Mississippi Mud Pie Bars

November 3. Five years. I was on the road again, the same choice I make every year because the road is where I can hold the weight of this day without the weight crushing me. I hauled a load to Omaha, the same direction, the same highway, the same rest stops that have witnessed every anniversary since the first one. The cab was warm. The slow cooker was off because I could not eat. Not today. Today the only thing I could stomach was coffee and the road and the sound of the engine and the silence that is not silence but the sound of a woman holding herself together with both hands on the wheel.

I called Gayle at noon. She had been to the cemetery in Kearney. She said Darla headstone needed cleaning, and she cleaned it, and she left a small pumpkin because it was November and Darla always liked pumpkins. I said thank you for going. She said where else would I be, Brenda. Where else would I be.

Justin was quiet this week. Not angry-quiet. Just quiet. His therapist said he is learning to feel the grief without acting on it, which sounds simple and is the hardest thing a ten-year-old has ever done. He went to school. He played football. He came home and ate dinner and went to bed early, and the going-to-bed-early was the only sign, and I noticed it because I notice everything about Justin, and going to bed early is Justin way of closing the door on a day he does not want to be in anymore.

Amber texted me from school on the third. Just one word: today. I texted back: I know. She texted: I am okay. I texted: I know that too. Three texts. Twelve words. Everything said. Nothing more needed.

I made the chocolate sheet cake on Saturday. The annual cake. The memorial cake. The cake that keeps Darla alive in sugar and cocoa and the warm icing that sinks in like love absorbed. I frosted it and cut a piece and ate it standing at the counter and thought about Darla at the kitchen table stealing cookie dough. She would be thirty-seven now. She would be a mother. She should be here, eating this cake, laughing with that laugh, living the life that was taken from her. She is not here. The cake is here. I am here. That will have to be enough.

The annual cake has been the same every year since we lost Darla—chocolate, warm icing, the kind that sinks into the cake like it belongs there. These Mississippi Mud Pie Bars are what that cake looks like when I write it down: fudgy and dark and rich in a way that feels like remembering, with a frosting poured right on top while everything is still warm, the way love gets absorbed before you even know it’s happening. I make them in a sheet pan because that’s how you feed the people who show up, and someone always shows up—Gayle, Justin, Amber—and the cake is there waiting, which is what the cake is for.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 50 min | Servings: 24 bars

Ingredients

For the cake:
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
2 cups granulated sugar
4 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups mini marshmallows
1 cup chopped pecans or walnuts (optional)
For the chocolate frosting:
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/3 cup whole milk
3 cups powdered sugar, sifted
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Pinch of salt

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x13-inch baking pan and line with parchment paper, leaving an overhang on the sides for easy lifting.
Melt butter and cocoa. In a medium saucepan over low heat, melt the butter. Whisk in the cocoa powder until smooth. Remove from heat and let cool for 5 minutes.
Mix the batter. Whisk the sugar into the cocoa mixture until combined. Add the eggs one at a time, whisking well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Fold in the flour and salt until just incorporated—do not overmix.
Add mix-ins and bake. Fold in the nuts if using. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and spread evenly. Bake for 25—28 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out with moist crumbs (not wet batter).
Add marshmallows. Remove the pan from the oven and immediately scatter the mini marshmallows evenly over the top. Return to the oven for 2—3 minutes, just until the marshmallows are puffed and beginning to melt. Remove and set on a wire rack.
Make the frosting. While the bars are still hot, melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Whisk in the cocoa powder and milk until smooth and just beginning to simmer. Remove from heat. Whisk in the powdered sugar, vanilla, and salt until the frosting is glossy and pourable.
Pour and set. Pour the warm frosting over the marshmallow layer, spreading gently with a spatula to cover. The frosting will sink into the marshmallows—that’s exactly what it should do. Allow to cool completely in the pan, at least 1 hour, before lifting out and cutting into bars.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mississippi Mud Pie Bars — The Annual Cake That Keeps Her Here