Be Sweet

by Diann Hunt

“Does that squirrel make messes around your house?” Okay, so I just can’t get past that wild-animal-staying-in-her-house deal.

  Janni laughs. “No. He’s paper-trained. When he has to take care of business, he goes back to his cage.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope. You think I’d keep him in the house if he wasn’t trained? No way.”

  I toss another glance at the hairy rodent and shake my head.

  “Why don’t I show you to your room? You can settle in, then we’ll come down to the kitchen and get something to eat.” My sister’s answer to life’s problems is food. Proof positive that we’re blood relatives.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Wonder who moved this?” Janni asks, turning the Precious Moments figurine back to face north. Do I know my sister or what?

  Tossing a quick glance at Wiggles, I heave my luggage up the stairs behind Janni. “Just so you know, if Thumper and Bambi show up, I’m outta here.”

  “Oh, once you get settled in, you’ll see it’s not so bad to come home for a visit.” Janni’s words come out in short puffs of air. “Harvesting syrup, working on the scrapbook, hanging out with family. The fun is just beginning.”

  Something about the way she says that causes dread to crawl all over me. But that’s silly. It’s only for a few weeks.

  What can happen?

  two

  “I brought you a treat,” I say, as I join Janni in the kitchen. The heady scent of sweet maple hits me the moment I enter. “I’d recognize that smell anywhere.” The aroma that fills the kitchen whisks me backwards in time. “Did I ever tell you that Ariel’s Bakery in Maine makes an apple-and-maple cheesecake to die for?”

  “That’s nice.” Janni turns away from the oven and stares at what I’ve brought.

  “It’s a pizza cookie,” I say with pride as I open the box, and we stare at the pizza-sized chocolate chip cookie, sprinkled with M&Ms and a drizzle of chocolate. “Ariel’s Bakery.” I smile, take it over to the counter, grab a knife from the drawer, and start cutting it.

  Janni’s eyebrows arch and her chin lifts. “Guess your taste buds aren’t used to home-baked goodies anymore, huh?” She gathers a warm batch of maple cookies from the cooling rack and adds them to a plate.

  “No offense, Janni, but you know I rarely cook and never bake, so I’ve just gotten used to the gourmet stuff.”

  “You won’t try my cookies?”

  “I’m sure they’re delicious, but right now I’m in the mood for chocolate. Maybe later.” Grabbing a plate, I place a wedge of cookie on it, grab a napkin, and join her at the table.

  Janni’s watching me.

  “What?”

  “Are you always this hyper?” she asks in a slow, deliberate manner.

  “If you think this is hyper, you should see me after three shots of espresso.” With a chuckle, I slip into my seat.

  Janni grabs a mug, throws in a teaspoon of instant coffee and creamer, then shuffles her way to the table. “I don’t know what people see in those fancy coffees. They’re so expensive.”

  “It’s more than coffee. It’s an experience.”

  She stares at me. “You sound like a Hallmark commercial.”

  I shrug. After a quick prayer over my cookie, I dig into my treat. Wonder if God will answer the part about making it a blessing to my body.

  Janni reaches for a maple cookie.

  “Did you make those with last year’s maple syrup stash?”

  Janni laughs like a hyena. Literally. It scared the pajeebers out of me as a kid. Here I am edging fifty, and to this very day it causes chills to climb up my back.

  “Still the same old Charlene. And to answer your question, yes. This is from last year’s supply. We’re not addicted to sugar like you are, so it lasts awhile around here.” Janni takes a bite from her cookie. The fact that my sweet sister looks like a roly-poly doll? Well, it just makes me question the truth of her statement, that’s all.

  Janni walks over to the refrigerator and grabs a pitcher of milk. Real milk. As in five-hundred-grams-of-fat milk. Okay, I’m starting to under-stand this roly-poly thing.

  “You get your luggage unpacked?” she asks, pouring milk into a glass, then turning to me.

  “Yeah, I’m unpacked. No milk for me, thanks. I save my calories for what’s important.” I wave my slice of cookie.

  She returns to her seat at the oak table. “Look at you, pretty as ever.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, and about twenty pounds over my ideal weight,” I say, munching my cookie.

  “So you have a little meat on your bones. It makes you look healthy.”

  “Now you’re beginning to sound like Mom.”

  “Well, it’s true. You’ve always been too skinny. Just like both of our parents.”

  “Which would explain why I have the chest of Shirley Temple—when she was two.”

  Janni chuckles. “Wonder where I got my weight problem?”

  Since I’m president of Cookie Eaters Anonymous, I won’t mention her eating habits.

  “You know, I’ve always marveled that despite the fact that all of Tappery envies your looks, you’ve never fussed that much over yourself. ’Course, with your kind of beauty, you can get by with a swipe of lip-stick and mascara. It takes the rest of us hours to fix ourselves up so we won’t scare little children.”

  We both know Janni doesn’t spend over five minutes on her makeup, but I wisely keep silent. “Oh, stop.” I pause to give her time to say more. She doesn’t. “Besides, you can cook. I can’t boil water.”

  Janni laughs. “You could if you wanted to.”

  “I want to, believe me. Do you know how hard it is to make spaghetti without boiled water? I love spaghetti.”

  Janni shakes her head. “Mom and Dad offered to give you cooking classes.”

  “I didn’t want the pressure of having to measure up to you,” I say, surprising myself with the confession.

  “It’s only fair. I couldn’t compete with your beauty.”

  We lock eyes. “Are we having a ‘clearing the air’ type moment?” I ask.

  “I think so. You know, you could watch one of those cooking shows on TV.” Janni puts her drink down.

  “I tried once. The cook was preparing a seven-minute meal. By the time she finished, I was ready for a nap.”

  “You’re pathetic.”

  “I know.”

  “Hey, I ran into Gail Campbell at the store.”

  Janni looks up at me. “What did she say this time?”

  “Nothing much, really.” I pluck a chocolate chip from my cookie and eat it. “You know, that woman should carry around a crowbar the way she’s always trying to pry information out of people.”

  Janni laughs.

  “Did you know she has a granddaughter? Poor kid looks just like her.”

  “I feel sorry for her.”

  “I do, too. Even makeup can’t fix those beady eyes.”

  Janni turns a wry look my way. “I meant Gail.”

  “Why on earth do you feel sorry for her?”

  “Think about it. If she had a life, she wouldn’t care so much about what’s going on in everybody else’s.”

  “I guess. There’s still no excuse for it, though. She just wants to stir up trouble.”

  “You have to let it go, you know.”

  “Why should I care if she and Linda talked about me in high school and caused me to have zero friends? There’s nothing to let go.” I sink my teeth into another bite of cookie. A big one.

  She stares at me too long, and I try not to squirm. “She shouldn’t have spread gossip, but you have to let it go, Char. It happened a long time ago.”

  “Exactly. It’s a thing of the past. Let’s leave it there, okay?” Hello? It’s not as though I haven’t gotten over it. I have a life, thank you very much.

  “Okay,” she says with reluctance.

  “So how are the boys?” I ask, referring to her two sons—my nephews —whom I love as though the
y were my own.

  Smoothing down her apron she says, “Ethan is in love.” Her eyes shine here. “He stays on campus most of the time or goes home with Candy.”

  “Her name is Candy? She sounds sweet.”

  Janni groans. “Blake, on the other hand, says he doesn’t want to deprive the women of America by settling down with one girl. Can you imagine?” She sighs. “I doubt that he’s cracked open a textbook all year.”

  “Hard to believe those kids are already in college. Will they be here at all to help with the syrup?”

  “Only during spring break. You’ll meet Ethan’s girlfriend then. She’s a doll.” Janni rises and takes her empty glass and dish over to the sink.

  “Sounds like you’ll be joining the ranks of grandparenting before you know it.”

  “Let’s get them married first, shall we?” she calls over her shoulder as she rinses her dish and glass with water, then places them in the dish-washer. “I’d sure love a little one around to spoil and then send home.” She walks back to the table and reaches for my empty plate.

  “You touch that, and I’ll have to hurt you,” I say, reaching for another sliver off the round cookie.

  Surprise lights her eyes, and she blinks.

  “Janni, don’t ever come between a woman and her cookies,” a male voice says behind me.

  Swiveling around in my chair, I see Janni’s husband, Daniel, step through the back door. He’s dressed in brown bib overalls, a brown and white plaid shirt, and thick, manly boots. We’re talking serious boots here. With the size of his feet, I’m thinking he could stamp out an entire generation of ants.

  Twinkling blue eyes and brown hair with a smidgen of gray peek from beneath his white baseball cap, while a graying goatee frames a smile that says life is good.

  “The man is smarter than he looks,” I say, jumping from my chair. “How are you doing?”

  Daniel laughs and whisks me into a bear hug that makes my feet leave the floor. My nose tickles from his generic version of Polo. The man never changes.

  “I’m good. How’s my big sister?”

  “Hey, be careful about that ‘big’ stuff, will ya?” I tease. “I’m feeling a tad sensitive.”

  “Aw, I’ve picked up bigger twigs than you.”

  “Have I mentioned you’re my favorite brother-in-law? ’Course, I don’t have any others, but still.”

  With a hearty laugh he puts me down and turns to Janni. “How’s the love of my life?” He reaches down and gives her a kiss, making my heart squeeze. My sister may not have nice carpet, but she’s rich in other ways.

  I straighten my Liz Claiborne blouse that Daniel wrinkled with the hug.

  “What are you doing home so soon?” Janni asks.

  “Not many customers today,” he says, pulling up a chair and grab-bing several cookies. I scoot the pizza cookie from his direct view. It might hurt Janni’s feelings if he doesn’t eat her cookies, after all. I’ll just take it back to my room when no one is looking.

  Janni pours a glass of cold milk and places it in front of him. A shadow flickers in her eyes. “Business sure has been slow lately,” she says, searching his face.

  “It will give me a chance to fix the doorknob on the bathroom upstairs.” He tosses her a wink, then glances around. “Hey, you didn’t throw away the paper, did you? There are some good coupons in there.”

  Janni rolls her eyes. “No. It’s on your chair in the living room.”

  He smiles and pops the last of the cookie into his mouth.

  Say what you will about Daniel, he will never waste a penny. Ever. On anything. He’s a coupon clipper from the word go. He can outclip any woman in the county. Before the ink is dried on the page, he’s snipped it, stuffed it in his pocket, made a beeline for the store, and handed it to the cashier. He’s the only person I know who can buy a hundred dollars’ worth of groceries for a buck and a half.

  “How are things at Ort Hardware anyway?” I ask, referring to their store.

  He chews a minute. “Maybe Janni’s already told you there’s a new hardware store in town, so things are a little slow right now since we’re sharing the customers. It’s newly opened, though, so that may die down some. You know how it is in business.”

  I nod.

  “So what’s been going on with you, Zip?” Daniel asks, referring to the nickname of Zipper that my dad gave me back when I was sixteen and thin, which, by the way, no longer applies. Funny how I could eat anything I wanted until about a year ago. Now suddenly the pounds are starting to stack up.

  “Oh, same old, same old,” I say, polishing off my last bite of cookie in the nick of time, what with that whole “Zip” thing.

  “Oh, Janni, did I tell you Tappery General has chocolate chips on sale, two bags for the price of one?” Daniel empties his glass and swipes off his milk mustache with the back of his arm. He’s a true manly man—well, except for that coupon thing.

  “Okay, I’ll pick some up.”

  “I have a coupon for it that I’ll give you.” He turns to me again. “So you’re back for your syrup, huh?” He grabs two more cookies, and I’m seeing why Janni makes their own food. He’d cost them a fortune at the bakery.

  Before I can say anything, Janni jumps in. “It’s a drug for her, you know. She’s addicted to maple sugar.” She picks up the carafe for the coffeemaker and fills it with water. “I need some coffee. Either of you want any?”

  “Talk about my addictions.”

  She blinks, looks at the carafe in her hand, and laughs. “I guess we’re even.” She plugs in the pot. “But at least my coffee doesn’t cost four bucks a cup, and it’s every bit as good.”

  My sister lives in her own reality.

  Daniel chuckles, stretches out his legs in front of him, and gives in to an enormous yawn. “I’ll take a cup.”

  “Yeah, I’m back for the syrup, but also to help Janni organize Mom and Dad’s fiftieth anniversary celebration.”

  Daniel rubs his goatee. “Oh, that’s right. That’s just around the corner.”

  “It will be here before we know it,” Janni says, grabbing cups from the cabinet.

  “Good thing you women are in charge,” he says, reaching for another cookie.

  “I can hardly wait to show you what I’ve gotten done on the scrap-book.” Janni places a coffee tray, complete with cream, sugar, cups, and saucers, in the middle of the table.

  “Yeah, she’s sure worked hard on that. I’ve hardly seen her.” Daniel winks at Janni.

  She grunts. “You haven’t seen me because your eyes have been glued to either the TV or the coupon page of the paper.”

  He scratches his jawline. “Just looking out for our retirement.”

  “Daniel, with the way you save money, you could have retired when you were five.” Janni’s face doesn’t flinch.

  My jaw goes slack.

  “Just the same, you’ll thank me one day.”

  She ignores him. “As for the scrapbook—”

  “Could he really have retired at five?”

  “That’s what his mother told me.”

  “Hey, lemonade stands are big business,” Daniel cuts in.

  “Could I interest you in a seaside vacation home?”

  “As I was saying,” Janni draws out the words as though we’re hard of hearing, and we need to read her lips. “You can help me with the scrap-book. That way we’ll get finished sooner.”

  I lean my chin into the palm of my hand. “Retired at five, really? Then what’s with the carpet in the living room?” Well, that came out before I could stop it.

  Janni puts her hands on her hips and glares at Daniel.

  He holds his hands up. “I know, I know. We’re going to replace it.” He turns to me and in a staged whisper says, “Thanks a lot, sis.”

  “Sorry. But what’s the use of having money if you never spend it? A woman needs to feel good about her home.”

  Janni gives a curt nod. “Just what I’ve been telling him.”

  “
Aw, Janni, you know I’m just waiting to see how business goes.”

  She nods and says nothing. To my way of thinking, he’s carrying that frugal thing way too far.

  “Anyway, back to the scrapbooking—”

  “Keep in mind that I’m craft challenged. I’ve never been able to do a thing with Cheerios besides eat them,” I remind her.

  “You sell millions of dollars’ worth of real estate every year, but you can’t put together a scrap page? It’s mind-boggling, I tell you.” Janni shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll teach you.”

  “Thanks, but I have enough to do already.”

  “Such as?”

  “For one thing, I rented the Carpenter Center—”

  Janni gasps. “That place is expensive. I’ve already reserved the church fellowship center.”

  “It’s only money, Janni,” I say, sending Daniel into a coughing fit.

  “Then I thought we could get Yvonne’s Catering to serve the food. I’ve checked all over town, and they seem to offer the best menu for the money. I have a notebook with sample menus, price quotes, and brochures on everything I’ve checked into.” I’ve silenced her with my wealth of knowledge, no doubt.

  “What kind of food?” Janni asks when she finds her voice. “I was going to prepare something simple.” Instead of being impressed with my research, she sounds miffed.

  “You? Whatever for? It doesn’t have to be that much work. Let me get my notebook.” That’s sure to wow her. I run upstairs to my room, grab the black three-ring binder, and run back downstairs. “Let’s see,” I flip through the pages. “They have hors d’oeuvres of basil risotto cake with sun-dried tomato—”

  Janni scrunches her nose.

  “They also have chicken and scallion skewers with orange sesame soy glaze. They have two more choices of prosciutto, garlic and artichoke puff, and potato apple pancake with smoked salmon and dill crème fraiche.” I look up at Janni whose mouth is dangling.

  “People actually eat that stuff?” she asks.

  I grin and nod. “Isn’t it fun?” I look back at the menu. “Then we could offer a sit-down dinner. We’ll need to decide which main course we want to go with, though. They have roast beef, roasted Cornish hen, and artichoke cannelloni with mozzarella, lemon béchamel, and fresh thyme—”