“Ah.” So that was what we were really talking about here. “Uncle Donny.”
“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “I know his type. He’s a good old boy.” She stressed the last three words, and her wrinkled brow shared her opinion.
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked. “Good. Old. Boy. Three very positive words, I’d say.”
“Not when they’re strung together. You obviously don’t know the type of man I’m referring to, Scarlet, which is why I felt the need to drive all the way to Galveston Island to fill you in. You need to be warned so you don’t fall prey.”
“Wait—fall prey? And . . . type?”
“Yes, Scarlet. Type. He’s the kind of man who . . .” She shook her head. “Oh, never mind.”
“No, tell me. I’m trying to understand.”
She crossed her arms at her chest and stared at me. “A good old boy is anything but. He’s usually a bad old boy.”
“How so?”
“Scarlet, you’re far too naïve.”
“I am?” Was she saying that because I hadn’t dated much? “It’s really not my fault, Auntie. My sticky buns have been a deterrent. You’ve said so yourself. Besides, being naïve isn’t a bad thing. May I live to be a hundred and still have some degree of naïveté. Hope I never lose it, in fact.”
She’d just opened her mouth to respond when the front door jingled, and I heard a strangely familiar voice call out a twangy “Yoo-hoo! Anybody here?” from the bakery.
Aunt Willy’s eyes widened, and she gasped. “Th-that’s him.”
Yep. It was him, all right. Uncle Donny in the flesh. The kink in our plans.
I heard Kenny greet him, and laughter rang out across the bakery as he called out for me to join them.
“See, Aunt Wil—Wilhelmina?” I said with a smile. “He’s a great guy. He’s a lot of fun.”
She shook her head.
“Well, I can’t keep him waiting. No point in being rude.” I headed back out into the bakery, thinking she would follow me. She did not. Seconds later I stood in front of the glass cases with Uncle Donny’s arms wrapped around me in a bear hug. He still reeked of gasoline, but in his Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, it wasn’t as strong as before. Besides, I found myself so distracted by his tube socks and sandals that the gas smell no longer affected me.
“Scarlet, I was next door having lunch when Armando told me I needed to come by for some cheesecake. He swears it’s the best on the island, even better than—” Donny grinned and pulled off his cap to run his fingers through thinning hair. “Shoot. Better not say it out loud. Rosa might find out.”
“Oh? Armando told you my cheesecake was good?” I’d have to thank him later.
“Yep.” Donny plopped his cap back into place, then leaned forward and stared through the glass cases. “He told me I needed to sample all of your wares and take some trays of goodies back to my place in Splendora. What do you think about them apples?”
“Really? You want to sell my baked goods in your gas station?”
He turned slowly and faced me. “Honey, Donny’s Digs & Dogs ain’t no gas station. Not a traditional one, anyway. It’s a full-service rest stop for travelers. We’ve got great food, great service, and the cleanest restrooms for miles.” His gaze traveled back to the glass cases. “And we’re about to have the best baked goods too. If you’ll make up a few trays for me to sell, that is. I think my customers are gonna love ’em!”
This managed to draw Auntie out of the kitchen. Nothing like a little business transaction to get the old gal past her fear of good old boys, even good old boys who wore funky socks and reeked of gasoline.
Funny how that smell went away after a while. I hardly noticed it anymore.
Uncle Donny took one look at my sour-faced aunt and his lips curled into a delightful smile. When she approached, he took her hand and gave it a little kiss. “Well now,” he said. “This is a pleasant surprise. So very lovely to see you again, sweet lady.”
“If we’re talking business, I’m in.” She pulled her hand back. “I’m the backbone behind Scarlet’s business.”
“I see.” Donny waggled a brow in playful fashion. “You’re the backbone. Well, ain’t that the best news in the world, then.”
Depends on who you ask, I guess.
Thank goodness I didn’t speak the words aloud. Still, as Aunt Willy dove into a lengthy conversation with the man about my new role as provider of baked goods to the town of Splendora, I couldn’t help but sigh. By the end of their little chat, she’d agreed—on my behalf, of course—on the number of trays, the content thereof, and the percentage Donny could keep from the proceeds. Go figure. All of this while I stood idly by, leaning against one of the glass cases and contemplating jumping off a pier into the Gulf of Mexico.
Before he left, Uncle Donny looked my way and offered a little wink. “Glad to be doing business with you, girlie.”
Lovely. Looked like I had another new business partner. Just what I needed to pull the noose a little tighter around my neck.
Then again, I wasn’t sure if Donny was talking to me or Aunt Willy. What did it matter, really? When you did business with one, you did business with the other, right?
Why that revelation suddenly left me feeling a hundred pounds heavier, I couldn’t say. I suddenly had the desire to bake—and eat—a dozen sticky buns all by myself. And then, just for fun, I might have to chase them down with a slice of cheesecake.
9
A Lot on My Plate
Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon.
Dalai Lama
Less than an hour after Willy left, Kenny headed off to make a cake delivery. The afternoon crowd died down, and I found myself alone in the kitchen, doing what I loved best: baking. Something about mixing up the batter, pouring it into those freshly greased pans, watching it rise in the oven . . . made my heart sing. And all the more, since I planned to actually eat some of the sweets today. Who needed to diet, after all? Not me!
I practically danced across the kitchen, batter-covered spoon in hand. It became my microphone as I sang along with the worship music coming through the PA system overhead. No one could hear me anyway, right?
Right. Well, no one but God, and I had it on good authority he didn’t care about the quality of my singing voice, as long as I spent time making a joyful noise in his presence. No one could argue the fact that I was doing that. For a few minutes, at least.
“Who’s that lovely songbird I hear?” A familiar singsongy voice rang out from the bakery, and I stopped singing right away, a little horrified to be caught in action. How would I ever live this down?
“Sounds like an angel choir,” another familiar voice said. It took me a minute to place them, but I finally realized why the voices sounded familiar.
My heart sailed to my throat, and I quickly called out, “Be right with you!” then dropped my spoon and headed out to the bakery. I couldn’t help but smile as I saw three of my favorite ladies in the world standing there, drooling over my baked goods.
“Twila! Bonnie Sue! Jolene!” I ran to embrace the trio of buxom women, thrilled to see them. “What brings you to the island?”
“Girl, we’ve come all the way from Splendora on a mission.” Twila messed with her beehive hairdo, staring at her reflection in the glass case. After a moment, she gasped and pointed to the case’s contents. “Ooo, that’s sugar!” she squealed. “You can smell it in the air.”
“Nothing like the smell of sugar to get a girl excited,” Jolene added. She ambled over, her wide hips swaying this way and that.
“Yes, I feel like I’ve died and gone to the sweetest room heaven has to offer.” Twila giggled. “If I have, this certainly answers any lingering questions about whether or not they have sweets in heaven.”
This got a chuckle out of Jolene, who seemed overly giggly today.
The trio took several steps closer to the glass cases and peered inside. “Ooo, I’ll have three of those.” Bonnie Sue pointed to my
sticky buns. The ones inside the case, of course.
“And five of those.” Twila pointed to a tray of M&M cookies.
“I’m trying to cut back on calories and carbs.” Jolene’s nose wrinkled. “So I guess I’ll take three of those brownies. They’re low in carbs, right?”
Um, no. But thanks for asking.
Bonnie Sue looked around the shop, her brow wrinkling. “We heard that Donny was here today. Have you seen him?”
“D.J.’s uncle Donny?” I nodded, my curiosity aroused. “He was here an hour or so ago. Left to go next door to Parma John’s to visit with Armando again, I think.”
“Well, perfect! I’m hankerin’ for some pizza.” Bonnie Sue’s face lit up, and in that moment, I saw the truth. She had the hots for Uncle Donny. But surely these ladies hadn’t come all the way to Galveston to chase down a gasoline-scented good old boy. Right? Of course, they did say they were on a mission, but no one had been specific. Could it be they were avoiding the topic, fearful about my reaction?
Deep breath, Scarlet. Don’t wear your emotions on your sleeve. Just makes for a messy sleeve.
I waited on a couple more customers, then joined the ladies at a table, where they nibbled on sweets, expressions of pure joy on each face. I wanted to stop their conversation and share a piece of turtle cheesecake with them.
Twila spoke around the bites of sugary goodness. “Scarlet, as I said, we’ve come on a mission. We’re here to offer our services.”
“Services?”
“We heard about your little fund-raiser and we love the idea. We’ve always had a heart for missions work, so this is right up our alley.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” She grinned. “And I think we can help.”
“Really?” This certainly got my attention.
“Yes, Armando told us all about it.” Jolene took a teensy-tiny nibble of the brownie, then set it back down. “He said you might be able to use us.”
“We’re singers, you know.” Bonnie Sue beamed as she brushed the cookie crumbs onto a napkin. “Maybe you recall us singing at the Bing and Bob party several months back?”
“Ah yes.” I remembered it well. They were really good. Tight harmonies and everything. But why in the world would they want to join us for a fund-raiser?
“We’ve come up with the most delicious idea,” Twila said. Her gaze shifted to the glass cases. “A trade of sorts.”
“A trade?”
“Yes.” She practically drooled. “You see, I’m hosting a ladies’ luncheon at my church in Splendora next month and need some baked goods.”
“I see.” Suddenly it all made sense.
“You have a talent for baking,” she said.
“And we have a talent for singing!” Jolene threw in.
As if to emphasize their point, the three of them struck a chord and dove into “On the Good Ship Lollipop.” A customer entered the store at that very moment and stood at the bottom of the steps, obviously mesmerized as the women continued their song. On and on they went, singing in rich harmony and basically filling the bakery with joy. I loved every minute.
Apparently so did the customers. By the time the tightly wound trio ended, seven more people had entered the shop. They broke into spontaneous applause, and the Splendora ladies took a bow.
“Thank you!” Twila grinned, then turned to me, her expression serious.
“Thank you very much!” Bonnie Sue added in an admirable Elvis impersonation.
“So, what do you say, honey?” Jolene gripped my hand.
“Yes, make my day.” Twila clasped her hands together as if in prayer. “Tell me we can swap services—cake for songs.”
“Cake for songs.” I nodded. Never thought I’d see the day when I’d trade one for the other, but it seemed like a logical choice. They needed cake. I needed entertainers, and these ladies certainly fit the bill. Everyone on the island knew who they were. They’d been a big hit at Dickens on the Strand during the Christmas season. If they sang at our little fund-raiser, I might be able to involve local media. Why, sure. Someone from the paper could come and write about it: “Splendora trio lends support to small church missions team.” I could almost read the headline now.
“You’ve got it, ladies!” I said.
This, of course, got a round of applause from everyone in attendance. I waited on my customers, who seemed as excited about the possibilities as I did. A couple of them agreed to take fund-raiser flyers, and one even offered to do a little write-up in her church’s newsletter about it. Sweet!
About five minutes into an animated discussion about the fund-raiser—suggestions now flowing from all in attendance—Kenny entered. He greeted the ladies with a broad smile but quickly excused himself once they started ranting over his new do. Twila loved offering suggestions about hair products, which apparently made Kenny nervous. Well, that, and the fact that she kept touching his hair. He took off in a hurry, disappearing into the kitchen to finish the projects I’d started.
The ladies turned their attention back to me, all giggles and smiles. “Such a lovely boy,” Twila said.
“Godly young man, isn’t he?” Bonnie Sue gave me a wink.
Could you be any more obvious, ladies?
“Now, speaking of wonderful young men, Armando says your baked goods are the yummiest on the island.” Twila was all business now. “And now that I’ve tasted them for myself, I have to agree. These are the best.”
“Yes, the very best,” Bonnie Sue agreed.
“Now, we really must settle on what to serve at the tea.” Twila rose and walked to the glass cases. “Several of our ladies are on a diet, you see, so we’ll have to be careful.” She pointed at a tray to her right. “What about those little éclairs? They’re lower in calories, right?”
“Well, the whipped cream is light and fluffy,” I said. “But I’d hardly call them low-cal.” Far from it, in fact.
“Still, we can bill them as low-fat if you use light whipped cream. Okay?”
“O-okay.” I shrugged. Whatever it took to make them happy.
“Not that the rest of us are dieting.” Bonnie Sue rubbed her ample midsection and smiled. “Slimming down isn’t high on my agenda.” Her nose wrinkled. “Well, not high enough, I guess.”
Twila sighed. “I’m just so addicted to sugar.” She gazed down at the cheesecakes, a dreamy expression on her face.
From the look of pure delight on these three faces—and the earlier conversation with D.J.’s uncle Donny—I’d apparently won over the whole town of Splendora, Texas, with my sweets. And speaking of sweet . . . how sweet was it that Armando had suggested these precious ladies sing at my church’s fund-raiser? That spoke volumes to me. And the fact that he’d bragged about my baked goods? Well, that was just the icing on the cake. Suddenly I could hardly wait to see him to say thank you.
I didn’t have to wait long. Just a few seconds into the oohing and aahing, the front bell jingled and Armando raced inside. We all looked his way as he scrambled up the steps into the bakery, his face tight with worry.
“What’s wrong?” I set down the tray of goods I was holding and faced him, my heart racing.
“It’s Laz.”
The Splendora ladies gasped in unison. I could read the concern in their eyes. And in Armando’s, for that matter.
“Your uncle?” I asked.
“Yes. He and Rosa were in the middle of taping an episode of their television show when he doubled over.” Armando’s eyes flooded. “He . . . he had a heart attack.”
“Oh no.” My breath caught in my throat.
I could barely make out Armando’s next words. “The producers . . . called 911. They . . . they’ve taken him to the hospital in an ambulance.”
“Oh, that poor man.” Twila paced the room.
“That precious man of God.” Bonnie Sue looked as if she might faint. “He needs our intervention.”
“We’ve got to pray, folks.” Jolene grabbed my hand and, without even so much as a “le
t’s bow our heads,” engaged the Almighty in a passionate one-on-one, pleading for Laz’s health. When she ended, everyone in the shop—including a couple of incoming customers—ushered up a resounding “Amen!”
When we finished, Armando looked my way, his brow furrowed. “Scarlet, I hate to ask, but is there any way you could help out next door? The whole family is headed up to the hospital, and I want to go too. But we can’t close up shop just yet because there are customers eating right now. The lunch crowd will be gone soon. I just thought that maybe . . .” His eyes pleaded his case. “You’re so good with customers and I know you’ll do a great job, but I hate to put you out.”
“Say no more.” I reached to untie my apron and passed it off to Twila, who lobbed it over the glass cases.
“You sure?” Armando’s brow wrinkled.
“Yeah. Kenny!” I hollered his name, and he appeared from the back room, covered in flour.
“Yeah?”
“Can you keep an eye on things here for a while? I have to go next door.”
Kenny looked back and forth between Armando and me as if he wanted to punch Armando’s lights out. Better blow out that spark before it fanned into flame.
“Armando’s uncle Laz just had a heart attack,” I explained.
“They took him by ambulance, and I need to meet the family at the hospital,” Armando added.
Kenny nodded, a look of chagrin on his face. “Say no more.” With a wave of his hand he gestured for me to leave. “Go.”
“You sure?” I asked him.
“Yeah. Go on.” He headed to the glass cases to wait on a customer, and I took off out the front door on Armando’s heels. The three Splendora ladies tagged along behind me, chattering all the way. Twila offered her services as chief cook and dishwasher, and Bonnie Sue went on and on about how great she was waiting tables. Jolene didn’t seem as enthused, but as the three headed into Parma John’s, I knew they would join me in taking care of the restaurant.
Armando headed for his car but turned back to give me a winsome smile. “Scarlet, thank you. I’ll call the restaurant as soon as I can to let you know how he’s doing. Just see us through the end of the lunch crowd and then put up the ‘Closed’ sign.”
The Icing on the Cake Page 8
