by Fields, MJ
I walk inside, close the door behind me, and press my back up against it. I’m inside for what feels like an eternity before I hear him drive away. Lightly banging my head against the door, I try to figure out why my skin is tingling and why my heart is beating so strong that I feel like it’s going to pump right out of my skin.
“Leah, is that you?” Dad asks from somewhere in the house.
I push off the door, give myself a shake, and follow the sound of his voice into the kitchen. He’s standing over a saucepan, measuring cups of sugar.
“Taffy time?” I kick off my sneakers and take a seat at the counter.
“You betcha. I could use a hand.” He motions toward a pan on the counter of taffy that is being cooled.
Not one to argue with Bob Paige, I get up, wash my hands, and then take my seat again. I pull the pan toward me and feel the taffy that is cool to the touch.
He mixes the sugar and cornstarch in a pan while I pull the taffy from another. I’m cutting it into one-inch strips. With every cut, I think of how Adam gave my words right back to me. Maybe I’m the one who has been dissecting his failures all this time, assuming the worst and accusing him of being the bad guy. If so, I’m just as villainous as he is.
“Everything okay?” Dad asks, pouring corn syrup into the pan.
“Am I a flake?” I ask while cutting.
“You’re gonna have to clarify that for me.”
“No, sweetie, you’re not a flake at all, is what you were supposed to say.”
“What I’m supposed to say and what I will say are two very different things. What’s bothering you?” He’s mixing the ingredients in a pan over the flame.
I pull a piece of the cut taffy and feel its sticky texture. “I know I appear shallow and indecisive. Part of it is genuinely me. I don’t like to take life too seriously. And I have fun. Life is fun, you know?”
“It’s one of your greatest qualities.”
I smash the taffy in my hand. “There’s no substance. At least, not to the outside world. But there is so much more to me. I just wish people could see it.”
He makes a sound of understanding from his throat as he stirs, his mixture coming to a boil. “Sure are a lot of ingredients in this recipe, aren’t there?”
I internally groan. Way to be supportive, Dad.
Maybe if I were Emma and her violin, he’d stop and tell me how amazing I was. Or, if I were the prized son, Luke, he’d list all of his amazing attributes. But, no, I’m just Leah.
He removes the pan from the heat. “Sugar, cornstarch, butter, corn syrup, even water. Sweet and savory in one pot. It’s complex and simple at the same time. I count the butter as the savory,” he says with a wink. “Pick out a flavor.”
I drop the taffy in my hand and pull over Dad’s tin of flavors and food coloring. Looking through, I choose vanilla extract and a small vile of orange coloring.
“Good choice. Orange is a fun color. And the vanilla brings on a taste that reminds me of a warm evening. A strong scent, too.”
He adds them to the pan and then pours the mixture into a baking dish.
“It’s a shame,” he says. “It takes so much time to make candy and only seconds to eat. Everyone enjoys it. They comment on how cool the colors are and devour the flavor.”
He takes a piece of taffy with one hand and a piece of wax paper with the other. He wraps the candy in paper and twists it at the end. “We even dress it up and make it look all pretty.” He holds the candy up in the air. “No one knows there are nine different ingredients in this little piece of heaven.”
I look up and think to myself for a second. “No, there are eight ingredients.”
“Name them,” he says.
“Sugar, cornstarch, butter, salt, corn syrup, food coloring, vanilla extract, and water.”
“Ah, you forgot one. Love,” he adds.
I roll my eyes.
“See? Yet another ingredient no one sees, so, therefore, it doesn’t count.”
I take the candy from his hand and roll it in my fingers. “Are you comparing me to a piece of candy?”
He smiles. “You’re more than what you show on the outside.”
I unwrap the candy and pop it into my mouth. Even though I’ve made it countless times with my dad, I’ve never appreciated what goes into creating it. What the candy is actually made of.
Leaning on my elbows, I ask, “How do I let people see what’s on the inside?”
“You’re just gonna have to show them what you’re made of.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Invite them into your kitchen.”
Getting up, I walk around the counter and give my dad a hug. “Thanks, Bob.”
“No problem, kiddo. Now, do you want to tell me where your car is?”
Eight
“Twenty-five hundred bucks?” I practically break Rory’s eardrum with how high I screech.
Luke whistles through his teeth at the amount it is going to cost to fix the Blue Whore.
Rory does everything but roll his eyes at me. “The entire side of your car is smashed in, and the air-conditioning lines need to be redone—unless you don’t care about air.”
“I’ll drive with the windows open. I just need a motor that runs.”
He sways his mop of brown curls to the side. “It’s still going to run you about twelve hundred bucks.”
I lean toward Rory, who happens to work for his family’s auto-body shop. My insurance deductible is astronomical, and if I put a claim in, my premium will go through the roof. Paying cash is the way to go.
“Is there, like, an I’m-sleeping-with-your-best-friend discount or something?”
Luke laughs into his hand, his cheeks bright red, clearly amused by that comment.
Walking around the car, Rory explains, “That is the I-like-Suzanne-a-lot-and-I’m-helping-her-friend discount. I’m only charging you for parts.”
I fall onto a rolling desk chair in the garage.
Luke walks over and sits on top of a table that’s directly behind me. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be all right. I don’t mind driving you to work.”
It’s a sweet offer, but it won’t work. “For the summer. And then what? You have to go back to school, Luke. I need wheels.”
“Mom will give you her car.”
I groan. “I know she will. That’s unfair to her.”
“Or are you just trying to avoid telling her that you got into an accident?” he asks, pulling on my braid.
I double groan. “That, too.”
I told my dad I got into a fender bender—not exactly lying—and begged him not to worry Mom. They don’t keep secrets, so he said he’d avoid telling her unless she asked.
I swivel my chair around, hang my head in my hands, and contemplate how I can get a few extra bucks to fix my car.
“So”—Rory leisurely slides a rag along the hood of a red Ford—“Sue say anything about me?”
I peek out from my hands, and Luke gives me a look that reads, This guy’s got it bad.
I return it, I know.
A car pulling into the front of the garage causes Luke and Rory to turn their heads and me to swivel. We watch as the patrol car parks and idles.
The door opens, and I say a silent prayer. It’s not. Please say it’s not. I’ll give my left tit if it’s not.
It is.
Wearing his black uniform, Adam exits the car. His hair is tossed back, and those sinister eyes are hiding behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. His shirt is starched to the hilt; there’s not a wrinkle or thread misaligned.
Adam walks into the garage and stops momentarily at the sight of Luke and me . His chiseled brow is undermined by a softness in his eyes. It’s the same look he gave me last night when he drove me home.
Rory takes a few steps toward him. “Oil change?”
“You got time?” Adam asks.
“I was just wrapping up with Leah.” Rory walks to a computer at a standing-height desk, his fing
ers typing on the keyboard. “I’ll order the parts, but I can’t without a deposit.”
“How much do you need?” I bite my lip, hoping it’s not too much.
He frowns his face in consideration. “Five hundred bucks? I usually ask for fifty percent up front.”
I nod in fairness. “Yeah, that’s fine. Thank you.” I hand him my card and watch as he swipes away.
Patting my legs, I look at Luke and let him know we can go. We stand and say good-bye to Rory.
Luke gives a closed mouth smile to Adam. He walks over to the Blue Whore and evaluates the damage. He takes his glasses off and folds them into his breast pocket. Bending over, he inspects the dents on the passenger side of the car.
“You forgot to turn your car off.” I’m being snarky.
Still crouched with his hand on the car door, he says, “Protocol. Always leave the car running while you’re on duty in case a call comes in.”
I’m standing by the open garage door, my back to the outside, as I cross my arms. “But there’s time for an oil change?”
He’s playing with the handle on the door when he says, “We have a contract with the O’Tooles. They service all Cedar Ridge police cars.”
That’s good for Rory and his family. A big-brand Auto Depot opened a couple of towns away. Price competition must be killer.
Adam rises and puts his hands on his hips, looking down at the car. “Is she fixable?”
Rory talks over his shoulder, “Barely.”
“I tried to swindle Rory down to a reasonable price,” I say.
Rory turns in defense. “I gave her the friends and family discount.” He looks to me. “I thought you made good money over there.”
Looking to the side, I answer, “Paying off loans.”
“You didn’t go to college,” Rory states matter-of-factly.
I hate that everyone knows my business.
“No, Leah’s got a bigger venture up her sleeve.
She’s—”
Adam’s words are cut off when Luke starts coughing. Violently coughing. It’s such a commotion that I can’t even say he’s trying to be subtle about it. Adam turns around but doesn’t move to see if Luke’s okay. He’s just standing there, questioningly eyeing me.
Rory stops what he’s doing. “You okay, man? I don’t need to grab the CPR kit or anything, do I? My old man made me take the class, but I do not want to give you mouth-to-mouth.”
Luke holds his hand up in reassurance. “I’m good!”
Rory narrows his eyes at Luke and then goes back to looking at his computer. Adam’s brows furrow as he looks back at Luke. His eyes dart from Luke to me and back as realization crosses his face.
What he’s realizing exactly is up for debate.
Rory, unfazed by what is transpiring between the three of us, asks, “Adam, what were you saying?”
My eyes are trained on Adam, stone cold and serious, as I say, “He was just going to mention how I am drowning in credit card debt.”
Adam’s head tilts, and I cock a brow at him. There are so many things I want to say to him but can’t. Not here. Not now. And, even if I did, he might not understand.
Rory starts walking to the other side of the garage. “I never pegged you as an overspender. Guess what we assume about others would surprise us. That’s all right. You’ll get yourself out of it.” He walks back with a bottle of Pennzoil. “Adam, I’ll have that done in fifteen minutes. Leah, I’ll call you when the parts are in.”
I hang my head.
Luke gives my shoulders a shake of reassurance. “Come on. Maybe we’ll go home and find some old birthday money lying around. I bet Emma keeps it stashed under her mattress.”
He’s probably right. Emma is like me, a natural saver. Though our methods are different. My closet is filled with clothes, having every new fad and style when it comes out. The perk is, I don’t need to have the best, so getting the ten-dollar knockoff is fine with me. And I am not opposed to getting something vintage from The Salvation Army. Emma is the opposite. She probably has twenty shirts in her closet, but they’re all high-end, and she wears every single one of them.
We don’t spend beyond our means, and we know how to go without a few luxuries if it means getting what we want. Luke clearly missed out on the Paige family saver gene and is quite the spendthrift. He can blow through a hundred bucks on McDonald’s and a trip to CVS.
We walk over to Main Street where we parked Luke’s car and wait at the crosswalk for the light to change.
A Jeep Wrangler is coming down the street and starts honking at the sight of us. Jessica pulls over and gives us a wave.
“Hey, Leah!” She is wearing the teeniest tank top with a pair of super-cute green shorts.
Luke’s eyes linger a little too long on the double Ds, and I use my pointer finger to lift his fallen jaw up to his face.
“Day off?” she asks from behind her brown tortoise-shell sunglasses.
“I took an early shift. Grandma’s eightieth birthday. Emma’s coming home.” I spy a red-and-white cooler in the backseat.
“Sweet,” she says with a wide-mouthed smile. “Hey, any word on Victoria?”
I shake my head. “I’ve been asking around. No one’s heard from her.”
“That’s a bummer. Hey, listen, here’s a bonfire down by the lake. You should head out tonight.”
“I’m down,” Luke answers rather quickly.
I nudge him. “No one invited you.”
He leans on the window frame of Jessica’s car. That mop of red, wild and untamed hair falls on his forehead. “You wouldn’t turn away this smile, would you?”
I can’t see his face, but I know he’s giving her the Luke Paige grin. The one that works on his college girls, but there’s no way it’s gonna work on Jessica. She is way out of his league.
With a pat that an older sister would give a little brother, she touches his arm and says, “You can come play with the big kids tonight as long as your sister comes with. She’s been missing out on our playdates.”
Luke leans back and stretches his arms out in victory. “I’ll be there.”
I shove him aside. “We can’t. Family obligation.”
“Since when are you one to blow off a party? Bring your fine ass to the lake when Grandma leaves,” she teases me. Then, her head moves to the side. Something over my shoulder catches her attention. She lowers her sunglasses and gapes over the lenses. “Speaking of a fine ass…”
I turn around and see Adam walking out of the O’Toole Garage and across the street to the corner store. With his confident posture, he takes his steps as if he owns this town.
Jessica croons, “There’s something sexy about a man who is out to protect his community.”
I spin back around. “You like Adam?”
With a shy smile, she says, “I think he’s hot.”
I’m not used to girls thinking he’s attractive. He was really gawky in high school—until that growth spurt. When he did get hot, he started dating that girl Nina. Then, Brad died, and Adam’s been a bachelor ever since—not that I have been paying attention. I just like to know who’s dating whom in town.
I clasp my hands in front of my body. “Well, it was great seeing you. We have to go. Rain check on the lake?”
Jessica’s attention is drawn back to me. “Have fun with your family. I’ll swing by the Bronco on Saturday!”
Luke and I step away from the Jeep as she turns back into traffic and drives away.
He grabs his heart, leaning back a little. “Just one night, and I would die a happy man.”
Laughter erupts from my belly. With my hand on his head, I ruffle his hair and push him across the street. “Dream on, little brother. Dream on.”
When we get back to the house, Dad is busying himself with a casserole, and Mom is playing with the cats. I run over to the little old lady who is drinking a Tom Collins in the recliner in the living room.
“If it isn’t my favorite granddaughter!” she says.
<
br /> I fall to my knees on the floor beside her chair and give her a hug.
“Hey! I take offense to that,” Emma says, walking down the stairs.
Her dirty blonde hair is long and straight, covering the straps of an adorable cotton sundress. She’s wearing boat shoes, and it makes me laugh because she’s the least aquatic person I know.
I give my grandmother a big hug. Her tiny shoulders feel warm under my hands. A little too bony for my liking, but she looks healthy.
Her head cranes over my shoulder at Emma. “This one at least indulges my need for sexual fiction. You won’t even pretend to play along.”
With her hands on her hips, Emma taps her foot. “Because I won’t talk to you about my sex life, I lose out on the favorite status?”
I lean back to look at Grandma. She’s four feet eleven inches, but her personality is a hundred feet tall. Her cane is leaning against the chair.
She waves off Emma. “Don’t worry; you’re still in the will.” Then, she turns to me and says loudly, “Don’t tell her, but I’m spending every last dime on booze and men. There won’t be anything left.”
Laughing, I whisper back, “Your secret is safe with me. Just wear protection. We don’t want you getting pregnant.”
Grandma pushes me away by the shoulder, and I fall on the floor.
Emma stands there, shaking her head. “You two are carbon copies of one another.”
I get to my feet and walk over to Emma. I give her a hug, and we sway back and forth a bit.
“Hey, big sis,” I say.
She responds, “Hey, little sister,” which is silly.
We were born in the same year. Her birthday is January 23, and mine is December 30.
Her golden sundress shows off her beautifully tan skin. She always says I won the genetic lottery with blue eyes while she’s a brown-eyed girl. I, on the other hand, would give anything for her easily tanned skin.
Emma releases me and runs her fingers through her hair. She turns to Luke. “Hey, punk.”
While Luke tells Emma about the bonfire tonight, I go back to Grandma and sit on the carpet beside her cane.
“So, tell me, have you met anyone?” she asks.
