Can't Hurry Love

by Melinda Curtis

  “Eileen…” Drew chased the perp. “When I catch that pig, I’m taking it to the Bodine Meat Company.”

  “You can’t eat Rosie,” Eileen whined and followed him inside, closing the door behind her.

  “I like bacon.” And he hated chaos, especially spring-thaw madness that upset his sister.

  Rosie banked into the kitchen, stumbling over one of two upended kitchen chairs. Squealing, she circled back to the living room, veering toward Drew.

  He jumped onto the sofa, hauling Eileen with him. “Why is this pig hell-bent on knocking us over?”

  “She’s overweight. The fat in her cheeks means she can’t open her eyes.” Eileen was the kind of athlete to sit in right field picking dandelions. She lost her balance on the cushion and stumbled against the wall. “It helps to cover her in a jacket or a blanket.”

  He was supposed to swaddle three hundred pounds of panic? “I need something to throw over her. Give me that.” Drew held out his hand, keeping an eye on the pig, who was completing a second lap, crashing into the stove.

  “No.” Eileen snatched up the gold-colored afghan and held it to her chest. “Grandma Lucille made this for me.”

  “I’ll have to tase her.” Drew reached for his Taser.

  Eileen swatted his hand away. “You’ll do no such thing.”

  He recognized that voice. His sister had made her decision. If he didn’t abide by it, she’d do something foolish. Something worse than bringing a blind, high-strung pig into her home. Rosie would need to be calmed down in a humanitarian way without damage to Grandma Lucille’s afghan. “Tell me you have no emotional attachment to the tablecloth over there.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer. He made a run for it because the pig was playing bumper cars with the couch. At least Rosie was consistent. She kept running her circuit. Drew was able to grab the tablecloth and cover her with it as she ran out of the kitchen. The tablecloth hooked on her snout and trailed behind her like a rose-colored cape.

  “Eileen, she’s not stopping.”

  “Um…” Eileen’s cheeks flamed. “You have to give her a hug too.”

  “A hug?” Drew stood in the center of the house, turning with the circling pig as if she were a horse and he had her on a lunge line. “I think I’d rather tase her.”

  “Drew…”

  “Fine. I’ll hug her.” He shook his finger at his sister. “But you owe me. You owe me big.”

  When Rosie circled her way out of the kitchen, Drew tackled her, dragging her down to the hardwood floor and his lap. It was like being on the bottom of a dog pile. And yet the beast’s legs kept moving as if she was still running.

  “You’re too rough.” Eileen was at Rosie’s side instantly, cooing and stroking the pig beneath the blanket.

  Drew grunted. “Is this what you had in your SUV Sunday morning? Is this why you swerved on the road?”

  “Don’t play detective.”

  “Answer the question, or I’ll tell your landlord.” Tom Bodine, the largest landowner in Sunshine, the owner of Bodine Meat Company.

  The pig didn’t like either of their tones. She squealed and did the sideways running man. Drew held on tight, ruing the fact that his mother hadn’t given birth to more than one sensible child.

  “Yes,” Eileen cooed, practically singing her words. “Rosie rammed my seat back, and I swerved. Are you happy now?”

  “No.” But thank heavens she hadn’t been at the intersection near the interstate when it happened, the one where Scotty and Randy had died. The pig’s legs didn’t slow, and Drew’s legs were growing numb. “How long do we have to stay like this?”

  “Lower your voice.” Eileen cooed at the large ham sandwich as if it were a beautiful baby. “Just a few more minutes.”

  Rosie didn’t want to settle. She’d worked herself up into a royal state the way Becky used to do when she was overly tired and stuck on scream mode. Back then, he’d buckled her in her car seat and played the soundtrack from Beauty and the Beast on full volume.

  “You need to sing,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  Rosie squealed.

  “Sing a lullaby. Or a Christmas carol or something.” If being a parent had taught Drew anything, it was that pride was less important than a happy child. When Eileen didn’t start singing, Drew did. He sang “Hush, Little Baby” and “Baby Mine.” He sang “Silent Night” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” He was about to start “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” when Eileen stopped him.

  “She’s all better. Aren’t you, Rosie?” Eileen stood, removed the tablecloth, and helped the pig stand. She led it into the kitchen, where she stroked its face and told it to sit.

  Drew stayed where he was, letting his numb legs tingle back to life.

  The pig rested on its haunches, as well-behaved as any dog. Except most dogs didn’t do this much damage. Overturned furniture, spilled litter box, broken picture frames.

  “Mom is not going to be happy.” She’d convinced Tom Bodine to rent the house to Eileen without a security deposit.

  “You wouldn’t tell her.” Eileen’s eyes were huge.

  “I don’t need to tell her. She always stops by unannounced.” Drew got to his feet and picked up a family photo from when Becky was born. The glass was cracked over Drew’s grinning face. “This pig isn’t a house pet. Tell me you’re not keeping it permanently.”

  Eileen set a plastic child gate between the kitchen cabinets and a wall, a configuration that would be about as effective at stopping a runaway hog as a bedsheet hung on a clothesline. His sister was always making houses out of straw.

  “You run an animal shelter.” He reinforced the child gate with a kitchen chair. “I can drive Rosie there.”

  “You can’t.” Eileen sniffed. “I have some dogs I’m working with who won’t stop barking at her. They gave Rosie a nervous breakdown.”

  “So you’re keeping her here?” Drew gestured to the remains of Eileen’s home. “Now I’m having a nervous breakdown.”

  Eileen lifted her chin. “She’ll be fine once she loses weight.”

  “If she loses weight.” And it wasn’t as if she was going on a cleanse. There was an extra-large dog bowl on the kitchen counter.

  “Why can’t you ever support what I do?” Eileen’s big brown eyes filled with tears.

  Rosie snuffled.

  Eileen knelt and hugged her, promising her everything would be all right.

  Drew took in the destruction in Eileen’s small house. And then he looked at Eileen’s paper-thin T-shirt and her tennis shoes with slick soles. She needed to get a real job, a real life, and a real plan for the future. But first, she needed to rescue this overweight, overly sensitive pig.

  “She can’t see the threats around her,” Eileen said softly, petting Rosie like she would a dog. “And that upsets her. She needs to be confident in her surroundings. I can adopt her out if she loses some weight.”

  Eileen had always been the sensitive one in the bunch. The peacemaker. The sister who went without if there was too little to go around. The one most deserving of Wonderful status year-round.

  Drew knew Eileen wanted to save the world. And he supposed it wouldn’t kill him to help her save this corner of it.

  One pig at a time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I never should have agreed to the bake sale,” Lola mumbled to herself as she ran inside the school gymnasium with a box of baked goods. The gym served as the town’s multipurpose center, home of basketball games, town hall meetings, and Widows Club fund-raisers.

  It was less than two hours after the viewing ended. Bitsy’s recipe had been complicated, more fitting for a team of veteran bakers than an inexperienced one. Lola had struggled with the frosting’s consistency. It probably hadn’t helped that she’d had to apply frosting while the cupcakes were still warm.

  Before she’d left home, she’d impulsively decided to wear the turquoise necklace from Randy’s stash over her zebra-print dress in case Ma
ry Margaret, Tiffany, or Darcy came to the bake sale. She didn’t immediately see the trio but the gym was crowded; tables snaked their way back and forth across the basketball court. Mims was selling water on the stage at the far end.

  “I’m here.” Lola slid on her heels behind the table between Wendy’s and Bitsy’s.

  “Good. Let me be the first to buy one of those red-velvet chocolate snowballs.” Bitsy wrinkled her brow at the boot box Lola had used to transport her goods. It didn’t stop her from putting a five-dollar bill on Lola’s table. She took one of the smooshed cupcakes from the corner.

  “Shoot.” Lola took in the fancy tablecloths on Bitsy’s and Wendy’s tables, their elaborate decorations, and their coordinated napkins and paper plates. “I didn’t realize we were decorating too.” She was new to the charity biz, and it showed.

  “People are only here for the food.” Wendy should talk. She had a line at least ten deep. She might have been a whiz at baking but her hair could use some help. It was nearly as limp as Mrs. Eastlake’s had been.

  Lola’s fingers itched to repay Wendy’s kindness with a complimentary haircut and style.

  “I suspected you might not know about table dressing.” Bitsy had Lola covered. She’d brought two of everything and had Lola’s table decorated in no time.

  Lola couldn’t thank her enough. Now if only her cupcakes tasted better than they looked, everything would be fine.

  “Cupcakes!” Becky skipped toward Lola, having added a child’s belt to her outfit. The sword she’d found at the thrift store swung from it.

  Drew and his mother trailed behind her. They seemed to be having a strained conversation. It was hard to hear when the crowd was thick enough to bump elbows.

  Drew stopped where Wendy’s and Lola’s tables met. His uniform was streaked with dirt, and one pocket was torn. He eyed Lola’s cupcakes suspiciously. “Why do your cupcakes look so…gloopy?”

  “Like you’ve never eaten my gloop before.” His mother checked out Lola’s cupcakes from where she stood at the back of Wendy’s line. “And you liked it.”

  “You’ll like Lola’s cupcakes,” Bitsy said to Drew.

  “I think I heard somewhere that coconut is supposed to gloop.” Lola wished that were true. She’d had a lot of trouble mixing the coconut and what was left of the cream cheese. There weren’t any drips or globs on Wendy’s frosting. Her Bundt cakes looked professionally made. “Besides, I’ve heard if it looks too pretty to eat, it probably doesn’t taste good.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Lola wanted to snatch them back. “No offense, Wendy.”

  “None taken,” Wendy said cheerfully.

  Wendy had no reason for the grumps. She had a lengthy line and was busy slicing. A couple of people had brought Tupperware and bought two slices.

  Lola had only one person in her line. “Go ahead.” She handed Becky a cupcake. “Take one. On me.”

  “There is no gifting,” Bitsy said primly between selling bags of fudge. Her line was half that of Wendy’s but doing a brisk business nonetheless. “All proceeds go to help build a new fence around the Little League outfield.”

  “Becky only needs one dessert.” Drew took a half step toward the Bundt-cake line.

  “Cupcakes are messy.” Wendy had a rhythm—collect money, slice, serve, collect money, slice, serve. “No offense, Lola.”

  “None taken.” Because it was only what Lola deserved after what she’d said.

  Becky licked the cupcake’s frosting. “Mmmm. Yummy.”

  Lola grinned. Drew’s daughter was officially her favorite person in Sunshine.

  “Rebecca Maureen Taylor.” Drew’s voice rose above the crowd. “Did I give you permission to eat that?”

  Traffic around their tables slowed. Wendy froze midslice.

  Becky took one look at her father’s face and set the cupcake down, wiping trails of white frosting on her pink-flowered blouse. “Sorry.”

  And Drew called Lola wound too tight? She rubbed the turquoise pendant. Maybe it was time someone told the sheriff what to do.

  “Now, normally,” Lola said in a voice sweetened by justice, “I’d say it’s okay to put it back, but if you taste it, your dad kind of needs to buy it.” Lola nudged the cupcake toward the girl and smiled. “Which means you get to finish it. Pay up, Sheriff.”

  “Let’s have Becky taste Wendy’s Bundt cake and decide which one we buy.” Drew guided Becky toward the end of the Bundt-cake line. “What?” he said when his mom gave him a disapproving look.

  Susie Taylor shook her head. Drew’s mother was probably a customer of Barbara Hadley. There was no gray showing in her shoulder-length warm-brown hair. “We’ll talk about this when we get home.”

  “Are you going to ground me?” Drew chuckled, a sound nearly swallowed by the crowd.

  Susie crossed her arms over her chest and turned away. She was ahead of him in line.

  “Looks like you’re in trouble, Sheriff,” Lola taunted.

  Becky giggled, which made Lola feel great until she realized no one was stopping at her table. She’d need some master salesmanship to get things started.

  “These cupcakes are awesome,” Lola said at megaphone volume. “Right, Bitsy?” Lola gestured toward the cupcake the older widow had taken. And then she gestured again, because she had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to sell any cupcakes and she’d have to stand here for an hour, watch Wendy’s Bundt cakes disappear, and smile as if it didn’t matter.

  Bitsy looked at Lola the way you did when your boss asked you how good his crappy work was. But she had game. She nibbled on the cupcake. “It’s good.”

  “That hardly seems enough to make a judgment.” Drew grinned. He was about eight back in Wendy’s line.

  “Can I finish mine?” Becky had slipped back to Lola’s table and her cupcake.

  Drew reluctantly waved his approval. Becky didn’t need to be told twice.

  “You need to pay for that cupcake.” Drew’s mom studied Lola with unabashed curiosity. “And buy yourself one too.”

  “No.” Drew’s smile disappeared. “I’m saving room for Wendy’s Bundt cake.”

  Disappointment tried to shrink Lola’s shoulders inward. Pride kept them thrust upward.

  “I’m all sold out.” Wendy shouted and threw her hands in the air as if someone had called Time! in a baking competition.

  Sold out? Lola’s jaw dropped. How had that happened?

  Lola took advantage of the situation and held a cupcake toward the rest of Wendy’s line. It was one of the prettier ones with a near-perfect swirl of coconut and cream cheese. “Get your red-velvet chocolate snowballs before they’re gone.”

  Most people in Wendy’s line moved away.

  With a sigh of defeat and a regretful glance toward Wendy’s empty cake plate, Drew reached for his wallet. “We’ll take three.” He handed over some bills and picked out two cupcakes, handing one to his mother.

  “Mmmm.” Becky’s smile revealed teeth covered in chocolate.

  Behind her table, Bitsy was sucking down water. Her cupcake was half eaten.

  “It’s gloopy,” Drew said, sounding like he’d eaten too much peanut butter. He turned to his mother, who didn’t seem able to pry her lips open.

  Lola had a gut-dropping suspicion that her cupcakes hadn’t cooked all the way.

  Bitsy sidled closer, running her tongue around her teeth and looking a tad judgmental. “Did you follow my directions?”

  “I tried to.” And based on the reactions of her customers, Lola hadn’t been successful. She lowered her voice. “Should I give them their money back?”

  Bitsy shook her head, still working her tongue around her mouth. “No refunds.”

  “We’b gotta glow,” Drew said, mouth full of gloop. He looked surprised by Lola’s cupcakes, and not in a good way. “It’s a stool knife.” Drew led his family toward the door, presumably because it was a school night. He stopped to buy water from Mims.

  People walked past Lola’s table withou
t slowing or looking her in the eye. The dull burn of being a misfit flared to life in Lola’s chest, more unsettling than the heartburn she’d gotten after that cheap Cabernet she’d drunk with Avery’s five-alarm chili last week.

  “I should go,” she told Bitsy. The widow would probably never ask her to do a fund-raiser again.

  The older woman grabbed onto Lola’s shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Nothing was ever solved by running away.” She smiled, trying to reassure Lola, but one of her top teeth was covered with chocolate.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Feeling her cheeks heat, Lola waved a hand over her mouth. “You have—”

  “What did I miss? I was passing out flyers about Frank trying to buy the block downtown. He’s determined to ruin my life. And I’m determined to stop him.” Avery ran to Lola’s side, taking in her sad-looking inventory. “What did I miss other than why your cupcakes look like a two-year-old frosted them.”

  “No one wants my gloopy cupcakes,” Lola whispered, fighting the sting of rejection. She wanted to go home.

  “It’s their loss.” Avery set a small stack of flyers in front of Lola’s display, plunked a five-dollar bill on the table, and grabbed a cupcake. “I bet they taste good.”

  Lola felt obliged to say, “You don’t have to try one.”

  “I want to.” Avery peeled back the wrapper.

  “Thank you for being such a good friend.” With five cupcakes gone, Lola’s display looked like she’d sold some, so it wasn’t a total embarrassment. If she didn’t count the peanut butter texture of her product or the cake stuck in Bitsy’s teeth.

  Which she would have told Bitsy about if her fudge business hadn’t been booming now that Wendy was sold out. Lola felt guilty every time Bitsy smiled.

  Out of desperation, Lola turned to Wendy, prepared to help her pack up her decorations. But Wendy wasn’t near ready to go. Despite having nothing to sell, she still had a line, this time with people expressing regret that they hadn’t gotten to her before she’d sold out.

  “You should have made more Bundts,” Lola said, wondering how hard it was to make one. She’d bet it was easier than red-velvet chocolate snowballs.