Sugar and Gold

by Brea Viragh

  “Shar, I don’t know anymore.” I glanced down at the coffee cup and noticed my hand was trembling. I sighed. There was no good way to get out of this interrogation. I didn’t want her to see me like this. Nervous. Twitchy.

  Shari sat, then crossed her legs and studied me. Her coffee made its way to her lips again. “Did you apologize like I told you? Surely he listened.”

  “Apologize?” I squawked. “I barely had a chance to get a word in edgewise! The man was about as happy to see me as a mouse seeing a snake cross its path. Between wasting an entire bag of flour and cowering against the mixer, I didn’t have time to apologize the way I wanted to. And I tried. I did. He was just so angry with me.”

  There were still dark purple blotches on my elbow where I’d jammed it against the mixer. I glanced down at them, running the pad of my index finger over the bruised skin.

  Shari cupped her hands around the coffee cup, head tilted, her glasses lending her a studious air. She was the only one I knew who could make thrift store frames with no prescription look cool. “He cornered you? Guess he’s ready to make up for lost time.”

  She didn’t sound the least bit remorseful. What happened to being worried?

  “He cornered me and scared the ever-living poop out of me.” I pointed to the bruises and sat. “I hit myself good on the blasted mixer. Look at my hands. I’m trembling.”

  “Is he still attractive?”

  Trust Shari to cut right to the juicy parts. I opened my mouth to answer, but stopped on a garbled groan. The logical part of me acknowledged the danger he represented and cautioned me to keep one eye open. The foolish, illogical, utterly feminine part remembered the breadth of his chest. The way my body heated when he closed in. The slight hint of wood chips and smoke.

  Did that make me a freak? Undoubtedly.

  “Are you seriously asking me if he’s attractive?” I exclaimed in horror. “I’m telling you I’m scared and you want to know how hot he is? Talk about messed up!”

  “Inquiring minds want to know.”

  “You’re missing the point. The point is I need to be watchful. He pretty much warned me he was coming for me. And I plan to take the warning to heart. I’d be stupid to ignore him. Not when he blames me for what happened.”

  “Wasn’t it his choice?”

  “It doesn’t matter at this point. He’s upset and not processing his emotions rationally.”

  “You know this?”

  “I know. I saw.” The coffee did nothing to warm my insides. A deep freeze had taken root and refused to thaw. Not even my good friend Joe could help.

  “Please tell me he’s fresh out of jail and ripped like Jesus,” Shari said, leaning forward with a hopeful expression.

  “He could do me serious harm, Shar. I’m afraid to get out of bed.”

  She blew a raspberry. “Pfft. I doubt it. From what I’ve heard of him, Isaac is more the type to cop a feel than swing an ax. More like your virtue than your life is at stake. The man’s been locked up for the past three years. He probably wants to bend you over and lift your skirt. Maybe he’s not going about it well.”

  I pictured it in my head, immediately struggling to swallow. My throat closed up and the muscles around my heart clenched at the thought.

  “He’s in serious need of the V. And you, my dear...” She eyed me up and down, lips pursed. “...are delicious.”

  Isaac had said pretty much the same. I glanced down at my disproportionately long legs. They led up to a torso with adequate hips and artist’s hands. Baker’s hands, more like.

  “I love how you focus on the erotic rather than the threat,” I countered. Shari was impossible to talk to sometimes. Impossible to get off the subject of sex and romance. “And your making light of a bad situation doesn’t keep me safe at night. I understood why he wanted to talk, but you didn’t see him. He was—” Intimidating. “He was filled with rage. Because of me.”

  “So he did a little jail time—”

  I huffed. “A little jail time? Felony conviction. Reduced sentence because of no prior criminal record, and early parole for good behavior, but still. Three years.”

  “But it was his choice,” she repeated. Like I was the one who needed convincing.

  “Doesn’t seem to matter.” My stomach gave an ominous rumble. A gastric warning. If I didn’t get a handle on these nerves, I’d be burping up my breakfast. “I don’t feel safe.”

  Shari sipped her coffee again. “So get a dog.”

  “A what?”

  “A dog. You know, bow-wow?”

  It wasn’t the worst idea I’d heard all week. In fact, I’d been toying with the notion for some time, and my backyard was big enough to accommodate an animal. I was wishy-washy on the work and responsibility involved. I’d never been able to keep goldfish alive. What made me think I could handle a dog?

  I ran my fingers along the side of the table for something to do. “We’ll see. Maybe I should go to the courthouse and get a restraining order. Like a preemptive strike.”

  “That’s taking it a little too far.”

  “You’re right. Ugh.” I let my head drop to the table with a resounding, cup-rattling thunk. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  “Did he threaten you in any way?” she asked, all hints of jesting aside.

  “No. He just sounded menacing.”

  I thought back to yesterday afternoon, the way Isaac’s body leaned over me until the heat of him scorched. Had I overreacted? Had my imagination taken the fears in my mind and run with them? It was possible.

  I lifted my head and took another sip of Joe.

  “Tell you what. Go to work, do whatever it is you normally do with your chocolate-y hocus pocus, and try not to panic,” Shari said. “There’s no sense in getting worked up over nothing. If he comes to see you again, sit him down and have a conversation like rational adults. I’m sure once you hash it out you’ll see his anger is nothing more than bitterness at having been locked away. He’ll get over it. Besides,” she added and smiled, “book club is tonight.”

  I brightened at the thought, my latest fiction finds sitting with wrinkled spines on the bedside table. “Yeah, that’s true. You’re right.” On more than one front, I’d be willing to wager.

  Shari nodded before rising to gather her purse. “I’m always right. When are you going to realize this fact? It would save us a lot of time and energy.”

  “I know.” I slumped back into the chair, annoyed with myself. “But I have a hard head. Sometimes it takes a while for everything to sink in.”

  “You’re going to be fine.”

  “I’ll still take my chances with Bill, thanks.” Nothing better than a trusty baseball bat.

  “You have a new man already?”

  “Yeah, one who’s long and hard and made for beating heads.”

  Shari swiveled around with a smirk. “Do tell!”

  LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, I was still caught up in my dilemma. Too caught up, I had to admit. That was the problem when I let my thoughts fester. Whatever happened, whatever I couldn’t control, I ruminated on to the point of insanity. Essie’s wild imagination, my mother called it.

  This was more than imagination. This was emotional. Visceral. I was truly concerned. I’d made a mistake and wanted to see it fixed. I wanted to go in to work without worrying about who would darken my doorstep. Part of my problem was not knowing what would happen, not being able to plan every step.

  I wasn’t going to be able to relax or think about anything else until I managed to straighten this out. Maybe I should call Isaac to schedule a sit-down, air our issues sooner rather than later. There was hardly enough room in my stomach for food amidst the worry. At least I’d taken the first step toward assuring my peace of mind at home.

  Pushing through the bakery door, the scents of spices and baking bread in the air, I waved to the sunny-haired woman manning the counter. “Hello! Wonderful day we’re having.”

  Leda did a double take before sucking
in a sharp breath. “What the hell...?”

  “What?”

  “That thing you’re holding! What is it?”

  I glanced down at the ratty brown bundle squirming in my arms and shrugged. “He’s my insurance policy. What, you don’t like him?” I chucked the tiny terror beneath the chin, a low growl rewarding my effort.

  “You should have called me before doing something stupid.” Her hands went to her hips in a vision of angry blond bombshell. “My husband sells insurance. He can give you peace of mind for cheap. Cheaper than whatever you spent on...that.”

  I ruffled the dog’s ears but the growls continued to grow in volume. “I didn’t need his kind of insurance and you know it. I couldn’t help myself. I went to the pound and our eyes met. I fell in love. Just like in a good romance novel. The rest is history.”

  History I didn’t feel like dredging up. History involving drugs and a big mistake.

  “Which eye?” Leda asked. “The left one burning holes in my soul, or the right one facing the display case?”

  The raggedy-looking Chihuahua pressed against my chest had been surrendered to the humane society by a family who no longer wanted to deal with his idiosyncrasies. He was a spur of the moment adoption brought on by Shari’s urging. I thought I would pop into the animal shelter and just take a look, maybe consider one of the large breeds in need of a home. Something that would protect the house—and me—without hesitation. I’d had a picture in my head of a large, snarling hound leaping to my defense whenever Isaac came knocking.

  Instead, I’d ended up with a six-pound horror which had to be kept in quarantine because the larger dogs were afraid of it. When I expressed interest, the employees looked at me like I’d grown a second head.

  I hefted the pup closer and pretended not to notice when he snarled at me. “He likes women more than men,” I crooned. “And the googly eyes are part of his personality. They’re unique, don’t you think?”

  Leda stared at the dog like he belonged in the trash. She wasn’t an animal person, unless they walked on two legs and had a steady stream of cash for cupcakes. For them, she’d turn cartwheels to entertain. “What do you call him?”

  “Killer.” Leda’s jaw dropped and I laughed. “No, actually his name is Frank. And he’s pocket-sized.” I swung the dog around to rest against my hip and struck a pose, in a plain white button-down tank top and khakis. “Don’t you think he completes my outfit? I could look like one of those Parisian women at fashion week. Does my dog match my slacks?”

  Leda wasn’t too keen on my sense of humor. She pointed a sharp finger in warning. “Keep him away from the cupcakes. But I’m glad you decided to protect yourself, really I am, because who knows what kinds of things that fellow has on his mind after being in jail. Though...a dog? Impetuous of you. And he’s drooling all over the floor.”

  My gaze dropped to the line of spittle wending down the length of my pants to the tile. Oh well, there were certain adjustments to be made. Dark-colored clothing being one of them.

  “I’m fine, Leda,” I assured her, resisting the urge to wipe. “I have a decisive strategy of action regarding Isaac and I plan on following through. He’s nothing I can’t handle. Thanks for worrying about me. And I’ve grown quite fond of Frank in the hour we’ve had to bond, so no worries there either.” My voice I’d trained to sound as confident as I felt. I always did better with a plan. “Now tell me. How did things go with the baby shower cake?”

  She eyed me like she wasn’t sure of my sanity, and was certainly considering another tidal wave of warning where Isaac was concerned. But she refrained, thank goodness.

  We passed the rest of the day quickly, with companionable banter flowing between us and the air filled with the echoes of Frank’s snaps and growls. He stayed in my office on his hastily purchased pet bed while I worked, greeting customers—me, not the dog—and putting the finishing touches on a three-layer angel food cake. Each time the bells above the door jingled, my heart sputtered. Every light-haired male was potentially Isaac. Any man with a wide roll of shoulders had bile rising in my throat at the thought of having our sit-down talk. Heaven forbid any of them have a layer of stubble on their chin and a razor-sharp gaze.

  At the end of the day, I gathered the pup close and locked the back door. A careful glance around assured me I was alone. Main Street traffic was steady, with folks in a rush to make their way home after work. The backfire of a pickup had me whirling around, hand pressed to my rapidly beating heart.

  “Get a grip on yourself,” I admonished, marching toward the car, dog bouncing in my arms. “You can’t be nervous around every pickup.”

  That sort of phobia would leave me paralyzed, since the vast number of farms in the area ensured an endless supply of vehicles with four-wheel drive and spattered with mud. Throughout the day, I’d recognized the telltale sound of a truck without a muffler. The same kind of crank and groan Isaac’s truck had made in high school. I wasn’t saying Isaac and his vehicle were stalking me, but it kept my hackles in vertical status.

  I rounded to the front curb where my car sat parallel parked. The key fob beeped and the doors unlocked.

  “I mean, come on, just because Isaac is in town doesn’t mean he’s circling the building. Waiting for the right moment to strike.” I stopped, turning around for another quick perusal of the area. Wishing I had someone to give me an all-clear signal. Where were the flares when I needed them?

  Frank burrowed into the passenger seat as though he’d ridden in the car his entire life. Staring at his drooling muff, I wondered what had gotten into me. I wasn’t an impetuous person by nature. I preferred my life with neat structure and routine. Ruts may bother some people, but I found the order comforting. Chaos was the root of all evil.

  What in the blue blazes of oblivion had possessed me to adopt a dog on a whim?

  I turned the key in the ignition and, with a glance in the rearview mirror, pulled out into the street. Darkness came earlier these days. Summer wound slowly into fall and leaves began their trip toward death, some still clinging tenaciously to their limbs. Fall meant new school years, trips to the pumpkin patch and corn maze, and breaking out my collection of scarves.

  I thought of all the new flavors I could explore for cakes and cookies. For some, autumn was an end. An end to summer fun. An end to warm days and long nights. To me it was a chance for rebirth. There were opportunities to incorporate different vegetables into my desserts. Squash and pumpkin and rhubarb. Ugh, the garden. This evening should have been spent weeding instead of taking my sweet time at the shop. The delay pushed my schedule back several days. Which meant I’d have to pull double time tomorrow to catch up.

  Frank grumbled low in his throat, tiny front paws pressed against the passenger window and ears perked. I soothed him with a hand. “What do you see, bud?”

  More than likely he was overkill. He’d be a consummate pain in my ass until we both learned to live with each other. Although...did I feel better with some gnashing teeth at my side? Even tiny gnashing teeth? You betcha. I was good enough at multitasking to see the benefits, even when Leda did not.

  The flash of headlights bounced off my mirrors and I squinted against the glare. The huge silver SUV came out from around a corner, pulling close behind me until I could no longer see the front license plate. So far up my rear I could practically smell the driver’s breath.

  I released a long exhale. “Jesus, go around me.” Leaning an arm out the window, I motioned for them to go around as we approached the passing lane.

  I spared a glance behind to make sure the offender with a lousy muffler wasn’t Isaac, and didn’t recognize the truck. There were two classes of people in this town—those who preferred to speed along like Grandma in her wheelchair, and demons who were apparently practicing for the Indy 500. Tailgaters in giant trucks abounded, most likely making up for small genitalia.

  I chuckled at my own joke. But another glance in my rearview mirror squelched the humor. This guy was takin
g tailgating to the next level. I wasn’t ready to discard the small genitalia thought.

  The driver slowed and put a good twenty feet between us. I gave a sigh of relief. Then he darted forward and cut over to pass, keeping half the truck in my lane and gunning the engine. I jerked my arm inside before it could be snapped off at the elbow, swerving closer to the shoulder to avoid a collision. Through the highly illegal tinted windows, I swore I caught the flash of a cowboy hat on the driver’s side.

  I shook my fist once before gripping the wheel, white-knuckled. “Asshole!”

  The other driver couldn’t hear me, but it didn’t matter. Saying the word aloud helped. I slowed to a crawl, narrowly avoiding the vehicle when he swerved back to the right side of the road without a blinker signal.

  “Some people need to have their licenses revoked,” I said to the dog. “They don’t belong behind the wheel.”

  Pulse flying faster than a mouse’s, I kept my eyes focused on the lines and my speed constant. Fear built in a vacant center of my skull. Alarm gushed from my pores in a distressed sweat.

  The dog whined, moving to the window to peer out again. I didn’t dare turn to stare at him. Not when the nut job was still gunning it ahead of me. The last of the sunlight filtered through the trees, the purple glow of evening causing shadows to dance along the macadam. Too nice an evening to be mowed down by a maniac.

  I willed my heart to slow and steady territory, thinking instead on the sweets I had brought for book club. Every week we kept the tradition, giving everyone the chance to broaden their literary horizons and discuss them among friends. There was comfort in the continuity. And they were going to love the mini éclairs I’d whipped up for the occasion.

  Better to focus on the éclairs than on becoming road kill.

  The truck took a sudden right turn with a screech of tires. Only when the roar of the engine faded did I feel my shoulders drop, a release of tension I hadn’t been aware of until the ache set in.

  “You can relax now, Frank,” I said, raking a hand through my hair. “The asshole is gone.”