I fix her with a tired, perturbed stare.
“Please?” she asks in the same bored tone.
“Fine. One more. But that’s it. And you need to start paying. This isn’t a soup kitchen.”
Amber removes another golden-brown roll from the case and rewards me with a rare, though phony smile. “Thanks.”
“What’re you doing up at this hour anyway?”
“Up? I never went to bed.” She steps away from the display case and looks interestedly at the creams and jellies placed along the work counter. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
“In my own bakery,” I mumble under my breath.
“I was with my coven last night.”
“Creepy.”
“What?”
I look up and her sharp black eyes drive fear into my soul. “Nothing, continue.”
She glares at me. “We were at the Prairie Rose Cemetery channeling the dead. You’ve got to do it during a full moon because it’s the only time you can get any decent interaction. Anyway, I was talking to some dead accountant who was trying to put the moves on me. Gross. And your mom showed up.”
I drop the metal cookie sheet I’m holding. It crashes loudly to the floor, the noise bouncing off the shop’s creamy walls.
Amber points at the pan. “You dropped that.”
I retrieve it, unsettled. “Don’t joke around Amber, it’s not funny.”
“Charlie, do I look like someone who jokes?”
She’s got me there. I grab the icing gun from the tool drawer and begin piping dainty petals onto the top of a cupcake. My hands shake so bad my first attempt looks more like a turd than a rose.
“So I tell old Hot-Rod to hang on a minute, ‘cause your mom’s, like, really intent on getting a message through. I couldn’t totally make out what she was trying to say but it was something about someone dropping a sugar bowl?”
My hand jerks and I run the tip of the icing gun into the center of my cupcake. “What did you say?” I slowly turn to face her.
She shrugs nonchalantly and eyes the éclairs with unmasked longing. “Yeah, I thought it was weird too. I mean, usually when a dead parent shows up, they want me to pass on their undying love or whatever. But your mom was pretty worked up about that sugar bowl. You break it or something?”
I slump against the counter, running my hands through remnants of dusty flour as my heart hammers wildly in my chest. Before I can shut them out, I’m mobbed by repressed memories, flooding to the surface. A dimple, nearly hidden beneath dark morning stubble... A laugh, so deep and rich I could feel it rumble straight through me… No one knows about that night, not even Paige. So how could Amber possibly know about the sugar bowl?
“Are you okay?” Amber moves tentatively in my direction, her brow furrowed. “It’s just a sugar bowl. What’s the big deal?”
I take hold of her black hoodie and pull her close. “What else? What else did she say?”
“Hey!” Amber tries to pry my hands from the front of her shirt.
“Amber.” I shake her back and forth. “What else did she say?” Now it’s
her
eyes holding a trace a fear.
“Nothing, I mean, I don’t know. She wasn’t making any sense.”
“Tell me.”
Intrigued, scared, and possibly gratified by my supposed belief in her psychic abilities, Amber reluctantly closes her eyes. Her forehead knits in concentration. “It wasn’t clear but…she wanted to warn you about the sugar bowl and tell you something about dancing to no music.” She looks at me and shrugs again. “Obviously, I assumed that was some kind of metaphor. But knowing your mom’s sisters, I figured it could just as easily be the ravings of a crazy person.”
I release Amber and turn my back on her. A patch of skin, low on my back, burns with fresh heat as invisible fingers tickle my side and send goose bumps up my arms.
Amber’s a twenty-two year old Goth with a mean sweet-tooth, not the witch she claims to be. She didn’t speak to my mom last night, she never even knew my mom. Her warning is…just a coincidence. An incredibly accurate and secret coincidence.
“So…can I have an éclair?” Her voice is hopeful and unbothered by the turmoil she’s dumped me in. It seems to echo from a great distance.
“Sure. Take whatever you want.”
I leave her and walk into the back room. Pulling the door open on the industrial-sized fridge, I stick my head inside. The flush on my skin slowly ebbs away. Two years. I’ve tried to forget him. I promised myself when I walked out that morning, I’d put him out of my mind forever. It took some time but I’ve finally managed to believe what I told myself at the time. That it was only one night. Our paths were never meant to cross and never supposed to cross again.
Amber’s black platform boots stomp heavily on the stairs, bringing me back to the present. I return to the shop and toss the ruined cupcake in the trash. My hands shake as I pull out another to try again.
Focus.
Using all of my concentration, a passable flower blooms across golden-yellow cake. This is what I need. Routine. Just concentrate on preparing today’s stock and all images of
him
will go back to where they came from; a locked metal box buried deep within me.
“Well I just thank Jesus
I
didn’t have any girls, ‘cause that son of yours is determined to give you a three-headed grandchild.” Jolene shakes a curly mane of auburn hair at her sister.
“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Patsy says in a gravelly voice, patting my arm as I place a warm plate of cinnamon rolls on their table. “I told Barry there’s no such thing as a half cousin, but he just don’t believe me. I blame Earl. That son-of-a-bitch dropped the poor kid on his head ‘bout every damn day. Finally I said, ‘Earl, you drop that boy on his head one more time and he’s gonna be riding the short bus to school.’”
Brook’s bosom throws a shadow over the table as she leans forward to snare a roll. “He did ride the short bus to school.”
“Yeah, well, Earl had fat hands.”
For most people, Friday is TGIF, but not for me. At The City Bakery, TGIF has turned into TAAC. The Aunts Are Coming. Every Friday morning, eight a.m. on the dot, Mama’s three sisters descend on my shop like a bunch of fallen angels. Loud, crass, and, in Brook’s case, scantily dressed. I’ve noticed an interruption in the flow of my regular customers whenever they’re around. I’ve tried to hint I’d rather they come in on a Tuesday, a much lighter morning for me, but they haven’t taken the hint yet. I only wish Barry’s head had been so thick.
“We’re gonna need some more coffee over here, sugar,” Jolene yells.
The customer at the register smiles sympathetically at me. “At least you close up soon, right?” She winks at me.
If only that were true. Time is a virtue, right along with humility and chastity, the aunts care nothing about. Besides, there’s no such thing as a ‘closed’ sign when it comes to family. Excusing myself from the next customer in line, I grab a full carafe of coffee and set it on their table.
Brook, in the midst of a rather animated story, nearly knocks it over. “So I says to him, ‘If I so much as catch a whiff of her perfume on your clothes again, I’m gonna cut off your dick and shove it down your throat.’ ”
I flutter my hands anxiously over the table. “Aunt Brook, shhh! I’ve got customers.”
Brook leans around me to regard the people in line. “Please. Two of ‘em are women. They’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. And that there’s Ted Buchman. Believe me, Ted’s no stranger to a dick in the mouth.”
Humiliated, I walk back to the counter. The older lady at the back of the line has an amused smile on her lips. Poor Ted Buchman is three shades of red velvet.
Working steadily to fulfill order after order, the aunt’s voices eventually become a noisy backdrop. Paper, pastry, bag, cash, change. Over and over again. There’re days when the monotony of the action lulls me into a quiet contentment, but not today. The routine has freed up my mind to think more about
him.
The strength of his caramel-colored hands as he lifted me in the air then brought me back down on his…
No!
I shake my head violently. The young girl waiting for change, says, “Just…keep it,” before turning to flee the shop.
This is ridiculous. Thinking about him is only going to dredge up old feelings better left forgotten. An elderly Shriner, his maroon hat perched on snowy-white hair, is next in line. I move mechanically, taking a golden slice of quiche Lorraine from the case. I place it in brown packaging. Snowy-white hair, so different from the thick, black strands that I ran my fingers through. He let me pull on it so I could bring his mouth closer to my…
“You okay, darlin’?” The Shriner’s saggy brown eyes are concerned. I shut my own tight. For a minute there, I was sure his eyes were a deep, chocolate brown.
I shove the quiche into his hands and excuse myself, ducking into the dimly lit bathroom. The mirror over the small sink doesn’t help things. My light blonde hair is piled in a messy bun on top of my head, strands sticking out in odd places. My sea-blue eyes peek warily beneath heavy lids.
You’re just overtired, that’s all.
The tap squeaks as I turn it. The shock of cool water on my face feels good. It sloshes onto my red v-neck t-shirt, turning my already frazzled appearance up a notch.
You’re twenty-nine, a business owner, and you can do fifty push-ups in a row. Stop being such a baby, and get back out there!
I use the soft purple hand towel to dry my face.
You got this.
I fist bump my reflection.
Unfortunately my bathroom pep talk is cut short. Purring laughter descends upon my ears. It’s like the call of the wild. The aunts have cornered some prey.
“Well, that must be where you get those big muscles from…” Brook’s hand runs seductively across the thick bicep of Luke Walker. His usual cool demeanor is gone, no doubt replaced by a strong urge to run screaming.
“Oh, oh, let me feel.” Patsy purrs, her inner cougar outwardly predatory. She runs a hand covered in bright gemstones and cubic zirconia across his chest, settling it on his other arm.
I’d find it all hilarious if not for the cold terror in his eyes. Several years ago, Luke had the misfortune of driving Brook home from The Cavern the day her second divorce was finalized. I don’t know all the details, but the next day Luke was seen around town with a new limp and Brook showed up to Sunday dinner with a satisfied smile on her face.
“Y’all leave the poor man alone.” I pry their hands from his massive bulk.
“We were just keeping the young man company. Right, handsome?” Patsy, her mouth slightly open, winks at him.
Luke shivers.
Brook and Patsy grudgingly back away. I take Luke by the hand and pull him toward the counter. “C’mon, before they change their minds and tie you to the table.”
At six-four and near three hundred pounds, Luke is big boy. It’s what attracted me to him in high school. It’s what attracted a lot of girls to him, as it turned out. But underneath his hulking frame is a real sweetheart. I admit I’ve softened to him some over the years, but not enough to give him a second chance.
“Once a cheater, always a cheater,”
as Brook says. The irony that she’s talking about herself isn’t lost on either of us.
Luke glances nervously over his shoulder. “I’ve been in street fights less scary than that,” he whispers. “Patsy tried to grab my nuts!”
“So wear a cup next time you stop by.” I cross my arms and wait for whatever he’s got to say. He doesn’t believe in refined sugar so I know he’s not here for the scones.
“Haven’t seen you in a while.” He smiles at me.
“Mmmm-hmmm.”
“I got a promotion, did your dad tell you? Derrickhand. Came with a fat raise. Even bought myself a new truck.”
I cross my arms. “I heard.”
Luke shuffles his feet. “I installed a new a/c over at your place.”
“I told you, I don’t live there anymore.”
He sighs loudly and shoves his hands deep into his Wranglers. “And…”
Here it comes.
“I wanted to see if maybe you’d like to have dinner on Wednesday. The Diner’s doin’ chicken fried steak.”
I place a hand on each hip. “Luke Walker, when’re you going to give up? I’m not going out with you.” The words are harsher than my soft tone. I like the big lug; I just don’t want to date him.
He leans against the counter. This eleven-year old argument hasn’t changed a bit. “Why’re you so stubborn?”
“I’m not stubborn. I’m judicious.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Exasperated, I slide behind the counter and put distance between us. “It means I’ve got the good sense to not start up with someone I have nothing in common with.”
“We’ve got things in common,” he argues.
“Like what?”
I can see the cogs trying to turn behind his handsome brown eyes, but he comes up short. “Hell, Charlie, I think you just like playing hard to catch.” His biceps bulge beneath crossed arms. I let my eyes linger on the mass of muscle a little too long.
“I think I might be wearing you down,” he says, a sly smile on his face.
I roll my eyes at him.
“You better not run too fast, girl, because I’m going to tire eventually.”
Luke salutes me before turning on his work boots and exiting the bakery.
The aunts do him the courtesy of waiting until the door closes before letting the sexual harassment fly.
Jolene fans herself with a limp napkin. “Woo-wee, honey-pie. That’s just a mountain of man, waiting to be climbed. What’s holding you back?”
“I’ve known him since we were in kindergarten.” I shrug, wiping down the counter. “Believe me, we’ve got nothing in common.”
Brook bounces to the shop’s front window and watches Luke cross the street. “He doesn’t need to recite Shakespeare to you. Two hours and a bottle of baby oil. You’ll find you’ve got more in common with him than you think.”
Patsy nods her head. “For a dirty whore, she’s got a good point. Sex can be a great ice-breaker. Ain’t you ever had a one-night stand?”
Just the words make my stomach flop and roll. One night stand. I place both hands against the cool, hard granite counter and close my eyes, trying to ignore the rhythmic tapping of Brook’s stilettos as they come nearer.