Summer of a Thousand Pies

by Margaret Dilloway

  At this, my dad’s eyes well up, and then mine do too. This time, I let them. Before long, I’m for-real-no-joke crying, snot coming out of my nose. Dad gets up and comes around the table and Shell arrives at the same time.

  They pause for a second, then both of them, on either side of me, put their heads on my shoulders and hug me.

  The guard puts a box of Kleenex on the table.

  “Thanks.” I blow my nose so loud other people look over at us. It sounds like a car horn.

  Dad straightens. “Shell.”

  “Jim.” Shell stands up.

  “You’ve taken good care of my girl. I owe you a lot.” Dad’s voice is low, rumbly.

  Shell puts her hands on my shoulders. “You don’t owe me a single thing. I love Cady.”

  At this, I get a warm bubbly feeling, like pie when it’s ready to come out of the oven. This is the first time Shell’s said this. Love. She loves me. It makes me brave enough to ask the questions I need to ask. “Dad, why did you lie about Oregon?”

  Dad purses his lips. “You know about that, then?” He sits down at his side of the table. “I don’t suppose I got a real good reason for that. Except I wanted Shell to leave us alone.” He shrugs. “But I knew, deep down, if we ever needed help, she’d be there. Waiting.”

  “So that’s why you put her on the form?” I ask.

  He nods, then puts his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Buttercup. About everything.”

  I almost ask him about Mom next. Why’d he pretend she was perfect? I already know the answer. He’s Dad, and he’s not perfect. Far from it. He needed something to hold on to.

  I think about what it’d be like to not forgive him. About how bad I’ve felt.

  But I don’t want to. I’m tired of holding on to this. I lean against Aunt Shell, and she’s there for me, an anchor to keep me from getting swept away. I have to keep moving forward. Isn’t that what Dad always told me to do anyway? “It’s okay, Dad.”

  And it really, really is.

  “Good news,” Shell says as we walk to the car. She holds up her phone. “María got hired at another restaurant. Still working on a place to stay, though.”

  “That’s a relief.” My feet feel like they’re floating as I bounce along the asphalt.

  “Yup.” Shell unlocks the car. “That’s what I love about living in Julian. Everyone helps each other.” She gets in. “Loved, I guess.” I can barely hear these last words.

  I freeze, my hand on the door. Everyone helps each other. Everyone loves Shell.

  I hop in. “Can you take me to see Mr. Miniver?”

  Chapter 37

  Jay and I meet three times over the next week at Mr. Miniver’s house. Once, when Shell dropped me off, so I could tell him about my idea. Again, with a few community leaders who know Shell. And the last time, to write emails and call people.

  I was kind of hoping that Mr. Miniver and the other adults would take over and do everything. But I also have to admit that I should’ve known better. Of course Mr. Miniver made me and Jay do most of the work.

  Deep down, if I think about it, I would’ve been disappointed if Jay and I could only watch. I didn’t know how much I like helping, until now.

  During our final meeting, Jay and I sit in Mr. Miniver’s kitchen writing emails to everyone in Mr. Miniver’s address book. Which is basically the entire town. “What should it say?” Jay asks. He’s typing, I’m dictating.

  “‘Your presence is requested at a very important meeting. . . .’” That sounds nice and formal and sort of British.

  “Nah.” Jay purses his lips. “It needs to sound more exciting. Like they can’t miss it because it’s the most important thing that has ever happened.”

  “We’re not writing the Declaration of Independence. It’s just an invitation.” But he’s probably right, I have to admit. I don’t want people to skip reading it.

  We sip the hot chocolate Mr. Miniver made us. He’s sitting in his living room, reading the paper. “Mr. Miniver,” I holler. “What do you think?”

  “It’s your show, Cady. I’m just the adult who’s providing you legitimacy.” He turns the page.

  I sigh. He’s sure had an opinion about everything else in the history of time. I close my eyes, trying to make my brain work.

  “How about a rhyme?” Jay gestures in the air like he’s putting a sign up. “‘We need a fleet of people to meet.’”

  I can’t help but giggle.

  Jay blushes and laughs. “Hey, I’m going to be a video game designer, not a writer.”

  I snort, but his bad idea gave me a new one. I gesture at him. “Move over.” He gets up and I sit at the keyboard, my fingers flying faster than they ever have for any school assignment.

  Jay reads it over my shoulder. “Yup,” he says.

  I lift my right palm up and he slaps it in a silent high five.

  On Saturday afternoon, the church bells chime twelve times. I’m making my aunts go to the town hall. Mr. Miniver told them there was a special vote about another big franchise trying to come into town, and that got Shell pretty amped up.

  I don’t have butterflies in my stomach—I’ve got a swarm of june bugs. This was all my idea, and if it doesn’t work . . . well, I don’t know what will happen.

  “Don’t worry,” Jay whispers as we go up the steps. I nod, but he might as well be telling the sun not to rise.

  “I wonder which franchise it is now,” Shell says. “Mr. Miniver didn’t say.”

  “It’s a big one,” Jay pipes up. “Like one of the major ones.” Shell glances at him curiously and Jay nods as if he really knows something, stroking his imaginary beard. Shell chuckles.

  I take Shell’s hand and she automatically squeezes it. That’s something I never would have done a couple months ago, but now it feels as natural as breathing. Her touch makes me feel brave. If the Julian pioneers could survive slavery and come out here, then I can darn well talk at a meeting.

  I stop at the placard outside and point at it. “Surprise!” FUND-RAISER FOR SHELL’S PIE.

  “What in the world?” Shell puts her hands on her hips. “Cady, what have you done?”

  I gulp. “Nothing, yet.” With shaking hands, I push open the door.

  We enter the auditorium. There are maybe two dozen people sitting on folding chairs, with tables full of doughnuts along the sides of the room. Mr. Miniver knows how to make people happy.

  I scan the room. Jay’s family sits in the front row, and Jay goes to join them. Gable’s there with his parents. I see every person Mr. Miniver’s introduced me to. The shop owners from the general store. Adam, the candy store clerk who gives us free taffy. Mrs. Showalter from the museum. The lady who sells pie right up the street. The man who plays the guitar. The Culvers, whose horses I petted when I was feeling sad. Mrs. Moretti from Grandma’s Pies. Miss Mia, the youth group leader. The parents who chaperoned the trip. The man who turned off our water. All of them are here.

  Shell walks shakily up to the podium. “Folks. Thank you so much for coming today.” Her eyes fill with tears, and she grips the front of her shirt. “It means a lot to me. It really does. But this is all my fault. One hundred percent. And I’m not going to take your money to fix my mistakes.”

  The crowd murmurs. Mr. Miniver takes the mic back. “Come on, Shell. We’re here for you.”

  Shell shakes her head, retreating off to the side and sinking into a chair. Suzanne pats her back.

  A bonfire erupts inside me. Shell sounds like my father. My father, who always turned down help, even when we badly needed it. I think about how close Shell is to losing everything. For different reasons, but with a similar ending.

  Not again.

  I go up to the front. I wait for my legs to quake, but they don’t. “I’ve got something to say,” I tell Mr. Miniver.

  Some of the people in the audience nod at me. For some reason I’m not afraid. I guess I know they all want to help me. Everyone here wants me to su
cceed. And that makes a big difference.

  “I’m Cady Bennett.” My voice is too quiet.

  “Speak up!” an old man in the back yells.

  I try again, loud, pulling the mic down toward me. “My name is Cady Bennett. And I want to tell you about my aunt Shell.” I grip the sides of the podium. “Aunt Shell is the hardest worker I know. And the kindest. If it weren’t for Shell, I’d be in some stranger’s home. Shell took me in when my dad . . .” Now my voice quivers. “When my dad went to jail.”

  I hear gasps and murmurs. But it doesn’t matter how they react. This is my story. I can tell it. “My dad’s had problems for as long as I can remember.” I’m aware of folks looking at me with sympathy, or maybe pity, but still I don’t care. “He pushed Shell away. He pushed everyone away. Bad thing after bad thing kept happening, until nobody could fix it.

  “But I keep thinking. What if my dad had let someone help him? What if people had given him a hand up, out of the hole we were in?”

  Jay gives me a thumbs-up to continue. I look across the room at Shell. She’s holding Suzanne’s hand tightly. Suzanne’s crying. Does she want me to say this?

  She gives me a tiny nod.

  This helps me say the next bit. I look right at my aunt. “What if today—just today—you take the help?”

  Shell doesn’t blink, but her eyes look bright.

  She shakes her head no, as stubborn as ever.

  There’s a pause and a murmuring. Then the water man stands up. “Anyone who’s ever had your pie won’t want that shop closed down.” He gives me a warm smile, and I return it.

  “Your family has been here for years,” Mrs. Moretti says. “We can’t handle all the pie business alone.”

  “Your mother was my best friend,” Mrs. Showalter adds.

  “Your father gave my father a job when he got laid off,” a man says.

  “A few years ago, when Gable was headed down a bad path, you were the only one who could get through to him,” Gable’s father says. Gable gives a quick nod.

  “You helped me get the job at the youth group,” Miss Mia says.

  “Mrs. Vasquez watched my children after school when I couldn’t afford child care,” a woman adds.

  “Jay takes care of our horses when we go out of town,” says Mr. Culver.

  “Suzanne cooked for our football fund-raiser for free,” a burly man adds. “Not to mention all the pies that Shell donates.”

  “When my wife died and I was too depressed to leave the house, Shell brought me a pie and ate it with me every week,” Mr. Miniver says. He takes a breath and smiles at me. “They’re not strangers, folks. They’re part of us.”

  The crowd goes quiet again. I hear air moving back and forth through my nose, into my lungs, out.

  Then somebody starts applauding, and finally the room erupts into raucous noise. My face goes warm again, but it’s a good warmth. I stand with my head bowed over the wooden platform.

  And then Shell has her arms around me, and the top of my head is getting wet from her tears. This time, the hug feels like it’ll keep me from breaking. Not like it will break me.

  Chapter 38

  At home, Shell, Suzanne, and I enter silently. The dogs bark and Tom howls. Shell turns on the lights.

  The fund-raiser earned enough to pay two months’ worth of mortgage, plus the water bill. Mr. Miniver is taking care of the rest. We’re caught up. Barely.

  I feel like I just ran a marathon. Or maybe two marathons. I don’t know what that’s like, exactly, but probably a lot like this. It’s like every drop of energy has been drained out of me.

  “I could use a snack.” Suzanne puts away her purse. “Cady?”

  “Yes.” When can’t I?

  But Shell doesn’t say anything. She goes into the kitchen and turns on all the lights. Then she goes into the master bedroom and turns on those lights. Then the bathrooms.

  Suzanne and I follow her wordlessly.

  Shell goes upstairs. To my bedroom. To the other bedroom and bathroom. The hallway.

  I remember when I first came to this house. I can admit to myself now that I was plain scared of everything in it—Shell and Suzanne and how being here meant I might not be with my dad for a long time.

  Now it’s easy to call it my home, too.

  Finally all the lights are on.

  We stop as she stops at the end of the hall, looking out the small window where there’s a view of the apple orchard. “I almost lost all this,” Shell says in a low voice. Her shoulders sag. “I should have let the business fail instead of risking everything.”

  “It won’t fail again.” Suzanne’s face is set in determination.

  “You can’t promise that.” Shell sounds like me.

  Suzanne and I go on either side of her, putting our arms around her.

  “No. But you’ll always have us.” I squeeze Shell extra tight, and she kisses the top of my head. We look out the window at the land. The apples will be ripe in two months, and each tree’s branches are heavy with them. Beyond, through the leaves, the lights from Jay’s house twinkle like stars.

  Dear Jenna,

  I hope you’re ready to eat pie. Because we’re going to make a lot of it for you.

  Love,

  Cady

  September

  1,000 Pies Down

  0 to Go

  Chapter 39

  “Who can tell me another method of getting this answer?” Mr. Simon, our math teacher, taps his marker on the board.

  Two hands shoot up. Mine and Jay’s.

  Mr. Simon closes an eye and points to me. “I saw Cady first.”

  I walk up to the front and take the marker and turn to the whiteboard. A year ago, I would have hated coming up and trying to solve math problems. In this class, it’s no big deal. I start writing.

  I know everyone in this room is hoping I’ll get the right answer. And if I don’t, someone will help me.

  The bell rings and Mr. Simon shouts out the homework pages. Jay and I walk out together. I pat my backpack. “I have something for Claudia before she leaves.”

  Jay nods. “What’s the math teacher’s favorite dessert? Pi!” he says, and chortles at himself.

  “What do you get when you take the sun and divide its circumference by its diameter?” I counter.

  Jay shrugs.

  “Pie in the sky!” a girl shouts from behind us.

  I hold out my hand and she high-fives it.

  Everyone says middle school’s the worst, but for me it’s the best. This school is small, maybe a hundred kids at most. And because of Jay, I met pretty much everyone in school before the end of summer.

  I have a new backpack printed with silly pictures of sloths riding unicorns over rainbows. Shell let me text a picture of it to Jenna’s mom. Jenna texted a picture of the same backpack. Twinsies! I sling it over my shoulder, heavy with textbooks. “What’s 1.57?”

  Finally nobody answers. I’ve stumped them. Then a grown-up voice chimes in, “Half a pie!” It’s Mr. Simon, passing us on his long legs. “You guys are even cheesier than I am. Have a good weekend!”

  Jay and I bike to the pie shop. Because I am now the proud owner of a purple mountain bike with a shelf on the back for my stuff. Shell spent two days teaching me how to ride, letting me coast along the grass until I got it. The bike lets me go wherever I want, whenever I want. I’ve never been able to do that before.

  Mr. Miniver paid for all the equipment for the gluten-free addition. It didn’t take long to install the new ovens and counters next door, connected by a door. Suzanne calls Mr. Miniver our “angel investor,” which is a perfect term for him.

  Jay and I park our bikes outside the shop and go in. It’s full of customers, ordering the specials. Shell added two savory pies, chicken pot pie and a beef stew thing, plus a couple salads, so people eat lunch here as well. “Diversify to survive,” Mr. Miniver said.

  My stomach growls as soon as I open the door. I thought I might be sick of pie by now, but it
turns out it’s a hard thing to get tired of. Especially when you can change the filling.

  To advertise, we’ve been handing out flyers like mad. GRAND REOPENING. Plus, almost every restaurant in town has ordered gluten-free pie for the menus. And we got thirty stores in San Diego to stock us, too.

  Suzanne looks up from the counter as we enter. “Hey. How was it?”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Just okay?” Suzanne arches an eyebrow. “You’re turning into a teenager, Cady Bennett.” Suzanne took a leave of absence from her job to help, since Claudia’s going away to college and I’m back in school. It’s been different having her around every day. Different in a good way. She balances out Shell.

  I get two plates of pie, and Jay and I sit down to eat. “I bet I can do my math faster than you,” he says.

  “So what?” I say. “Better to get them right.”

  “And I’ll do them right.”

  “Fine.”

  We race through the problems. Sure enough, Jay wins, but I don’t care that much. I look at the clock. “Isn’t Claudia leaving soon? I want to say goodbye.”

  “She’s moving to downtown San Diego, not to another planet,” Jay says.

  Shell comes out of the back, balancing five bakery boxes on top of each other. “Beep, beep! Hey, kids. How was school?”

  “Okay,” Jay and I chorus in low tones. Everyone asks the same thing.

  “That’s very descriptive.” Shell laughs. She looks lighter. She stands up straighter and her forehead isn’t wrinkled in worry all the time. Best of all, she’s more relaxed. She’s kind of a different Shell. The old Shell, Suzanne says. Though to me, she’s the new Shell.

  All of us are walking taller these days. When so many people believe in you, it really does seem like you’ve got a superpower. It makes me feel like I can accomplish anything now.

  And I am accomplishing something important today. I put on my apron and hairnet and wash up. Jay does the same.

  He holds up his dripping hands like a surgeon. “Ready?”