward Olivia and asked, “What do you think?”

“Flowers? For spring, right?”

“And?”

Olivia picked up a cookie. “This looks like a tulip, but I don’t remember having a cutter quite like this in stock.”

“And you would be correct,” Maddie said. “I used our regular tulip cookie cutter, but then I worked the dough a bit to make it look more like a lily-flowering tulip. I did the same thing with all our flower shapes.” She reached to a rack on the table and plucked up another cookie. “This is a daisy I’m turning into a sunflower. See?”