The Secret Ingredient of Wishes

by Susan Bishop Crispell

  Catch eyed her as if she could tell that Rachel had held something back. Rachel focused on the peaches and almost wanted to tell Catch everything. Almost.

  * * *

  They were back in the kitchen after dinner, Catch with her nightly scotch and Rachel with a glass of white wine. The knock on the back door was so light at first Rachel thought it was a branch brushing the side of the house. It sounded again a little louder, a little more urgent. She jolted when the pale face appeared in the window.

  Catch let the girl in with a shake of her head.

  The girl wiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hands and stared at the floor. Her doughy face turned a blotchy pink and her wrinkled dress drooped at the neckline. She pressed her lips together as if trying to keep words from escaping.

  “Well, c’mon now. Out with it,” Catch said.

  The girl glanced at Rachel, her long dark lashes fluttering as her eyes widened.

  Catch pushed back from the counter. “Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s not telling nobody what happens here.”

  “O-okay. Um, I need your help, Miss Sisson.”

  “I kinda figured that since you’re here. Just tell me what you need. I can have the pie over to you in the morning before your head stops spinning.”

  The girl’s head bobbed up and down as she blurted, “I had … I was with Duke Davis tonight. Like, with him. I don’t know why I did it. I didn’t mean to. It just sorta happened. I know what everyone already thinks about me. Please don’t let them find out about it. Please.”

  Catch put a hand on the girl’s shoulder to keep her still, focused. “How many am I baking for? Just him this time?”

  The girl didn’t seem fazed by the insinuation, though she couldn’t have been older than late teens. Rachel shifted on the stool and looked away.

  “Just him. And me. Can it make me forget it happened in the first place too?”

  “You know it doesn’t work like that, child. But no one else will know, you can be sure of that,” Catch said. “I’ll take care of it. Though I hope you were smart about it, because you know I can’t do anything about all that.” The girl nodded, and it seemed to Rachel this wasn’t the first time the two had had this conversation.

  “You just go on home now and get some sleep. I’ll bring it to you first thing in the morning.” Catch ushered the girl to the door. She turned the lock once the girl had vanished into the dark and pulled down the white vinyl shade. “Looks like I’ve got a pie to make. You interested in helping?” she asked.

  Curious as to how a pie had anything to do with the girl and a boy she clearly regretted sleeping with, Rachel agreed. She scooted the stool closer to the counter and waited.

  Catch worked the dough into a loose ball the size of an orange with nimble hands. Sprinkling more flour on the counter and rubbing it around with one hand, she pressed and pulled the dough five times before slapping it down in the center of the white circle.

  “Hand me that rolling pin,” she said.

  Rachel lifted it from its nest on a towel and passed it over. She studied Catch’s face for some sign that the old woman was messing with her, implying the pies had magical properties. When Catch raised an eyebrow at her, Rachel caved and said, “Okay, so I have to ask. How can a pie make sure no one finds out?”

  “My pies are well known around these parts for their silencing powers. If someone’s got a secret they let slip, and they want to make sure it doesn’t get blabbed all over tarnation, they come to me and I help them out.”

  Catch can make secrets disappear. Excitement and disbelief buzzed along Rachel’s skin at the thought, making her shiver. If Catch could do that with secrets, maybe she could make the wishes disappear too. Leaning over the counter for a closer look, she tried to appear nonchalant as she asked, “How does it work?”

  Catch pushed the rolling pin across the dough, a hasty back and forth in the shape of a V. The edges of the circle were scraggly, uneven. “Why? You got a secret to tell?” She eyed Rachel over the table and chuckled.

  “Just curious,” Rachel said, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. “So you make magic pies and people think it’s completely normal?”

  “Oh, they’ll swear it’s not real right up until the day they need my help.”

  Of course people pretended Catch’s magic wasn’t real. It was safer to deny something that couldn’t be defined by the laws of nature than to be branded as crazy. Rachel was living proof of that. But they believed Catch when it mattered. And maybe that made all the difference in whether or not Catch’s magic worked on them.

  Rachel had convinced herself long ago that even having someone believe her about Michael when he first went missing wouldn’t have made a difference. But now she couldn’t help but wonder how differently things might have turned out if just one person had.

  “Why do people still eat your pies? I mean, they have to know the person feeding it to them is trying to keep them from telling anyone what they know.”

  “It’s a give-and-take kind of thing. If they keep someone’s secret, that person will keep theirs when the time comes. My pies are just the insurance.”

  Catch pressed the dough into a tin pan and used a rubber brush to paint words on the bottom in butter. She closed her eyes, her lips moving but no sound escaping, and then wiped her hands on her navy polka-dot apron. Handing Rachel the bowl of peaches, she motioned for her to dump them into the pie crust.

  Whatever Catch had written to bind the girl’s secret had spread out into a thin layer of butter, hiding all traces of the letters. Rachel tipped the bowl down. The slices of fruit marinating in sugar and their own juice tumbled out and mounded in the dish. She took the wooden spoon Catch waved at her.

  She still couldn’t quite wrap her brain around the fact that Catch’s pies were a normal part of life in Nowhere. Would people have accepted her ability as easily if she’d grown up here instead of Memphis?

  Spreading the fruit into an almost even layer, she said, “So, no one thinks you’ve lost your mind?”

  “Just because it sounds strange doesn’t mean it’s not true. I’ve baked a pie for nearly everyone in Nowhere at some point in their lives. Some, like the girl we’re making this one for, come to me pretty regular. Ann Louise, bless her heart, couldn’t hold her liquor if she were a cup. And she can’t seem to turn the boys away when she’s a couple drinks in. So I’m thinking maybe it’s not such a bad thing that what I can do helps keep everybody out of her business.”

  “Maybe she should just stop drinking,” Rachel said, guilt over her mom’s heavy drinking making her voice go sharp.

  Catch’s head whipped around, ready to put Rachel in her place, but whatever she saw on Rachel’s face caused her own to soften. “That’s not for us to say.”

  Hands shaking, Rachel mumbled, “Somebody should. Before it’s too late.”

  “That may be. But she came to me for pie, not a lecture, so that’s what I’m gonna give her,” Catch said. She slid the pie into the oven, the glass dish scraping over the metal rack in a high-pitched squeal, and set the timer. “If and when she gets to the point where she’s ready for help, she’ll stop coming to me and go to someone who can give her what she needs.”

  8

  Rachel couldn’t look at any of Catch’s pies the same way. Though most of them were just plain old pies. No magic required. The fact that they could be something more sent a current of anticipation through her body.

  And she thought for the hundredth time since the night before, Maybe Catch can make all the wishes disappear.

  She hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask Catch yet—really it was more telling Catch about her past than asking for a favor that stopped her—but the end result was the same.

  Then while eating breakfast Catch offered her a different kind of favor. “I talked to Everley, whose froufrou soap shop you stumbled into,” she said. “And if you’re interested, she said she’s looking for some part-time help.”

  Whether Rach
el was interested or not hadn’t really mattered. In addition to giving her a place to stay, Catch had now found her a job. That kind of looking-after wasn’t something she could turn down.

  So she took Catch’s directions—scribbled in a tight scrawl just barely large enough to read—and somehow she found her way back to Everley’s shop.

  The space next door to LUX had the same wide front window, but instead of lotions and soaps and other skin-care products, it had a SORRY FOR THE GOD-AWFUL MESS sign taped to the inside of the glass. She looked in as she passed. Ashe stood next to a petite brunette, scowling. His hands, spread wide against one wall, held in place a large sheet of paper that curled at the edges.

  Rachel moved away from the window before Ashe could see her. She’d only known him for a couple of days but she already knew it was best to stay out of his way when he had that look on his face. As she opened the door to LUX, the same calming feeling she’d had the day before washed over her. The scents of chamomile, lavender, aloe, and mint were subtle, yet distinct, despite swirling in the air together.

  “I’ve been hoping all morning that you’d come back,” Everley said. She snipped another piece of ribbon from a spool before setting the scissors down and coming out from behind the counter. A few pieces from the pile she’d been building spilled to the floor in a flutter of pale pink.

  Rachel picked them up and handed them back. “Thanks again for helping me out yesterday.”

  “You are so welcome. I’m sorry you were having such a crap day, but you look tons better today, no offense.”

  “Today is much better.” She looked to where the wish had been the day before, but it was gone. Fool me once, she thought, and vowed not to read anything that had the potential to be a wish to keep from accidentally granting any more. “So, Catch mentioned you were looking for some help.”

  “I am. Have you worked retail before?”

  “Bookstores mostly. And a decent stint at a coffeehouse. All in all, I think it’s about six years of retail and/or customer service.”

  Everley twisted the ribbons around her fingers and let them go as she thought. “Great. The coffee shop wasn’t an organic one by any chance, was it?”

  “No. Just your we-burn-all-our-beans-on-purpose type.”

  “Ooh, Janelle down at Elixir, our local coffee shop, would love that description. Do you happen to know anything about holistic medicine or organic soaps and lotions?” Everley asked.

  “I know what they are. But that’s as far as it goes,” Rachel said.

  “That I can teach you. If you’re interested.”

  “That would be—”

  A groan emanated from behind a plastic tarp blocking a doorway in the wall, cutting her off.

  “Ev!” a voice called from the other side of the building. The woman Rachel had seen fighting with Ashe pushed through the plastic sheeting separating the rooms. In a pencil skirt, sleeveless plum-colored shirt, and kitten heels, she looked grateful to be out of the construction zone. “I’m going to kill him.”

  Ashe was a few steps behind her, his shoulders pulled back so he looked even broader, taller than usual. “Hey, Rachel,” he said, smiling before it dropped off his face, his scowl deepening when he looked to the woman again.

  “Hey,” Rachel said.

  “Jordan, this is Rachel,” Everley said, placing a hand on Rachel’s arm. “She just got to town and is staying with Miss Sisson.”

  Jordan put her anger on hold long enough to give Rachel a smile and say, “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” Rachel said.

  “I’m expanding into the space next door. Ashe designed what it will look like. And Jordan’s going to make it all look fabulous.” Everley gave them both pointed looks as if to say don’t screw it up.

  “It would be easier if Ashe and his immovable walls weren’t getting in my way.” Jordan shoved him lightly and scrunched up her face in annoyance when he didn’t budge. She was almost as short as Rachel, her dark hair twisted into a sleek bun to match the classic lines of her outfit. Rachel itched to brush off the streak of white powder on Jordan’s skirt.

  “No, things would be easier if someone quit trying to redesign the space every other day,” Ashe said. He shifted away from Everley when her hand twitched toward him as if she smacked him regularly.

  “I swear to God, if y’all don’t start getting along I’m going with Jamie’s fight-to-the-death idea,” Everley said. “Winner has to do whatever the hell I want over there.”

  “How is that winning?” he asked.

  Without thinking, Rachel said, “Well, you get to live.” Ashe turned to her, his blue eyes narrowed as he tried to figure her out, and she smiled to let him know she was teasing. She wasn’t sure if her ease around him was due to the calming effect the shop—and its owner—seemed to have on her or if she just wanted to determine if they could be friends.

  Ashe dropped his head so a hunk of hair fell across his eyes. “Funny.” His jaw was tight, whether from annoyance or trying not to laugh, Rachel couldn’t tell.

  “Ooh, I knew I liked you,” Everley said, pointing a finger at Rachel, who felt the sincerity of the words all the way to her toes.

  “Getting along with her is not as easy as you’d think,” Ashe said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go figure out how in the hell to make this whole thing work.” He scowled at the room at large, then shoved back through the plastic into the work zone.

  “So no fight to the death?” Jordan asked.

  “Maybe next time,” Everley said, chuckling. Then she turned to Rachel and said, “So we’re all good, right? You’ll be back later this week to start work?”

  “Sounds good.”

  And just like that, Rachel had a job. If only everything in her life could fall into place that easily.

  * * *

  Instead of going inside when she got back to Catch’s, she followed the path into the backyard, tempted by the sweet scent that carried to her from the grove of trees she had seen from her attic room. The trees were only a few feet taller than she was, but when Rachel wandered between them, letting the soft leaves slip through her fingers, the rest of the world faded away. She stopped just before the trees ended near Ashe’s yard. She wrinkled her nose and almost choked on the scent of rotting fruit that emanated from the last tree, its leaves half-dead and crackling in the breeze.

  Turning away from the trees, she found Catch watching her from the kitchen window, but from the distance Rachel couldn’t make out her expression. She headed toward the house, the scent of rotting fruit dissipating with each step. By the time she reached the back porch, she wondered if she’d even smelled it at all.

  Inside, the air was almost as hot as it was in the yard, without the benefit of the slight breeze. She lifted her hair off her neck and fanned herself with her free hand.

  “Everything all right out there?” Catch asked.

  “Just checking out your fruit trees. They must produce a lot of fruit for you to bake as much as you do.”

  “They do when they want to.” Catch peeled plastic wrap from a thick disc of dough, and a cloud of flour puffed into the air when she slapped the dough onto the counter. “You wanna roll that out for me? An eighth-inch thick.”

  Taking the rolling pin, Rachel moved across the counter from Catch and started working the dough. “Is this pie just a pie, or are you making it for someone?”

  “And how is that any of your business, Miss-Likes-to-Change-the-Subject?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” Rachel said, her cheeks heating up. “I’m just curious. Not about the secrets. I don’t want to know those. But how did you know you could do what you do with the pies? That doesn’t seem like something you just stumble into.”

  Though that’s exactly what Rachel had done. She’d never met anyone else who could do anything strange, magical. But she’d always hoped she would. Not just so she’d have someone to confide in who wouldn’t call her crazy, but maybe they would’ve u
nderstood her ability in a way she never had. Maybe together they would’ve made things better.

  Maybe she and Catch still could.

  “Someone always has to be the first to fumble their way through learning the rules to something they don’t understand. If you’re lucky, it’s not you and someone else can teach you when your time comes.” Catch added sugar, salt, orange juice, and vanilla into a bowl of halved strawberries and mixed them together with her hands. “My great-gran was the first in our family. She was widowed young and had kids to feed, so she used what she knew of herbs and the fruit trees that grew on her land to make pies. And she wasn’t one for talking, which made her really good at listening. Her friends and neighbors would sit in the kitchen while she baked, telling her things they couldn’t keep to themselves, knowing she wouldn’t tell a soul. After a while, she noticed that whatever secrets were told while she was baking couldn’t be shared by anyone who ate the pie.”

  Spoken words were enough for wishes but not for secrets? “So it only works if they eat the pie?”

  Catch nodded. “Just a bite’ll do it. But most people eat the whole thing anyway just because it’s pie.”

  Satisfied with the size and thickness, Rachel set the rolling pin aside. “I’m still surprised more people aren’t suspicious of all the pies being eaten in this town. Wouldn’t they want to know if someone’s keeping a secret from them?”

  Laughing, Catch rinsed her hands and wiped them dry on her apron, leaving watery red smudges on the fabric. “Oh, I’m sure they do. But that’s between them and the one who ordered the pie. Once the pie is made, I stay out of it.”

  “Does it ever go wrong?” She didn’t look at Catch when she asked. Couldn’t. Not with the guilt of wishes she’d screwed up burning across her face.

  “Wrong how?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. Wrong like erasing a person. “Do some secrets get out anyway?”