The Icing on the Cake

by Janice Thompson

  “Is this really what you want me to do? I don’t mind staying longer.”

  “I’m sure.”

  I could see the tears in his eyes and, for the first time, really felt sorry for him.

  “Thank you so much. I really mean that. And please . . .” He seemed to hesitate. “Pray.”

  “I will. I promise. And if it’s okay with you, I’ll call my mama. She heads up a team of ladies who know how to pray the house down. They won’t stop until they’ve heard that your uncle is in perfect health.”

  That brought a smile to his face. “I’m cool with that.”

  “Go.” I gestured for him to leave. “Don’t worry about anything here. Just take care of your family. I’m sure these ladies are going to be all the help I could ever need.”

  As he sprinted away, I thought about what I’d just said. Really, in a moment of crisis like this, family was the only thing that mattered. I paused to consider what I’d do if the shoe were on the other foot—if Aunt Willy were lying in a hospital bed.

  I cringed just thinking about it. In spite of any angst I felt toward her, she was still my auntie, and I loved her. And in that moment, I felt led to pray for her as never before. In between frantic prayers for Armando’s uncle, of course. Then, with a heavy heart, I headed into Parma John’s to help hold things together.

  As I stepped inside, I realized I’d never had a chance to actually eat anything today—sweet or otherwise. Maybe when things settled down, I’d have a piece of pizza. Until then, I’d better do what I did best—take care of customers.

  10

  Well-Baked

  I don’t exactly know what it means to be ready. A cake when the oven timer goes off? Am I fully baked, or only half-baked?

  Jessica Savitch

  I spent the next few hours bouncing back and forth between Parma John’s and the bakery, where Kenny took care of a steady stream of customers. We would’ve shut the pizzeria down for the day after the lunch crowd left, but the Splendora ladies wouldn’t hear of it. Turned out they were pretty good in the kitchen. No, not just pretty good—they actually came up with a new kind of pizza, one they labeled “chipped beef on toast.” Only, it wasn’t on toast. But I had to admit, it tasted mighty good. The patrons enjoyed it too. Before day’s end, the ladies had added the new pizza to Parma John’s menu board. Go figure. Hopefully the Rossis wouldn’t mind.

  By 5:30 I was worn to a thread, but I was determined to check in on the Rossi family at the hospital. After several back-and-forth text messages, I located Bella and her kids in the surgical waiting room, her parents nearby. I could tell from her red-rimmed eyes and puffy nose that she’d been crying. She also seemed exasperated with her children, who made their presence known with tears and arguments. Little Tres was in full-out terror mode, and the toddler, Rosa-Earline, seemed more tearful than usual. And exhausted. The poor kid looked frazzled. For that matter, the whole family looked worn down and frightened.

  I took several steps in Bella’s direction and offered what I hoped would be an encouraging smile. D.J. entered the room, his hands filled with items from vending machines. Uncle Donny entered behind him, hands equally as full. Why hadn’t I offered to bring dinner from the restaurant? Ugh! I should have done that.

  As they drew near, I noticed the familiar smell of gasoline emanating from Uncle Donny. That, coupled with the worry lines on the fella’s forehead, proved to be a momentary distraction.

  “Has he come out of surgery yet?” Donny handed Bella a Diet Coke and a bag of chips.

  Bella shoved the chips into the empty spot on her chair, then shook her head as she opened the soda. “No, but I’m trying not to worry. Just stepped away from Aunt Rosa for a few minutes to give her some space.”

  I knew there was more to it than that. She didn’t want to let Rosa see her in tears. I didn’t blame her. From what I’d just witnessed, the whole family was pretty shook up. No doubt. Though I hadn’t known the Rossis long, they clearly stuck together.

  Well, all but one. I still found it weird that Armando didn’t quite fit into the family puzzle like the others. The resident bad boy seemed determined to hang on the outer perimeter.

  Or maybe not. Minutes later he appeared, worry lines etched on his brow. Rosa entered the room seconds later, and Armando went straight to her and wrapped her in his arms, mumbling something in Italian. I tried to make it out, but my Scottish heritage did me no good there.

  Armando glanced up. His concern seemed to vanish when he saw me. He stepped toward me. “Scarlet.” His eyes brimmed. “I’m glad you’re here. How did it go at the restaurant?”

  “Perfect. Nothing to worry about.”

  “I knew you’d do great.” He flashed an encouraging smile.

  “Actually, Twila, Bonnie Sue, and Jolene did great. I just helped. Hey, and speaking of the Splendora ladies, they’re going to be up here in a few minutes. I think they wanted to stop at the store to pick up a little gift for Rosa or something.”

  “They’re so sweet.” Bella sighed and took a swig of her drink, then ripped open her bag of chips. “Everyone is.”

  I settled into the empty seat next to her and leaned closer, lowering my voice as I asked the first question on my mind. “How is he?”

  She sighed. “They took him in to do some sort of procedure.” She blinked back tears. “I honestly had no idea he was even sick. No one knew. He acted . . . fine.” Now the tears flowed.

  I slipped my arm over her shoulder. “He looked great at the restaurant yesterday.”

  “Yeah, that’s just it. And he was right in the middle of filming an episode of their show.” She paused. “I guess I should be thanking God that he’s okay and that we live so close to a great hospital.”

  “Of course. But I totally understand why you’re nervous. I would be.” A shiver ran down my spine as I thought about how I might react should something like this happen to one of my parents.

  “You want to take a walk?” She gestured to the hallway, and I rose to follow on her heels. When we rounded the corner, she looked at me and shrugged. “Just needed to get away for a minute.”

  “I understand.”

  “Did you know your dad came by earlier?” A hint of a smile turned up the edges of her lips.

  “No.” I love you, Dad. Thank you for being such an amazing man.

  “He’s great, Scarlet. I’ll bet he’s an awesome pastor.”

  “We’re very proud of him. And yes, he’s an awesome pastor. Everyone thinks so. Not your usual contemporary type, but solid as a rock.”

  “That was obvious. He prayed with Rosa. Really seemed to calm her down.” Bella glanced her aunt’s way. “It’s been such a hard day for her. If you had any idea what she’s been through to get to this point with Laz . . .” Bella’s frown lifted for a moment, and she appeared to be deep in thought. “They were enemies for years, you know. Couldn’t stand each other.”

  “No way.”

  “Yeah. Talk about opposites. And Uncle Laz was a pain, let me tell you. But I knew in my heart they were a perfect couple. That’s what all the angst was about—unrequited love.” She sighed.

  I felt like sighing as well.

  “The past few years, since they figured it out, have been great.” Bella lowered her voice. “Though they still fight like cats and dogs, which is why people love their show so much. They don’t hold back.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen their show. It’s one of my favorites. Love all the sparring.”

  “Well, that sparring is what has Rosa feeling so guilty right now. She’s convinced the bickering somehow played into Laz’s heart attack. Like maybe he got all worked up and it triggered this reaction or something.”

  “What do the doctors say?”

  “He’s had some sort of blockage for a while, I guess. No one knew. But Rosa also feels bad because their diet has been, well . . .” Bella shrugged. “We’re Italian. You know? Lots of cheese. And carbs. And tiramisu.” She sighed. “Looks like that’s going to have t
o change. From now on the Rossis will be on a high-fiber, low-fat diet.”

  “Then whatever you do, don’t order the new item that Twila, Bonnie Sue, and Jolene put on the menu at Parma John’s.”

  “Oh?”

  I shook my head. “Just trust me on this, okay?” I paused for a moment, thinking through what she’d said about Rosa and Laz’s television show.

  “I’m just wondering how this will affect their show,” Bella said. “Viewers expect to see them make the foods they actually eat at home, and they assume that’ll be traditional Italian fare. You know?”

  “Yes, but they’re also compassionate and they’ve fallen in love with your aunt and uncle, which means the viewers will want what’s best for them. So I’m sure everyone will understand if there’s a necessary change in the show’s format. They’ll appreciate it, even. Most people these days are working hard to get in shape.”

  Okay, not me, exactly. But most people.

  “The viewers . . .” Bella sighed. “That’s another thing. My aunt and uncle still have shows to record. Thank goodness Aunt Rosa has friends to call on.” Bella reached to squeeze my hand. “Like you! You could take over one episode for her. I know that would be a huge relief.”

  “I . . . I could?”

  “Sure. And speaking of which, Rosa wants to talk to you about something pretty important. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Right now?” I couldn’t imagine she wanted to chat now.

  “Yeah. I think she would feel better if she could get this behind her.”

  My curiosity was aroused, for sure. Bella led the way back to the waiting room, and I walked up to her aunt, who looked my way and then offered a weak smile. “Scarlet. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m just sorry it’s under these circumstances.” I took her extended hand and gave it a squeeze, then pulled her into an embrace. “I’ve been praying all day, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” She gave a little sniffle and reached for a tissue. “Please don’t stop.”

  “I won’t. And my mama’s got half our church praying too.”

  “Thank you. I feel sure he’s going to be fine. No doubt about it.” Her wrinkled brow clued me in to the fact that she wasn’t completely sure, but I offered an encouraging nod. She gazed into my eyes with greater intensity than before. “In the meantime, I need to ask a favor, honey.”

  “A favor?”

  “Yes. I really have no choice, you see.”

  She gestured for me to take the seat next to her, so I did. “No choice?” I echoed.

  “Yes. You’re the only one I could think of who might be able to help me. I have quite the dilemma on my hands.”

  “I see.” Only, I didn’t. Not yet, anyway.

  A lingering pause followed on her end. “Laz and I are scheduled to be on a cake competition in a few weeks. It’s being filmed in Los Angeles. The network set it up months ago, and we’ve been looking forward to it for ages.”

  My heart skipped a beat at the very idea. To lose such an amazing opportunity would be awful. “And now you have to cancel it?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, we can’t cancel. You don’t understand. It’s for charity. All of the contestants are Food Network hosts, and the winner gets a twenty-five-thousand-dollar check for their charity of choice. My charity . . .” She dissolved in tears. “Our charity is the American Heart Association.”

  “Oh. Wow.”

  “Until today, I wouldn’t have considered it a coincidence, but now I see that it’s more than a coincidence.” She gripped my hand. “Scarlet, you have to do it for me.”

  “I—I beg your pardon?”

  “The competition. You have to do it for me. I’m sure I can work it out with the network executives for you to appear in my place. As I said, you’re the only person who came to mind, and I would be thrilled and honored to have you represent me. Would you consider it?”

  I swallowed hard and begged my heart to slow down. “A-are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She gave me a pensive look. “I think your cakes are wonderful, honey. I always have. In fact, I think some of your recipes are better than my own.”

  “Oh, no way, Rosa.”

  “Yes, honey. Accept the compliment, because it’s true. And you’re great with stacking and decorating, which is key in a competition such as this. We’re very much alike, you know, only you’re younger. And faster.” She gave me a little wink. “And faster is better when the competition is timed.”

  “What a kind thing to say. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. That’s why I’ve encouraged you to take on some of the cakes I can’t do myself for Club Wed, because I trust you. And because I trust you, I’m comfortable telling the network that you will appear in my place.”

  “But . . . television?” I had one of those weird out-of-body moments where I thought I might very well be dreaming. The idea of appearing on camera made me feel nauseous, and all the more when I contemplated everyone in the nation seeing my overly plump self.

  Doesn’t the camera add ten pounds?

  Ugh.

  “You might be a little nervous at first,” Rosa said, “but that feeling goes away.” She sat up a little straighter in her chair. “Now, let me tell you about the event.” She forged ahead as if I’d agreed to do this. Which I hadn’t.

  Are you going to do this, Scarlet?

  I couldn’t imagine my sticky buns appearing on television. No way, no how. And yet here sat a woman who not only believed it was possible but was making it so.

  “It’s a themed competition,” Rosa said, her voice now carrying a lilt. “Wedding cakes from various cultures. We were chosen to do an Italian cake, so I’ll have to share my vision.” With a wave of her hand, she appeared to dismiss that idea. “Or, if you like, you can research that yourself. I trust you, as I said.”

  “Oh, but Rosa . . .” I stood and paced the tiny waiting room. “I—I can’t even imagine being on television. I’m so . . .” The word fat almost slipped out, but I stopped it. How could I convince this precious woman that I feared going in front of the camera because I felt sure people would judge me due to my size?

  “You’re afraid of being in front of people?” she asked.

  “Oh.” Hmm. “Well, not really. I used to sing in front of people all the time when I was a kid, so it’s not that.”

  “Good. Then it’s all set. Your assistant will have to join you. Do you think he would mind? You definitely can’t do this on your own, and who better to join you than someone you trust?”

  “Kenny?” I chuckled. “He’ll think he’s died and gone to heaven.” Immediately I slapped my hand over my mouth. How dare I blurt out the line about dying while standing in a hospital waiting room? And in front of a woman whose husband was currently in surgery?

  Rosa didn’t seem to notice. “Yes, Kenny can help you. This would be the big break you’ve been waiting for. Unless you think your aunt would prefer to do it with you.”

  At the mere mention of the idea, I felt a little faint. Surely not. Aunt Willy’s hand wasn’t as steady as it had once been. And these days her managerial skills took up most of her time. She left the baking and decorating to others.

  “I think Kenny will do fine,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re willing. I can’t tell you what a relief this is.” Rosa’s eyes misted over as she offered a faint smile.

  Had I really just agreed to do this? If so, why? And . . . how? I mean, when I thought about appearing on television, I felt nauseous. Then again, the nausea might have something to do with the smell of the hospital.

  “I’ll pray about it, Rosa. I promise.”

  “Oh, I already have.” She offered me another weak smile. “The Lord and I are very close, and I’m sure he’s already given me his answer. I knew the minute you showed up that you were the one.”

  “I’m the one.” I spoke the words aloud but didn’t believe them.

  Well, until I glanced across the room in
to Armando’s eyes. The confidence they exuded convinced me, if only for a moment, that I was indeed the one. And I would do the Rossi family proud when I appeared on national television in Rosa’s place to bake, stack, and decorate a cake that represented their precious Italian culture.

  If I could just drop ten or twenty pounds between now and then.

  11

  Driving Me Bananas

  Stressed spelled backwards is desserts. Coincidence? I think not!

  Author unknown

  I decided to spend several days cutting back on calories and carbs so that I wouldn’t humiliate myself on the upcoming television gig. Though I knew better than to skip breakfast, I did so anyway, convincing myself I needed to jump-start the day by basically starving myself to death.

  By lunchtime on Tuesday I felt sick, but an apple made things better. Not that eating an apple for lunch was the best plan of action, but whatever. Dinner was a small salad. By the fourth day of my diet, I’d lost three pounds. By the fifth, I’d lost another half pound. Still, I had a lot more to lose, and very little time to lose it.

  How did one marathon diet? I scoured the internet, looking for ideas. That left me more confused than ever. Should I stop eating meat? Give up sodas? Take supplements? Drink protein shakes? Live on vegetable juice?

  That last one would be tough, considering I didn’t own a juicer. And I didn’t exactly feel up to buying one, to be perfectly honest. I liked my carrots whole, thank you very much. And preferably in cake. With frosting. And lots of nuts.

  How could I lose another twenty pounds or so from my sticky buns before the big day? I thought about that I Love Lucy episode where Lucy went on a diet so she could fit into a costume for one of Ricky’s shows. How had she lost the weight again?

  The sauna.

  Yes, the sauna had done the trick.

  And so I joined a gym the following Monday evening. Went twice on Tuesday—once before going to the bakery in the morning and once at night. Same on Wednesday. Kenny thought I’d lost my mind—at first. Then he decided to join me and even played the role of personal trainer. His first bit of advice to me, his client? Eat more. Specifically, protein. Sure, easy for him to say. The guy didn’t need to lose a pound. Still, I pretended to eat so he would leave me alone.