How to Bake a Perfect Life (27 page)

“Perfect.” I smile as he stands up and find myself tossing my head slightly so that my hair, which is loose, swishes down my arm. He notices.

Over the days when he did not call, I wondered if I’d imagined a mutual attraction. But no. He gives himself away as do I. Eyes lighting on breasts, thighs, lips. The way he swallows when I push my hair away. The way he meets my eyes, not so long as to be odd but long enough to make a connection, to create a spark.

“I have some work to do,” he says. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“Yes” is all I can manage.

Sofia’s Journal

S
AN
A
NTONIO
J
UNE
3, 20—

Oscar is awake! It’s too early to call anyone, so I am writing it here
.

I couldn’t sleep, so I went to his room in the middle of the night. He was just lying there as always, the machine blipping and beeping and clicking. It hit me with a big wave of depression that it’s been three weeks since he was injured and he might not ever come out of this coma, and I need to find some people to help me decide how to manage that possibility
.

Grandma Adelaide used to always say that it was a sin to despair (though I think she did sometimes, anyway, which just goes to show that we’re all human—and she never did manage to heal her relationship with her own daughters, so I guess she had reason. My mother tried so hard to help fix that situation, but neither Grandma nor Aunt Poppy ever did really forgive her for whatever she did when they were young. Sad)
.

Anyway, despair. A sin. I can’t despair is what I was telling myself. Gotta stay upbeat for Oscar and the baby but most of all for myself. I will set the tone. It feels like a lot, I won’t lie, but this is what we do for each other, isn’t it? If it was me lying in that bed, unrecognizable for my injuries, I would desperately want Oscar to
be sitting there, talking to me, telling me jokes, telling me he loved me
.

I had printed out Katie’s email, and I stood close by the bed. “Good morning, Oscar!” I said. “I’m early today, but the baby was kicking me awake, so I thought I’d get some coffee and come over. Can you smell it?”

Holding the email, I took a sip and rubbed at a foot sticking out. “There he goes again, like he’s a kickboxer, Oscar!”

It’s hard sometimes to keep doing that, talking like he can hear me. It makes me feel silly sometimes. So I held the letter from Katie. “Your daughter is sounding very happy and really grown up,” I said. “Listen to this.”

I read him the email, trying to put lots of enthusiasm in my voice
.

And, at the end of it, nothing
.

I went to sit in my chair. And, okay, I was crying a little bit, mainly because I was homesick and sad and wanted to be back with my mother in her kitchen, watching her make bread, or with my grandma in her spectacular garden that Katie is enjoying
.

And I heard a groan from the bed! I jumped up and said, “Oscar?”

He made another sound around all the tubes and bandages. It was hard to tell at first, but his eyes were open a very small slit. I got so excited, I ran out into the hall and got a nurse, who got a doctor, who confirmed that he is actually waking up
.

I still don’t know a lot. It’s not like he recognizes me yet or anything. They are not sure how long it will take before he’s all the way awake, but this is a start. My heart is about twenty times lighter!

I can’t wait to call Katie
.

Ramona

  T
hat evening Katie and I print flyers on the computer and duck out very early on Friday morning to drive up to the trailheads where I know serious runners and hikers go to train—Barr Trail, Waldo Canyon, Red Rocks Canyon.

Taking a lesson from my aunt Poppy, I’ve made trays of samplers—mini-muffins and scones and slices of my favored breads, with little sides of butter in paper cups. As the runners come off their trails, they’re hungry and ready to eat anything. Katie holds the tray while I pass out the samples and offer a coupon. We run through our cache in no time.

She’s an excellent helper. One of the things I like about her is the way she flings herself into a task. Watching her from the corner of my eye as she explains the various forms of muffins, I can see that it’s good for her to be here, to have people around to love her and take care of her. The hair is still crazy, but no one has yet been able to talk her into a haircut. When she helps in the bakery, she wears a white cap with every bit of hair tucked under it, a compromise I thought she’d resist. She only shrugged and pulled it on. It shows off her pale-green eyes, the olive smoothness of her skin.

Back at the bakery, we have a lot of work to do to get ready for an extra day of sales. Katie is a great runner, dashing into the
front with a tray of muffins, dashing back with whatever empties there might be. Heather is training her how to use the cash register, how to protect the breads and pastries when bagging them, how to make small talk. Customers like her, especially the old folks.

She’s making change for one of our regulars, a slim beauty in her sixties, when Sofia calls on my cell phone. “Hi, Mom. Is this a good time? Is Katie around?”

It’s hard to tell whether the news is good or bad. I glance over at Katie, wrapped double in a baker’s pale-green apron. “She’s here. Is everything okay?”

“It’s good. Um, Oscar’s awake. I wanted to tell Katie in person.”

“Oh, my God, Sofia! That’s fantastic! Let me get her.”

“Mom.” Her voice is serious. “There’s more to this. I’ll call you when you’re up by yourself, okay? Tonight.”

“Sure. Anytime, Sofia. Anytime you want to call me, I am always here.”

“Thanks, Mom. I know.”

“Let me get Katie.” Holding the phone to my chest, I duck behind the counter and crook my finger, then point to the phone. “Sofia is on the phone.” I smile. “Good news.”

Her eyes widen, and she pulls off her cap as if her hair is some magic protection. She takes the phone through the side door to the porch. “Hello?”

I leave her to it, rubbing the dull spot between my ribs where worry lives. What is the rest of the story? I hate it that Sofia is alone, pregnant and afraid. Maybe, I think, going back to the kitchen, I should close the bakery and go to her. Katie and I could help her—

Great idea
, says some cynical voice,
and what will you live on?
The bakery might be in trouble, but at the moment we are still afloat, and it is the only revenue stream I have.

But I
hate
it that she’s so alone. It makes me feel helpless. As I
return to the tasks at hand, I poke the problem from a dozen directions.

Katie bounces back into the kitchen. “He’s awake! My dad is awake!” she cries, and for the first time ever, she flings her arms around me. That’s when I realize that she’s grown taller than me this past week or two, and her arms are powerful with all the gardening and baking. I hug her back. “Sofia thinks it was my letter that helped him wake up.”

“Hooray!” When she lets go, I point upstairs. “By all means, you should write him another one right now.”

She leaps toward the stairs, then whirls around. “What time are your aunts coming over?”

Poppy and Nancy are coming down for dinner. “Five. I know it’s early, but I have to get to bed.”

“I know. I just wanted to get it in my head. Do you think I should put on something nicer?”

“Sure.” I smile through my worry. “We’ll make it a celebration of your dad’s awakening.”

“Thank you!” She whirls around and dashes for the stairs, and I think of Tinker Bell, moving like a dragonfly, feet barely touching the floor.

Katie

  W
hen Katie signs on to the Internet to write to her dad, there is an email from her mom. Katie’s heart leaps into her mouth, and she opens it as fast as she can, looking over her shoulder in case somebody comes upstairs and catches her.

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT: GETTING BETTER ALL THE TIME

HEY BABY!! I WAS SO HAPPY TO SEE A EMAIL FROM YOU, SORRY THAT YOURE DAD IS WONDED, BUT HE IS STRONG, HE’LL GET BETTER FAST YOU WAIT & SEE. DOING GOOD HERE. ON THE STRATE ROAD FOR 23 DAYS NOW, WHICH IS THE BEST I’VE DONE FOR A LONG TIME. MET SOME NEW FRENDS HER AND HOPE YOU CAN COME SEE ME SINCE THEY AINT GONA LET ME SEE YOU ANYTIME SOON, MAYBE IF YOU CAME WE COULD GO TO THE PARK OR SOMETHIN AND TALK ABOT LIFE, I’M LOCKED UP AT SUNNYSIDE, WHICH IS A JOKE, CUZ ITS DARK HERE, BABY, DARK WITHOUT YOU AS MY SUNSHINE, REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE, SWEETS, AND DONT FORGET YOU’RE MAMA LOVES YOU AND NEEDS YOU AND THINKS ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME. I DREAM ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME, I HATE TO ASK CUZ I KNOW YOU AINT GOT ANYTHING YOURSELF, BUT MAYBE SOFIES MOM’S GOT SOMETHING, SO IF YOU CAN SEND ME SOME MONEY, IT WOULD REALY HELP A LOT. CANT BUY NO CIGARRETES WITHOUT CASH, AND I COULDN’T EVEN GET NO TAMPONS, YOU BELIEVE THAT? THEY GIVE YOU PADS, BUT NO TAMPONS, WHICH IS TOTALLY F’ED UP IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. I AM GROWING OUT MY HAIR AND THERE’S A GIRL HERE DOES MANICURES, SO MY HANDS LOOKING BETTER, AND YOU KNOW ME, I LIKE LOOKING GOOD, JUST LIKE MY BABY GIRL. WRITE ME SOON NOW, HONEY, AND I LUV YOU.

MOM

Katie stares at the email for a long minute, feeling strange. Kind of dizzy and a little bit sick to her stomach. Looking over her shoulder, she hits the print button, then closes her email and takes the printed page upstairs. She sticks it inside her notebook and then puts it out of her mind. Tonight she wants to be happy. She wants to celebrate her dad waking up and the aunties she’s heard so much about coming down to dinner.

But even as she puts on the green halter dress Lily bought for her, she can feel the cold tentacles of Lacey sliding around her ankles.

Ramona

  I
awaken from my nap by a quarter to four, take a shower to get a fresh start on the evening, then head into the house kitchen to start a simple supper of veggie tacos and strawberry shortcake for dessert. Poppy and Nancy are vegetarians, and I take pride in trying to find excellent recipes for them. This recipe is from the Green Gate Organic Farms cookbook; it uses grilled sweet and hot peppers, onions, broccoli, and squash, with goat cheese. I wonder if Katie will eat them and check to make sure there’s something else for her to eat just in case. Earlier, I made a tomatillo salsa and left it to brew in the fridge.