The Icing on the Cake

by Janice Thompson

  The waiter showed up to take our drink order, and Donny leaned my way, the overpowering scent of gasoline now taking my breath away. “I’ve always loved cake,” he said. “I’ll have to visit your place while I’m in town.”

  I lifted my napkin to my nose and pretended to dab it. “Do you enjoy shopping on the Strand?”

  “Only been down it a couple a times.” He ripped a piece of garlic bread in half and pressed a large piece in his mouth. “Don’t get down to the island much, except to fish with D.J. Spend most of my time at my truck stop in Splendora.”

  Ah. Well, that certainly explained the gasoline scent.

  “Ever heard of Donny’s Digs & Dogs?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Donny’s Digs & Dogs?”

  “Yep. It’s the best truck stop and hot dog stand south of Lufkin.” He puffed out his chest and swallowed another piece of garlic bread. “Surprised you ain’t heard of it, being from up north and all.”

  “Well, we’ve been on the island for six years,” I explained. “Hardly ever get up that way anymore.”

  Off he went on a tangent, bragging about life in the piney woods of east Texas, his drawl now thicker than the scent of gasoline, which appeared to be diminishing the longer we were together. Or maybe I was just getting used to it. Who knew.

  At that moment a familiar voice rang out. I did my best not to visibly cringe as Aunt Willy entered the room.

  “Had a devil of a time finding a place to park out there.” She swept the back of her hand through her wispy curls. “And with that wind blowing up such a storm, my hair must look a mess.”

  It did, but I would never tell her so.

  “You look like a million bucks, kid. If my opinion means anything.” The words came from Uncle Donny, who rose as she came to the table and then gestured for me to move down a seat to accommodate my aunt. She looked perplexed but took my seat with a grunt. At this point he introduced himself to her, and she sneezed. Loudly.

  I could only imagine what must be going through Aunt Willy’s mind as she laid eyes—and nose—on Donny for the first time. I could tell from her upturned nostrils that she picked up on his scent. Then again, who wouldn’t? You could smell the man coming from a mile away.

  Aunt Willy didn’t say anything, but the sneezing fit continued. Donny handed her a previously used tissue, which she rejected. She reached inside her Gucci bag and came out with a sterling silver tissue holder, one with her initials engraved on it.

  “Nice tissue holder you’ve got there,” Donny observed. “Where’d you get it?”

  She looked down her nose at him as she said, “My assistant ordered it from Tiffany’s, I believe.”

  “Cool.” He tore off another piece of bread and shoved it in his mouth, talking around it. “Wonder if they’re made in China.”

  “I sincerely doubt it.” She turned her back to him, facing me. Her eyes widened, and I could read the disgust in them. “Scarlet, you and Bella haven’t discussed Hannah’s wedding without me, have you?”

  “Oh no, ma’am,” Bella said. “Happy to talk with you about it if you’d like, but I don’t know about getting in a quiet conversation with the kids around.” She gestured to Tres, her four-year-old, and Rosa-Earline, her toddler. Auntie apparently found the noise coming from the duo annoying, at least judging from the expression on her face.

  “Perhaps this isn’t the best time,” she said. “But when you do meet, please involve me. I hate to be overlooked.” She snapped her fingers to get the waiter’s attention and muttered something under her breath about the poor service.

  “Cain’t imagine anyone could overlook you, even if they tried.” The words came from Uncle Donny, who now dipped a fresh piece of bread into a mound of butter he’d created out of several previously foil-covered pats. “Just sayin’.”

  Auntie released a slow breath and stared him down. Though she was only half his size—give or take—I honestly feared for the man’s safety. She couldn’t do him any real harm, but one glance would likely scorch his soul for a lifetime.

  Thank goodness D.J. turned the conversation to the upcoming wedding, which deterred Aunt Willy and turned us back to the reason for this visit in the first place—a fun family gathering with people who knew how to share love, albeit in a chaotic, crazy way. Kids fussing. Grown-ups arguing. Waiters delivering the wrong food items. Auntie complaining all the way.

  Yep. Just another day in paradise.

  All things considered, the meal went pretty well. Ironically, I spent most of it talking to D.J. and Armando about the church’s sound issues. Aunt Willy jabbed me with her elbow a couple of times and whispered, “Get me away from this man,” referring to Uncle Donny. He, on the other hand, looked like the cat that stole the cream every time he glanced Willy’s way, which he did repeatedly. Go figure.

  I managed to down a full plate of stuffed crabs. Armando glanced at me a couple of times as if intrigued by my willingness to shovel down so much food in front of a watching audience. Not that anyone was watching but him. And not that I cared. Okay, maybe I did.

  Dude, why do you keep looking at me? Keep your eyes in your head.

  After the meal ended, I passed off the spare bakery key to Aunt Willy, who bolted from the place like a woman possessed. Donny made a couple of comments about the engine in her BMW, then looked on, clearly intrigued, as she pulled out of the parking lot, driving faster than usual.

  Bella and I said our goodbyes, promising to meet up again later in the week. When the crowd thinned, Armando and I were left standing in the parking lot staring at one another. For the first time it occurred to me that I’d ridden with him. That meant I’d have to get back into the little red pickle jar and ride back to the bakery. Either that, or I’d have to jog all the way.

  Nah, I’d ride in the pickle jar.

  With a click of the remote, the locks popped open, and Armando opened the passenger-side door for me. With a belly full of stuffed crab, I could hardly ease my way down into the car. Had it shrunk while I was inside the restaurant? With my knees pulled up to my chest, it certainly felt smaller.

  He closed my door and came around to the other side, then took his spot behind the wheel. With a squeal of tires, we headed out onto the seawall. Lovely.

  Lord, surely this is not how you planned for me to go, right? I don’t want them to have to send the Jaws of Life to pluck my chubby body from this tiny metal cracker box of a car. Please, Lord.

  Armando turned on the radio, and a popular song blasted out. Before long I found myself humming along, more relaxed than before.

  “So, what did you think of my aunt Willy?” I asked after the song ended.

  He turned the radio down a little and gave me a wide-eyed look. “I’d say you were right to warn me. Kind of a scary old broad.”

  “Kind of.” I sighed. “But it doesn’t run in the family. That’s good, I guess.”

  “Hey, we’ve all got weird relatives. Might as well admit it.”

  “Maybe, but your aunt Rosa is normal. My aunt is . . .” I bit back all of the words that tried to force their way out.

  “Hold up a minute.” Armando glanced in the rearview mirror and then eased into the next lane. “What makes you think for one minute that my aunt Rosa is ‘normal,’ as you call it?”

  “She’s sweet and kind and—”

  He grunted. “Are you kidding me? She chases the neighbors with a broom. I thought we were going to end up in court once because of it. And she filed a lawsuit against the dry cleaner once because they messed up a blouse. The woman has a temper like you wouldn’t believe. Scary.” He pointed to his forehead. “See this spot right here? This is where she wacked me with a ladle night before last.”

  “No way.”

  “Definitely true. I went into the kitchen to get a soda and ended up sampling the garlic twists before they were done. She came after me and left a mark. Not the first time either. She used to chase me around the house as a kid.”

  “Huh?” That sto
pped me cold.

  “Yep. And she and Laz used to have a huge argument going over Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. The shouting matches lasted into the night.”

  “Arguing over Dino and Ol’ Blue Eyes?” I shuddered. “Is that a joke? Who would pick Frank Sinatra over Dean Martin?”

  Armando’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t ever let my aunt hear you say that, okay? She’ll take you down in a New York minute.”

  I swallowed hard. “O-okay.” So maybe Rosa wasn’t the soft, quaint old lady I’d pictured. Still, she was a sure sight better than my cranky old aunt, wasn’t she?

  Armando lit into a story about something Rosa had done in front of the camera crew during her most recent filming of her Food Network show, The Italian Kitchen, and I sighed. Maybe we had more in common than I knew. Maybe—just maybe—my family wasn’t the only one with a token funny girl. Funny in a “gee, she’s really something, isn’t she?” sort of way, I mean.

  My thoughts shifted back to Willy, and I almost missed Armando’s next question. He caught me on the tail end of it.

  “Did you grow up tied to the pew like my family?” he asked.

  “Tied to the pew?” I looked his way, intrigued by the question.

  “Yeah, you know—in church every time the doors were open. Forced to go to Sunday school. Sent away to church camp. You know what I mean.” He gave me a knowing look, as if all of those things were something akin to serving time in prison.

  “Well . . .” I paused to think through my answer. “I wouldn’t say I was tied to the pew, but I did grow up in church. No one forced me to do any of those things you mentioned. I enjoyed them, actually.”

  “Oh.” His mouth rounded in a perfect O. “You’re one of those girls.”

  “‘Those girls’?” I bit back the comment that threatened to erupt. “What do you mean by that?”

  “A good girl.” He spoke the words as if they were a curse, not a blessing.

  My temper rose right away. Suddenly I didn’t feel as holy as he’d implied. “Well, of course I’m a good girl. No one had to tie me to a pew to make me behave, though. For your information, I make my own decisions.”

  He turned off of the seawall onto Broadway, then glanced my way, obviously not believing me, if such a thing could be judged from the expression on his face. “Even though your dad’s a preacher?”

  “Yes. I chose to go to camp. I chose to show up on Sunday mornings. And FYI, I’m choosing to go on this missions trip to Managua. I’m looking forward to helping those kids in the orphanage.”

  “Of course you are.” He rolled his eyes. “Say no more. I know your type.”

  “Fine.” I turned my attention to the window, ready for this trip to come to its fateful end. We would find someone else to run sound. No problem. Maybe D.J. would do it. He seemed like a great guy. A Christian guy. Not the sort to make fun of us “good girls.”

  “Fine.” Armando’s voice trailed off behind me.

  As we pulled up to the church, I thought about what he had said. Well, after the steam stopped pouring from my ears. Though I knew I should turn the other cheek—in theory, anyway—right now I just wanted to give him a piece of my mind. Instead, I somehow weaseled my way out of the pickle jar, offered him a forced smile, and took off marching toward the church.

  7

  Short and Sweet

  Man cannot live on chocolate alone, but woman sure can.

  Author unknown

  Bella showed up at the bakery later that day to talk about Hannah’s wedding. Well, in theory, anyway. She really wanted to grill me about my time with Armando. Go figure. Thank goodness Kenny was already gone for the day. I’d sent him off at four o’clock when he mentioned getting a haircut. Bella joined me in the back room as I put my baking pans away.

  “You’re being evasive, Scarlet.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her gaze, as if trying to get me to open a vein and spill out every thought in my head.

  “Evasive?” I shoved a stack of round cake pans in the cupboard and then focused on her. “How so?”

  “You need to tell me how it went with my brother.”

  “He agreed to run sound for the event. He’s even loaning us his soundboard. And he’s talking about putting us in touch with someone who can rent out a lightboard really cheap. So I think we’re good to go.” I climbed down from the little step stool and offered a weak smile, knowing my words would likely not satisfy her.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.” She gave me a knowing look. “I’m glad he can help you with the fund-raiser, but I’m dying to know what you thought of him as a person.”

  Yeah, I knew, all right. She was asking, “When are you two going to get married and have a few kids?” Only, I didn’t plan to ever marry him. Never in a billion years. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I could make it through this fund-raiser event with him involved, though I certainly planned to try.

  “As a person, he’s . . .” I struggled to come up with the right words. “He’s a guy.”

  “Well, of course he’s a guy,” she said. “And a handsome one at that, if you don’t mind my saying so. Even more so now that he’s shaved off that ridiculous goatee.” She paused. “Of course, you didn’t see him with the goatee, so I don’t suppose you’d see the difference. But you’ll have to trust me when I say you’re seeing the cleaned-up version.”

  Hmm.

  “Right. Well, Bella, I really don’t think you need to try to set me up with—”

  “Were there sparks?” Her eyes shimmered, and she appeared to slip away to a far-off place. “The first time I met D.J., there were sparks. Big ones.” A girlish giggle followed. “Of course, when I met D.J., there were all sorts of things happening at once. We met over a misunderstanding.” She dove into the story of the day she’d met the love of her life but lost me somewhere around the point where she mentioned “the forever kind of love.”

  How could I tell her the truth without offending her? The only sparks I’d felt around Armando were the kind fueled by my irritation at the stupid things he’d said just before dropping me off at the church. Had he really called me “one of those girls”? What was wrong with being a good church girl, anyway? He spoke the words like some sort of disease.

  Ugh. Anger rose up inside me as I remembered our conversation all over again. Jerk.

  Bella continued rambling, clearly oblivious to my true feelings. Then again, I hadn’t managed to get them out, had I?

  When she paused for breath, I smiled weakly. “I’m sorry to break this to you, Bella, but Armando’s really not my type.”

  Her smile faded. “What’s your type?” she asked, tiny frown lines now creasing her forehead. “Not Kenny, right?”

  I paused to think about that. “If you’d asked me a few months ago, I might’ve said Kenny was my type. He was raised in church. His parents are good friends with my parents. We’re like-minded in every way that matters—spiritual, emotional, everything.” And certainly more suited than your brother and I will ever be.

  “Sounds like you two are a match made in heaven. Maybe I misjudged the situation.” Bella shrugged. “But . . .”

  “But we don’t have a lot of chemistry.” I paused again. “Well, as friends we do. He’ll always be a close friend. And a great confidant. I know he cares about me. But there’s got to be more to it than that.”

  “Do you mind if I tell you a story, Scarlet?” she asked. “It won’t take very long.”

  When I shook my head, she lit into a lengthy tale about how different she and D.J. were, about how the Lord had taken their differences and used them to merge two completely opposite worlds. I didn’t want to get pulled into her tale, but I found it impossible to resist. Sounded like something from a movie script.

  “He’s a cowboy from Splendora, and I’m an Italian girl originally from Jersey—transplanted on Galveston Island as a kid.” Bella spoke with great animation. “We met by accident—at least, that’s what most would say—but I truly believe it was a divine meeting
.” Her gaze narrowed, and she leaned forward as if to share this as a secret between the two of us.

  “Wow.”

  “Yep. And we’re as different as night and day. Different ideas. Different denominations. Different styles. You name it. But instead of butting heads, we just learned to celebrate our differences.”

  “And your kids? How do you figure out which world to offer them?”

  She shrugged. “They get the best of both. They have a daddy who loves NASCAR, hunting, fishing, and Texas two-steppin’. They have a mama who teaches them Italian and shares her love of great cooking. And speaking of food, they’re pasta fanatics but love a good plate of barbecue too. It’s really the best of both worlds.”

  “Lucky kids.”

  “Blessed kids. I sometimes think how boring it would be if I’d married someone my parents had chosen.” She shivered. “You know I was practically engaged to someone else once upon a time, right? Tony.”

  “Your sister’s husband? That handsome movie star lookalike with the thick, wavy hair?”

  “Yep.” Her nose wrinkled as if the whole idea disgusted her. “We dated for years before I met D.J. And I really, really tried to make it work. I’m not sure if I can convey just how hard I tried.”

  “Oh, I get it, trust me.” Kenny, I want to love you. You’re such a great guy. But I just can’t.

  Bella sighed. “I had a feeling you would get it. Like I said, I tried to love Tony, but in my heart I knew better. He wasn’t the guy for me. I needed someone . . . different.” The edges of her lips curled up in a delicious smile. “I needed D.J. He’s the one I was waiting for, except I never knew it until he came into my life.” She leaned in to whisper, “And by the way, I even had a chance to date Brock Benson once. Not a lot of people know that.”

  “W-what?” Was she serious? Brock hotter-than-the-sun Benson? Last season’s Dancing with the Stars champion and my all-time favorite movie star? I felt faint at the very idea. Seeing him at last year’s Dickens on the Strand parade had been the highlight of my life.