Miracle Pie (14 page)

She jerked back. “Is she sick?”

“Terminal.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, that’s the word.”

“Cancer?”

“Colon. She’s not going in for chemo. Far as
I know, she hasn’t told anyone but me.”

Tears burned Katie’s eyes. “The miracle that
was prophesied, maybe it will be for her, and she’ll live.”

He shrugged. “You have to hope for a miracle
to get one. Mrs. Brauer doesn’t hope for anything.”

“Except something to ease the pain.” Katie
nodded at the brownies. “So that’s why she needs Tim and Ben. Ben
will take care of her at the end.”

“I expect so. Trish and Gunner will work
something out.”

“How?” Katie heard the way her voice shook.
Her dad was so smart and so calm. When she first met him and in his
deep, resonating voice, he told her she was his child, she thought
he was God. But it was more than his voice; it was the calm inside
him, the sureness, as if he saw everything—the good and the bad—and
didn’t judge.

That outlook made her want to do better. She
thought it made everyone who spent time with him want to do better.
Maybe that was why the news about his illicit crop never made it
out of the village. Besides, everyone in the village knew someone
who used it to help them through a bad stretch.

“How?” she repeated. “How will Trish and
Gunner manage?”

His eyes seemed to bleed sadness. “I don’t
know, honey.”

“Neither do I. But she’s my best friend, and
I have to do something.”

Chapter Twenty-three

The car seemed to drive itself to the
hospital. Gabe parked in front of it, across the street, and
stared, ignoring the
No Parking
sign. Gabe had thought he
remembered the hospital, but in his mind it was cleaner and more
solid. Now it looked browner and shabbier. As if he remembered a
strong young man and now he was looking at a shuffling old man.

The dead feeling he’d had for so long seeped
back. He put the car in gear to leave when a bus pulled up a short
way ahead of him. In the side view mirror he could see traffic
coming. Relaxing, his hands still on the steering wheel, he watched
the passengers step onto the sidewalk. First a heavy woman wearing
sneakers. Her purposeful stride in her sensible shoes as she headed
to the crosswalk in front of him made him think she was a nurse. A
couple seconds later a thin older man with a cane hobbled off the
bus. Behind him came a boy with a cap and a woman whom Gabe guessed
was his mother.

As the mother-son duo neared Gabe, he saw
that where there was no cap there was no hair.

Gabe’s body reacted before his thoughts. He
jerked the key out and hopped out of the car then strode toward the
boy and the woman.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Gabe Robbins.”

“I’m Scott,” the boy said. He was about
eight, Gabe guessed. The mother clutched her son’s hand, her eyes
narrowed in suspicion.

“Do you have a moment to talk?” Gabe asked
the mother. “I can go inside with you, if you like.” He pointed at
the hospital and looked down at Scott. “As a kid, I was a patient,
so I know how long you have to wait to get anything to happen.”

“
Forever
,” Scott said, with feeling
in his voice.

Gabe looked at the mother again, as a person
this time instead of the boy’s mother. He got a quick impression:
dark hair, short, chunky, a small nose, no ring, her only jewelry a
thin silver necklace with a heart-shaped locket. Gabe would bet
money it showed a picture of Scott. She made him think of a teacher
or a librarian, though she could’ve been anything.

“I can give you the name of my doctor.” Gabe
focused his attention on the mother. “He seemed old to me back
then, though he was probably in his late twenties. Last I heard, he
was still practicing here.”

“What did you have?” the mother asked.

“Leukemia.”

“And you lived?” Scott looked at him with
wide eyes.

Gabe glanced down. “It’s not my ghost you’re
talking to. Do you have leu—”

Scott shook his head, stopping Gabe.

“Brain tumor,” the mother said, the words
slow, as if they were dragged out of her.

“My last roommate had leukemia,” Scott
said.

“I make movies and videos.” Gabe took out
his wallet and drew out a card. “You can look up my website. Or I
can get my laptop out if you have time. I can show it to you.”

The mother took the card, glanced at it then
back at him, still radiating distrust. “What do you want from
us?”

“I want to film Scott and ask him a few
questions. There’s a video I put on YouTube. It’s about pies, but
you can see what I’m talking about. You have a few minutes? I can
show it to you.”

“We’re early.” The boy tugged his mom’s
coat. “Say yes. I want to look at it.”

The mother’s indecision last for only
seconds before she pointed to the bench by the bus stop. “We can
look at it there. I’ll give you fifteen minutes, then we have to go
inside.”

Gabe picked up his laptop. When he turned
back, the mother was holding Scott’s hand and standing slightly in
front of him. Gabe didn’t blame her for being wary. That was the
kind of world it was.

The three of them crossed to the bus stop
bench. Once there, Gabe fired up the computer and typed in his
website URL. He could’ve gone straight to YouTube, but he wanted
the mother to see he was legit. Only then did he play Katie’s
video.

The two watched almost in silence, but their
expressions changed, a wide smile for the boy, a small one for the
mother. A laugh from the boy, a chuckle from the mother. When it
was over, Scott looked at his mom. “I want a piece of pie.”

His mom curved her hand on Scott’s shoulder.
“Me, too.” She turned her gaze to Gabe. “We have ten more minutes.
What do you want?”

“Just to film Scott answering questions.
Something similar to the pie baker’s video. It might help other
kids.” He gestured. “We can do it here right now. You can sit next
to him. I’ll send you a release form and until you sign it, I won’t
post the video anywhere.”

“I want to do that,” Scott said. “Please,
Mom. I’d like that.”

His mom looked at Gabe for what seemed like
minutes but was probably only seconds. Then her tight shoulders
loosened, and Gabe relaxed, ready to hurry to his car before she
said yes.

It took Gabe seven of the ten minutes
setting up the camera and the lighting and fixing the boom. A kid
about seventeen stopped and said he did that for a band. Gabe asked
if he’d handle the boom, saying he’d put him down as the sound guy
when it went live, and the kid said sure.

Another small miracle, Gabe thought, though
not really a miracle because he could’ve done it without the kid.
He could’ve done it without a boom, too, using the sound on the
camera. But it wouldn’t have been as good, and Gabe didn’t like to
skimp on quality.

Finally they were ready to film. While they
were setting up, the mother had adjusted her son’s cap and her own
and put on lipstick. They sat on the edge of the bench, the mom
with a worried expression, the kid with a smile. Living in the
moment. Reminding Gabe when he’d done that.

Not like now. Now he seemed to be always
looking at the next moment.

He asked their first names and why they were
at the hospital across the street. He’d pan that in later, he
thought, as he listened to their answers, finding out the mother’s
name was Jen. She told him the basics of Scott’s disease. He had a
brain tumor in a place impossible to operate on. He’d had radiation
to shrink most of it, then his oncologist had put him on chemo to
get rid of the rest.

By the time she finished, Gabe was clenching
his teeth. Things like this shouldn’t happen to kids.

“I hope you’ll pay attention.” He forced
himself to relax as he talked to Scott. “This is important. What’s
your favorite pie?”

Scott laughed and Jen smiled, some of the
tension leaving her shoulders.

“Chocolate with whipped cream,” Scott said.
“I like pecan and apple, too.”

“And banana,” Jen said.

“I don’t know how I forgot that. I like
banana a lot.”

“Me, too,” Gabe said. “Now, what’s the worst
part about being sick?”

“Being sick.”

Jen nudged his shoulder. “Smart ass.”

Scott pointed at the video. “Mom, you swore
on camera.”

She rolled her eyes, and Scott laughed. Gabe
felt his heart squeeze. That’s how he’d been as a kid. Laughing
even as he knew he was going to die. It was either that or tears
that would’ve made his mom feel bad.

“What else don’t you like about being sick?”
Gabe asked.

Scott’s mouth turned down. “Lots of things.
Not feeling good enough to play with my friends. Sometimes not even
feeling good enough to talk to them. Seeing my—”

“Seeing what?” Gabe asked.

“Seeing what?” his mom asked.

“You’re not going to like it.”

Her face tensed, as if she were getting
ready for a blow. “Then you need to tell me.”

Looking down at his skinny legs, Scott
whispered, “Seeing my mom cry.”

Tears welled in Jen’s eyes. “Oh, Scott.” She
looked away from him, blinking hard.

There was silence on the camera, which
wasn’t a good thing, and the minutes were ticking by, but Gabe
didn’t try to hurry. With only the sounds of traffic and a barking
dog in the distance, the pause gave the moment more importance.

When Jen turned back, her eyes were
glittering. She bent and kissed her son’s thin cheek. “I love you,
Scott.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

They both looked at Gabe. “What will you do
when you’re healed?” he asked.

“I’ll be nicer to my big sister,” Scott
said. “And I won’t make fun of the other kids that look
different.”

Jen made a soft exclamation, a mix of
surprise, pride and sadness.

“That’s laudable,” Gabe said, his voice
neutral. “What brought that on? Did someone make fun of you?”

“No, but they look at me like I’m an alien.”
Scott stared into Gabe’s eyes. “A lot of them don’t want to come
too close to me, like they’re afraid they’ll catch my tumor. And I
think it makes them feel bad because they’re healthy. They think if
it happened to me, maybe it could happen to them. And it scares
them.”

Jen made another sound, this one
mournful.

“What else will you do different?” Gabe
asked.

“I don’t know what I can do, ’cause I’m just
a kid. But when I’m old, I want to be president.”

“What will you do as president?”

“I can stop all wars. Wars kill people and
cost money. Lots of money. I think instead of spending all the
money on a war, we should give the money to the other countries,
and maybe they can use it to fix what’s wrong. We could make them
promise they won’t fight anyone or we’ll take our money back.”

“Brilliant idea.”

“I know.” Scott nodded his head like a
sage.

“We have to go now,” Jen said.

“Email me and I’ll send you the video,” he
said. “And the release form.”

Jen nodded and stood. “Come on, Scott, we’ve
got to go.”

Scott slid off the bench onto his feet.
“Will it be on YouTube?”

“Once I get the release form from your
mom.”

“His older sister would like to see the
video,” Jen said. “And my mom and dad.”

“My teacher would probably show it in
class.” Scott grinned. “And I thought of something else.”

His mom shot him one of the Mom Looks.
“Scott, we’ve got to go.”

“Just one minute, Mom.” He gazed up at Gabe.
“I changed my mind about the pie. I think I’ll have peach.”

“I’ll ask the pie lady to send you a whole
peach pie.”

“Maybe later,” Jen said.

“I can’t eat a lot of stuff now. I puke too
much. That’s another thing I don’t like.” He waved at Gabe, and the
mom and kid hurried away.

Gabe turned to the kid who was helping with
the boom to thank him. But the kid was frowning. “I’d like to see
that, too,” he said.

“Sure. Give me your email.”

They put the equipment in his SUV. While the
kid wrote his number on the back of one of Gabe’s cards, Gabe got
out his wallet and handed him a twenty. “Thanks for your help.”

The kid looked from the bill to Gabe’s face
then grinned. “If you need more help, give me a call.” He nodded
and hurried away, sticking the bill into his back pocket.

Gabe got into his car and looked at the
hospital. All the windows with all the patients. And the passion
that had been missing inside him for so long dripped back like
medicine into a dying person’s veins.

Chapter Twenty-four

Rosa’s oldest son greeted Katie with a kiss
on each cheek. His fingers still cupping her upper arms, Matt
pulled back, grinned, then leaned forward to plant a kiss on her
lips. When Matt released her, Katie laughed. Nothing like a kiss
from a good looking young man to brighten a mood.

“You are like sunshine to my morning,” he
said.

“Have you been practicing that line?”

“I saved it just for you.” He glanced down
at the box in her hand that had prevented him from full-body
contact. “And you brought pie. My day keeps getting better.”

“Pie?” Tony, Rosa’s second oldest, wandered
into the front hall, barefoot with a hunk of hair falling over his
left eye, looking as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He was
dangerously sexy, or so Katie heard.

She nodded at him, a little cool,
disappointed because he continued to work for his dad, though it
was none of her business. She turned back to Matt. “I didn’t know
you were home.”

His face darkened, as if a cloud had passed
over the house, but the sunny hallway was as bright as a moment
ago. “I wanted to talk to my dad.”

From the brooding tension in his face, Katie
surmised the talk didn’t go well. She could have told Matt it was
hard to argue with a rectum, but she nodded sympathetically. Pies
were much easier than people.