Esther Bolick sat in the den that opened off her kitchen and stared blankly at "Wheel of Fortune;" she didn't give a katy what a five-word definition for show biz might be.

She was thinking that she was happy for Father Kavanagh, happy as can be. But it had been days since she heard the good news and not one word had anybody said to her about baking the wedding cake. She knew Cynthia [the bride-to-be] was very talented; she could do anything in the world except cross-stitch, so she could probably bake her own cake.

On the other hand, why would anybody in their right mind take time to bake their own wedding cake when all they had to do was dial Esther Bolick at 8705?

It didn't make a bit of sense for somebody to bake their own wedding cake . ?

. ? so, maybe somebody else had been asked to bake the cake.

The thought made Esther's supper turn to a rock in her digestive system. How could they ask anybody else to bake the father's wedding cake? He had raved about her orange marmalade for years, had personally told her it was the best cake he had ever put in his mouth, bar none.

A shocking idea occurred to her.

Winnie Ivey!

Winnie Ivey was exactly who they'd turned to for this special, once-in-a-lifetime deal?Winnie Ivey, who was a commercial baker!

She sat bolt upright and tried to get her breath. Commercial flour! Commercial butter! And, for all she knew, powdered eggs.

Her blood ran cold.

"Of all th' dadblame things to do!" she said, kicking one of her shoes across the room.

Excerpted from A Common Life (Viking Penguin), © 2001 Jan Karon. Used by permission.