The Icing on the Cake

by Janice Thompson

  He appeared seconds later, his eyes growing wide when he saw us standing there. “Hey.” The teen looked mortified. I didn’t blame him. We’d put him on the spot by coming without an invitation, and now I felt awful about it. No doubt he did too.

  He stepped outside to meet us and pulled the door closed. “Did someone die or something?”

  “No.” I released a slow breath. “What makes you think that?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. No one’s ever come to my place before. Figured something horrible must’ve happened.”

  “Not horrible. Unless you think chocolate is horrible.” I lifted the bag of goodies and offered a smile. “I wanted to stop by to visit, and I brought these for your mom.”

  “Really?” He took the bag and peered inside. “Brownies?”

  “And chocolate chip cookies. And éclairs.”

  “Man.” I could read the excitement in his eyes.

  “Go ahead and have one,” I said. “But leave the rest for her.”

  “Okay.” He reached inside the bag and grabbed a brownie, then shoved it in his mouth. “Mmm.”

  He offered one to Armando, who took it with a crooked grin and a “Thanks, dude.”

  Devon opened the door and hollered, “Hey, Mom. They brought you a present.” She appeared a moment later, her gait less steady than before, if such a thing were possible. When she saw the bag, a grin appeared. Only then did I notice the dental issues. My heart went out to her right away.

  After she took the bag, Devon closed the door again and stood with us on the balcony. “So, why did you really come?”

  Armando leaned against the wall. “We’re worried about you, Devon. One minute you’re going on the missions trip, the next you’re not. One minute you’re hyped about helping with the fund-raiser, the next you act like you’re not interested. What happened? Did someone say or do something to change your mind?”

  Devon looked down at his worn shoes and remained silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his words were strained. “Look, you see how it is.” His gaze lifted, and he looked Armando in the eye.

  “Yeah.” Just one word from Armando, followed by a shrug, but Devon seemed comfortable with it.

  “If you’re worried about coming up with the money for the trip, don’t be,” I said. “That’s why we’re having the fund-raiser. It won’t be an issue, I promise.”

  Devon released a sigh. “It’s not that. I’m worried about leaving her alone. She . . .” He glanced back toward the closed door. “She can’t be by herself. Not for more than a few hours, anyway. She’s not in very good shape. You know?”

  Clearly the boy wasn’t talking about her weight or measurements. But he didn’t take it any further, so I didn’t ask.

  “What if I said that my mom would look in on her while we’re gone?” I asked. “Would that make you feel any better?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I don’t think my mom would let her in, to be honest. She’s a loner. She won’t let anyone in. No one but me, I mean. And she depends on me for pretty much everything.” He dove into a story about a pastor who had once tried to help by sending a cleaning crew to the apartment. Apparently that scenario hadn’t ended well for anyone involved. “So, she’s kind of weird about being around other people.”

  “She wouldn’t have to be around anyone, really. My mom could just stop by and visit for a few minutes at the door. Maybe bring her lunch or something. Nothing high pressure or anything like that. Just food.”

  He raked his fingers through his messy hair. “No one’s ever done anything like that before. Not sure how she would react. She does like food, though. And she hates to cook. Like I said, she depends on me for pretty much everything, even that.”

  Man. What teen boy enjoyed cooking his own meals? Well, other than the Rossi boys, anyway.

  “My mom’s a great cook,” I said. “I could ask her just to drop off the food, say a few words, and then leave. I’m sure she would be happy to do that. And she always makes enough for two meals anyway.”

  “Might work.” Devon shrugged. “But I just don’t know how comfortable I feel leaving for ten days. You know? What if I come back and she’s . . .” He shook his head, and I could read the pain in his expression. “I would feel awful if something happened to her and I wasn’t here to protect her.”

  I wanted to tell him that God hadn’t put him on this planet to protect her in that way—that he wasn’t called to be an enabler. But it wasn’t my place to do so, was it? And what did I know about such things? Nothing. No doubt I’d put my foot in my mouth and live to regret it. Right now I just needed to keep my mouth shut.

  “Hey, I have an idea.” Armando snapped his fingers. “Let’s get her to come to the talent show. Then she can meet everyone, and she’ll feel better about people stopping by to check in on her.”

  “No way will she come.”

  “I’ll ask her myself.” I stepped toward the door, but Devon put his hand up.

  “You don’t understand. She’s high right now. And she’ll be high the night of the talent show. Unless she’s passed out cold on the floor, which is option B. Get it?” He glared at me and I backed down.

  “Devon . . .” Armando looked more than a little concerned. “Let’s see what we can do about getting her some help. Long-term help, I mean. Please.”

  Devon’s expression tightened, and I could tell he was growing weary of this conversation. “She won’t take it. Trust me. She’s signed in to those programs before and nothing ever sticks. This is just how it is, man.”

  “No, it isn’t ‘just how it is.’” Anger rose in Armando’s voice. “Trust me when I say that things can change. People can change.” The passion in his voice took me by surprise. “Just because you’ve watched someone roll around in their—their junk for years doesn’t mean you give up on them. Yeah, you want to sometimes, but at least keep praying and hoping that she has a chance at a better life. She does, you know.”

  Devon shrugged. “I guess anything’s possible. I’ve just been with her for years and know the routine, trust me.”

  “I’m not saying you can fix her,” Armando added. “I know a lot of people tried to fix my problems for me when I was at my lowest. But don’t stop praying for her. And do what you can to let people help when they offer.”

  Okay then. Looked like Armando had a calling on his life to preach. And wow, was he ever good at it. In a nonthreatening way, no less.

  Devon nodded. “Hey, I won’t stand in your way if you want to offer. But she’s going to object.”

  “Let me think about this awhile,” Armando said. “I might know someone who can help. I . . . I know people.”

  I could read the compassion in his eyes. That, and concern for Devon.

  “We’re headed out to Starbucks,” Armando said. “Come with us?”

  We are?

  “In that?” Devon pointed to Armando’s sports car.

  “Yeah. In that.”

  “Sounds good. Hang on a sec.” He hollered inside, “Hey, Mom, I’ll be back in a few.”

  Her slurred response was tough to understand, but it didn’t keep Devon from sprinting toward the car and climbing into the tiny seat in back. How he folded himself into such a small space, I couldn’t say, but I was grateful he had the good sense to offer me the spot in front.

  We laughed and talked all the way to Starbucks, where Armando treated us to whatever we wanted. I got a Frappuccino, and Devon went for a mocha caramel something-or-other, along with a piece of chocolate chip banana bread.

  Really, Lord? They have chocolate chip banana bread?

  I resisted. Okay, except for that one little bite I stole when Devon wasn’t looking.

  Still, most of my focus remained on the two guys as they chatted about everything from cars to boats to the upcoming missions trip. By the end of our time together, Armando had almost convinced Devon he should go. And by the time we dropped the teen back off at his apartment complex—his hands filled with more goodie
s for his mother—Armando had promised to take him fishing one day after the talent show. He even offered some random story about how I might join them.

  We pulled away from the apartment complex just as the sun started to set over the water. I gazed out at the gulf, watching the waves rolling in and out and thinking about how life was like that—how one minute we walked with God, felt the tug of his love, and the next we turned and did our own thing. I couldn’t help but think of Armando, of the strides he’d made in his life. And if today’s conversation with Devon was any indicator, there would be strides in Devon’s life as well. Thanks to his new pal.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I took a peek at the handsome Italian heartthrob driving the car. This was no good old boy. Not by my aunt’s definition. This guy was the real deal. If I’d ever doubted it, today he proved himself to me—and to Devon—once and for all.

  A moment of delicious silence rose up between us as Armando snapped off the radio. “You want the truth?” he asked a short time later.

  I turned to look at him. “Of course.”

  A half smile lit his face, and he glanced my way. “I had a really great childhood. I don’t know why I act like my house was such a pain to grow up in.”

  “Aw, Armando.”

  “I didn’t always get the attention I wanted, but when I see a kid like Devon, it makes me so ashamed that I ever complained. Or walked away from what was a pretty good life.”

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all deal with things in our own way. There’s no shame in that.”

  He shrugged as he turned the corner, his car now headed toward the church just a block away. “Trust me, I have a lot to be ashamed of. I wasn’t the best kid. In fact, I was usually the one acting up to get attention. In a house as full as ours, I figured it was the only way to get anyone to look my way.”

  “Seriously?” As an only child, I totally couldn’t relate to that.

  “Yes. So I got in trouble at school. Deliberately failed tests. That sort of thing.”

  “No way. All to get attention?”

  “Yeah.” He pulled into the parking lot at the church and turned the car off. “Definitely not proud of it now. But that didn’t stop me then. I kept it up through my college years. Dropped out after a couple years. Gave up on jobs.” Pain flickered in his eyes. “You ever heard that expression ‘self-fulfilling prophecy’?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, that was me. I’ve been my own self-fulfilling prophecy. It’s embarrassing to admit, but it’s true.”

  “Oh, Armando.” I placed my hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got so much going for you.”

  “I do, which is what makes my decisions—until now—so stupid.” He looked at me, and I could see the frustration in his eyes. “I’ve stayed out on the fringes, away from all the family activities. I guess they think I like it that way. Maybe I thought if I didn’t really connect, they would come looking for me.”

  Shades of the prodigal son story swept over me.

  “And I guess in their own way, they tried.” He winced, and for a moment I thought I saw a shimmer of tears in his eyes. “My parents had a lot of what Aunt Rosa called ‘come to Jesus’ meetings with me.” He sighed. “I have no idea what I was running from. It’s not like I’m happier in Houston working in nightclubs. I’m not. In my heart, I think I want—need—to be back here permanently. With my family.”

  My heart pretty much burst into its own rendition of “Oh Happy Day” at that news. “Then why don’t you just tell them you’re coming home for good, instead of for a month or two to take Jenna’s place at Parma John’s?”

  “Too proud, I guess.” He leaned his elbows on the steering wheel, his gaze at the cross on top of our little church. “I think I’ve played this game for so long that I don’t know how to stop it without looking like an idiot in front of them. I’d like to just come back and work with the family. Hang out with great people . . .” He paused and offered me a tender smile. “Like you.”

  A rush of joy washed over me, and I reached to take his hand. “Thank you. I like hanging out with you too.” I gave his hand a little squeeze.

  “Even though I’m a bad boy?” He rolled his eyes as he spoke the words.

  “I never said you were bad. And if you want the truth, we’re all bad in our own way. The Bible says we all fall short. Ya know? That’s why we need God’s grace and mercy.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve fallen way short. You only know the half of it.” He sighed and glanced out of the window. “My story’s not as far from Devon’s mom as you might think. I’ve . . . well, I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, things I don’t really like to talk about.”

  “No need to talk about it.” I shrugged. “Unless you want to, I mean. But you’re probably not as far off as you might think. And I know your family pretty well. They want you to come back home. I have a feeling your mom would throw a welcome-home party if you told her you were coming back to the island for good.”

  “Kill the fatted calf and all that?” His right brow elevated mischievously.

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Nah. But I’d prefer the Mambo Italiano special, along with some of Aunt Rosa’s garlic twists.” He smiled. “And some more of that Italian cream cake we made. Man, that stuff was good. You’re quite a baker, Scarlet.”

  “So you’ve said. But a girl appreciates hearing things like that again.” I gave him a little wink. “Thanks to you, I’m baking another one for Hannah’s wedding. I’ll save you a big slice. Might even make a small cake just for you as a thank-you for what you just did with Devon back there.”

  “I love that cream cheese frosting.” He hesitated as he gazed into my eyes. “It’s great.” He paused, and his cheeks turned red. “You’re great.”

  “Th-thank you.”

  “So, if I do come back for good, would you ever think about . . .”

  “About what?” My heart began that funny little pitter-patter thing that only happened when I got excited. Nervous. Hopeful.

  He released a slow breath. “I know I’m not the kind of guy you’d probably consider.”

  A feeling of compassion swept over me. “Oh, I don’t know. I’d say you’re exactly the kind of guy I’d consider.”

  He looked my way, a hopeful expression on his face. “Really?”

  “Really.” I paused, thinking it through. “Armando, I appreciate the guys who have consistently walked the straight and narrow. But there’s something to be said for a man who turns his heart toward home after seeing life on the other side of the fence. Your conviction is strong. And I see you fighting to be the man God wants you to be. That makes me really proud.”

  “The man God wants me to be.” He echoed the words and then stared up at the cross once more. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since anyone called me a man?”

  I wanted to respond, but words wouldn’t come. I leaned over and laid my head on Armando’s shoulder. We sat together, completely silent, staring at the cross until the sun went down. I couldn’t remember when I’d spent a better evening.

  18

  Sweet Talker

  You’re the frosting to my cupcake.

  Author unknown

  A terrible storm hit the island on Wednesday. I spent most of that day taking care of customers. Armando dropped by the bakery for a few minutes, but with so much going on, I barely had time to say two words to the boy. Er, man. He offered me the sweetest smile in the world, swallowed down a couple of brownies—on the house, of course—then headed back to Parma John’s to work.

  Back to Parma John’s. I did my best not to sigh aloud as I thought about him coming home for good. I thought about it the following morning when the sun peeked through the clouds and the weather cleared, though he didn’t stop in for his usual breakfast sweets, which I found a little odd. I thought about it that same afternoon, when he didn’t come by on his break. I thought about it every time I pondered that evening’s talent show rehearsal. T
hank God Armando would be there to run lights and sound. Otherwise I wasn’t sure how this would go down.

  After closing up the bakery for the day, I stopped off next door at Parma John’s, where I found Bella working behind the counter. She carried little Rosa-Earline on her hip and scolded Tres, her precocious preschooler, who sat at a nearby table using a fork to massacre a yellow crayon.

  I greeted her with a smile. “Well, hello, stranger. Interesting to see you here.”

  “Hello to you too.” She offered a grin, then moved her little girl from one hip to the other, her long curls tumbling in a messy array on her shoulders. “It’s been a long day, and we have an even longer weekend to come.”

  I looked around, confusion setting in after a moment. “Isn’t Armando here?”

  “No.” A look of concern crossed her face. “He said he had to go into town for a few hours. That’s why I’m here, actually, because he couldn’t be. Well, that, and I have a meeting with Gabi to look over sketches and talk about ideas. She should be here soon.”

  “Gabi?” The name didn’t ring a bell. And what was Armando doing in town? “Do you mean he’s gone to Houston?” A sinking feeling came over me. Surely he remembered we had a big night ahead. Right?

  “I guess.” She turned to take care of a customer’s check, then looked back at me and shrugged. “Oddest thing. He left in a big hurry but didn’t bother to tell anyone where he was going—or why. Strange.”

  “I sure hope he remembers that we’ve got our rehearsal tonight.”

  “I don’t know.” Bella waited on another customer, then turned back to me. “It didn’t come up. I do know that D.J. talked to Bubba about the rehearsal. He plans to be there, even though Jenna’s not doing very well. She’s on bed rest until the baby comes, you know.”

  “Right. I’ve been praying for her.”

  “Please keep it up. The doctor said her blood pressure is too high, and that worries me. Worries Bubba too, I think.” Bella glanced at her watch. “When is the rehearsal again?”

  “In an hour and a half.”