Sugar

by Karin Kallmaker

  She made herself think about baking after that, about fishing lures and Bible study and if there was life in other galaxies. Anything to get the scent of Charlie Bronson's cologne, and stair¬cases and sumptuous bedrooms out of her mind.

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  Chapter 5

  It wasn't cologne she smelled the moment she woke, but the all-too-familiar stench of something charred. Sitting bolt upright in near total darkness, Sugar was momentarily puzzled by where she was. Another whiff of burning sent her scurrying into Gran's hall¬way, following the smell.

  She found Gran dropping a piece of blackened toast into the garbage disposal. "Oh, you startled me, child. What is it? You're white as a ghost!"

  Sugar tried to calm her racing heart. Sure, she thought, you're just fine. Obsessing about some woman's cologne and now trying not to run screaming from the house over burnt toast? "Nothing, Gran. I... just..."

  "Sit down at the table, quick," Gran ordered firmly. She ground up the toast, then more firmly wrapped her housecoat around her. "That toaster has got to go. I don't blame you thinking the house was on fire. Let me get you a glass of milk."

  As much as Sugar wanted to spare her grandmother steps, she was grateful to rest her head on her arms and just breathe. The milk did settle her stomach and nerves right away, and within min¬utes she offered to make eggs before they both started their busy day. A cup of coffee made her feel almost human.

  "Now listen, Sugar," Gran said seriously, after dishes were stacked in the sink. "All my life I haven't been in favor of people running to psychiatrists and analysts every time they get a hang¬nail. That's what family is for, that's why Jesus lives in our hearts."

  Sugar was familiar with the gist of Gran's comments. Just when everything was going so well, she was about to get pressured to talk to Reverend Whoozits, who might be, for all she knew, a wonder¬ful, empathetic person who understood trauma. It was the inher¬ent sales pitch that came with the sympathy, that's what put her off. Lots of lovely words and hugs and "we love you, Jesus loves you, God loves you," but she always heard a condition—we'd love you more if you thought the way we do. That fact that you're not one of us hurts us, Sugar, so stop hurting us. Right.

  Gran moved slowly back to the table. Once settled, she went on, "But I do find that I'm not as right about many things as I used to be. I was raised in simpler times."

  Sugar blinked back her surprise at the turn Gran's words had taken. If Gran thought she'd seen Jesus and it had turned her into a more tolerant person, then perhaps everybody should see that Jesus once in a while. "I don't know if the times were simpler, Gran. It's just that we thought so."

  "I'm ashamed to say it made life easy, thinking the world was made up of one culture, one color and one right way to do any one thing." She untied the wrap that covered her curlers and set about unrolling them. "I didn't know what matzoh or bhujia was, and I thought not knowing made me a better Christian, and a better American. I tell you," she added, her voice raising in the hellfire cadence Sugar knew so well, "ignorance is a sin."

  "I think I can agree wholeheartedly with that, Gran." Sugar took a last look at the slowly lightening sky visible from the

  kitchen window. It was clear this morning, but a storm had been forecasted by afternoon. She moved behind her grandmother and helped with the curlers. Saturday was a day for making calls, deliv¬ering treats to anyone who felt under the weather and dropping off extra portions of desserts for the shelter. By noon, after six hours of kitchen work, Gran would be off with Bridget, looking the picture of leisure down to the last gray curl. White gloves would hide the burn from the oven rack and a hearty "God bless you" would mask any weariness Gran might feel.

  Sugar had thought her grandmother the most tireless person she'd ever met, but, as she brushed the thinning hair in her hands she realized that Gran had likely always been tired. She simply refused to stop because of it.

  "What I'm trying to say is that you should seriously think about calling one of those people Gantry left on that list. A specialist, you might say. I can tell already you're not sleeping."

  "You can?" Goodness, how bad did she look? Perhaps she ought to consult a mirror herself before she went out in public.

  "I don't think I've ever seen you with such circles under your eyes."

  "It'll get better, Gran. It's not like I lost anything truly impor¬tant to me." She thought of her recipe files. "It can all be replaced. Even though I'm sorry to have to start over with some things, I can see that a fresh start might have advantages."

  "Do as you think best, of course." Sugar knew that phrase from countless utterances during family disputes, but Gran didn't say it with the same deep you're-going-directly-to-hell sigh.

  "I'll keep an open mind."

  Gran laughed. "So should we all. They told you what happened at Easter, didn't they?"

  Sugar set the hairbrush in the basket with the curlers. "Quinn did. I didn't know until yesterday."

  Gran patted Sugar's hand. "All I'm saying now is I need to get right with Jesus. The rest of you are on your own with Him."

  "I'll keep an open mind on that, too," Sugar said lightly. "After

  all, the fire happened when I was able to escape it. Either I'm lucky that random chance fell in my favor, or somebody was watching out for me. There," she continued briskly. "You look like a million bucks."

  "Thank you, my dear. It's so much easier when someone else does it."

  "You're welcome. Goodness, it's nearly seven. So what's on the baking plan for today?"

  They went over ingredients and timing. Sugar realized she would have to remember that Saturday morning was Gran's heav¬iest baking day and plan accordingly. It was a good thing her morning was solely occupied with decorating and would take up only one small area on the kitchen table. The dining room had poor lighting and she was glad not to have to move.

  "Gran, I'm thinking I may need to rent another refrigerator and put it in the garage. This project is taking an entire shelf, and it was a tight fit at that. Good thing it's not for sixty. I've got a proj¬ect that size coming up."

  "That makes a lot of sense." Gran looked up from dicing dates. "I'm sure there's things you'd like to have chilled, too—pop and beer and that sort of thing. Do you think most of what I make doesn't need refrigeration because I learned to bake when a refrig¬erator was a luxury? We had an icebox in Tupelo when I was a girl, but it was for milk and butter."

  "Maybe you're right." Sugar thought about it. "I couldn't do what I'm doing without it." She lifted the tenting of foil from the half-decorated cat.

  Gran gasped. "My goodness gracious, that's amazing!"

  Sugar felt a pleased blush steal over her face. "I told you to wait and see what I could really do. I did most of the texturing and painting last night after you went to bed."

  Gran was putting on her glasses. "Now let me look close."

  Sugar stepped back to give Gran lots of room. She was pleased with her work. A fully-formed three-dimensional cat coiled on its back, with patches of calico fur in beige, gold, brown and black.

  The front paws were curled down, while one back leg stuck out at an odd angle. The tail was still a separate piece and would remain so until she set the cake up at Emily's serving area. "I haven't done the face yet, or the pink touches on the paw pads and ears. The collar I'll do last, with as much detail as I have time for."

  "The fur looks real. This is so artful. Not just baking, but a real delight for the eyes. And you get all that from sugar and water, boiled on the stove?" Gran shook her head. "Who knew it would look like fur?"

  "And leather and fabric and wicker—anything with a texture I can duplicate."

  They worked harmoniously for the next several hours, Gran producing six loaves of banana-date bread and two large fruit cob¬blers. Sugar finished the cat's face, leaving its collar and whiskers for the last bit. The whiskers were easy since this cat's were white—sugar straws inserted at the last minute would be an exact match.

  Sh
e chatted with Bridgett about the fire and her cake-making while Gran put on her visiting dress and got ready for the second half of her day.

  Once Sugar was alone she rapidly did some time math and scur¬ried to the shower. Refreshed, she finished the legs and tail, then took a final thirty minutes to tint, roll and stud the collar with glis¬tening fondant jewels.

  Armed with a map and having allowed time for notoriously bad traffic getting on and off of Mercer Island, she set out with a wor¬ried look at gathering black clouds. As the joke went, the Seattle rain festival stretched from January 1 to December 31. It looked like this afternoon was no exception. She hoped to arrive at Emily's before any more moisture got into the air and therefore her cake.

  A glance in the rearview mirror said the bags under her eyes weren't as bad as Gran had implied, but they had looked more pro-

  nounced when she donned the pristine white chef's smock she wore to deliver and set up her cakes. There was no other choice, though, because it was a convenient uniform that set her apart from other people who might be setting up a party and she found it helpful not to be mistaken for a member of the catering crew. She smoothed one finger over the embroidered navy blue Sugar over her left breast. She was glad it hadn't been ruined.

  Mercer Island was accessible for automobiles only from 1-90, which plodded at low speeds, even on the weekends. Lake Washington's waters were churning gray silt as Sugar drove across the bridge to the island. Murky waves were building as the wind increased. But it looked as if she'd get to Emily's just in time.

  Though many of the people who lived on the island were dot¬com millionaires, the houses themselves had mostly been built by old money. Sugar remembered Gran once advising Rose to set her sights on a "Mercer Island doctor" if she wanted to marry well.

  To be sure, there were modest dwellings on the island, but Emily's home was not one of them. Sugar turned tentatively into the driveway, then drove through a breezeway to a larger parking area behind the sizeable two-story house. A caterer's van—she really hadn't believed Emily would settle for oven-to-buffet snacks from the grocery store—emblazoned with Julie's was already being unloaded. In the garage beyond she saw the bumper of Emily's Jaguar. A verdant carpet of grass rolled down to a fully enclosed gazebo, then continued to the rocky shores of the lake and a small, empty dock. Across the churning waters Sugar could see Seward Park and the building- and tree-encrusted hills of eastern Seattle.

  A drop of rain on the windshield sent Sugar running for the back door, which was propped open with a piece of firewood.

  "You've made it safely," Emily exclaimed. She turned from her conversation with another woman, obviously the caterer, with a bright smile. "I was worrying about the rain."

  "Just tell me where to set up and I'll get everything inside. It's just starting to come down." A gust of wind added urgency to Sugar's words.

  "In here. I'm using the lounge. It's much warmer and we can watch the storm on the lake while we booze it up all night." Emily led Sugar through a vaulted foyer.

  Sugar had only a moment to take note of the curved, ornate staircase before following Emily into a large, comfortable room with multiple seating groups, an oversized fireplace, tall picture windows and—best of all for her needs—a more-than-adequate sideboard reserved for the cake and gifts. The caterer had set up protective liners, electrical cords and party lights on a nearby table that might otherwise be used for cards or to feed a family of eight, if the need should arise.

  "This is perfect," Sugar said. "I have some plain white cloths to protect the table, unless you have linens you'd prefer to use."

  "Julie—she's in the kitchen—has the party decorations, and there's something to go on this table. Let me find that while you bring in your artwork." Emily whisked away again, her heels making a rapid tattoo on the Mediterranean tile of the foyer.

  By the time Sugar was back with the cake, there was an insu¬lated cloth in place. She was glad she'd fussed getting the card¬board platter wrapped in a subdy patterned wax paper over a lining of aluminum foil. There was no way anyone would call the caterer's dishware and preparations casual. There was also some foliage and glitter to add to the display.

  Her worry now was that the lounge was warm, and the icing would begin to run before the partygoers had a chance to admire the cake.

  "I think you're going to need this," a voice said behind her.

  Turning, she saw the caterer holding an aluminum platter with an ice-filled core. "Oh, yes, that would be a big help if you can spare it."

  "Emily asked me to bring something along, just in case. Said you'd had an emergency and might not have all the supplies you're used to." The older woman's tone wasn't exactly full of sympathy. Everybody in food service had emergencies.

  Sugar held her head up, though she wanted to blush at the

  implied criticism of her foresight. "'Emergency' about covers it. A fire. And yeah, I had one of those until Wednesday. You must be Julie."

  A nod accompanied a firm handshake. "I cater all the time for the station, so I'm used to Emily's last-minute requests for mira¬cles." She spread a towel on the insulated cloth and set the already sweating platter on top of that. "I confess, given how Emily has raved, I can't wait to see what you've done."

  Sugar caught the competitive hint in Julie's voice, but now whatever Julie thought didn't bother her. She knew her work was unique. "I'll have it all set up in about a half-hour. Some assembly still required," she quipped.

  Julie didn't take the hint and was obviously lingering to see the cake uncovered. Fine then, Sugar thought. She didn't need to antagonize the woman. For all she knew, Julie had contacts with other people like Emily.

  She carefully squared the cake on top of the cold platter and peeled back the foil tent without fanfare. Everything looked exactly as it had when she'd covered it up. "The tail still needs to be attached, but I've all the equipment for that," she added unnecessarily.

  "Wow." Julie's tone was laden with grudging admiration. "Emily wasn't exaggerating."

  "Thank you."

  "How did you get the legs to stay up with all the weight of the icing?"

  "Wood skewers. I try to use as few as possible, but it's also the reason why I use cardboard underneath. Something to push the skewer into. The tip of the tail will stand up with the same sup¬port."

  "How would you recommend cutting that? So I'll know later when we're serving."

  "I start with the main body first, leaving the most elaborate parts for last. I've found that the honoree usually claims the fanci¬est portions."

  "I'll offer it that way then." Julie glanced from the cake to Sugar and back again. "You did that since .. . ?"

  Sugar nodded. "I got the pictures and order on Wednesday and began work Thursday. I usually prefer to have four working days for any project, regardless of size, but circumstances didn't allow it this time."

  "Do you have a business card?"

  "A few survived the fire." Gratified, Sugar fished one out of her pocket and handed it to Julie, who passed back one of her own. "There are photographs and pricing outlines on my Web site."

  "I've got a graduation celebration in the middle of June for a family just up the island a bit. So far they haven't cared for any of the dessert ideas. I'll bounce something like this off them. They're big U of W alumni, but they don't want just the school colors on a flat cake thing."

  Sugar shrugged. "I could ... do a campus structure, a mascot, a letterman's jacket, anything along those lines. And as a subcon¬tractor on your contract I knock off ten percent if I don't have to do delivery and setup."

  Julie nodded. "Okay, then. I'll be in touch if they like the idea."

  Shutting the activity in the rest of the room out of her mind, Sugar carefully laid out the pieces of the tail in the curve she thought most elegant, then applied the base layer of white icing. Referring to the photograph, she added patches of color, then worked quickly with a lightly tinted pastry brush to complete the fur effect. Her
last effect was the delicate addition of the whiskers.

  "That's really beautiful," Emily said from behind her.

  "Thank you." Sugar turned to face her client. Emily was just a client, she told herself, taking a deep breath as she noted that Emily had changed for the party. No doubt the clinging raw silk outfit was called loungewear, but one woman's loungewear was another woman's fantasy pajamas. The deep green was a wonder¬ful foil for Emily's red hair, which was now unbraided and loose around her shoulders.

  "Oh, thank you," Emily replied. "I'll take the look in your eyes as a compliment, if that's not too forward."

  Goodness gracious, Sugar scolded herself. First you get high on Charlie's cologne and now you're drooling over Emily. Give it a rest! "I'm sorry—that color does look really wonderful on you."

  "Like I said, thank you." Emily tucked one hand under Sugar's arm. "You haven't forgotten our dinner engagement on Thursday, have you?"

  "Not at all," Sugar assured her. They walked together to the foyer.

  "Good. I will confess I hoped we'd talk about more than busi¬ness."

  "The thought had crossed my mind," Sugar admitted before thinking better of it.

  Emily started to reply but turned quickly as the front door burst open. The new arrival announced, "It's raining cats and dogs out there!"

  Emily let go of Sugar with a laugh. "Annette, you look drowned. Speaking of cats, take off your coat and come look in the lounge. Nan's cat is visiting."

  Annette slung her coat over the nearest chair and followed Emily. "I thought that creature couldn't travel."

  "It's a surprise. Look, right there on the table, naughty thing."

  Sugar poked her head into the lounge to get the full effect of Annette's reaction.

  "Nan's forever having to drug it. Get it off the table—oh! It's a fake!" Annette's laugh was infectious and genuine.