by Laura Brown
“Older.” I scanned the neighborhood, even though there wasn’t anything happening, other than a stray dog sniffing bushes.
“Helpful. I might have missed him. If I really saw him in the first place. A few guys have come and gone, but that’s it.”
I studied the building with peeling vinyl siding. “If you’re right, it must be quite a story that he’s ended up here.”
“Well, burning down your house, and your son’s leg, can’t be an easy thing even for a coward.”
My leg ached at the thought, but I refused to rub it, refused to show weakness. “I should say he deserves this.”
“You should. But he’s still your father.”
“He’s still an asshole.”
“Gonna have to come to terms with this if you’re going to see him again.”
The words rubbed raw. Sure, we sat here, on a stakeout, but to keep tabs on the man, not to see him again. This was the furthest thing from a happy reunion.
“I have no plans to. I just want to make sure he stays away from my family.” He did a good job leaving me when I needed him the most. I’d been burned, in the hospital. All I wanted was my father to hold me.
“And what if they want to see him?”
I clenched my fist and ignored Carter’s gaze. “Keep your eyes on look out.”
He held a hand out. “There’s no one there but the ghosts of your past.”
“Fuck.” I threw my head back and shoved my hands into my hair.
“I was on board to help you out, but I’m not sure if this is what you need. What does Avery think?”
“Avery doesn’t know.”
The words almost hurt to say, and it was my own damn fault. When I dared look at him, he had his eyebrows raised.
“What?” I snapped.
He held up his hands. “Didn’t say a damn thing.”
A figure appeared at the end of the street, and I gave up on Carter to focus on the guy. The gait, the hands in pockets, and the way his head pointed down all felt familiar. But I was on a wild-goose chase. And why would Dad be walking and not driving?
Carter noticed him as well and, in silence, we watched as the guy approached the house. He turned in our direction, scanning the area and my gut clenched. Dad. Only he had none of the façade from our previous meeting. This guy looked as run-down as the building. Then he turned and headed up the steps to the house.
“That him?” Carter asked after the door closed and the figure vanished.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know, man. It looks like you got the better end of the deal. Did he pay child support?”
“Until Hannah turned eighteen.”
“And look at where he is. I know he was responsible for the fire, but this doesn’t look like a guy who went off and had a happy life while his family suffered.”
Carter’s words unsettled me, tugging deep, hinting that maybe my anger was unjustified, at least partially. A bit of sorrow seeped in, a concern for the man I still didn’t want to see again, and I couldn’t deal with the emotions. Instead, I studied the house, waiting for lights to turn on or off to indicate where he went. Nothing changed.
“I don’t think you need to worry about him. The way he looked around, I think he’s the one worried.”
I yanked my eyes from the building and to Carter’s serious face. “Doesn’t excuse what he’s done.”
“No. It doesn’t.” He pointed to my leg. “All I’m saying is you’ve had a better life. Burns or not.”
I tapped the console, sticky and uncomfortable. “Well, at least I know where he lives.” Without another word, I got out of the car and headed toward mine. The night had grown colder, and I relished the bitter sting. My life did appear better than Steve’s. Now, at least.
My knee stiffened and I stumbled getting it righted. His fault I stumbled. Didn’t matter I’d made the most of it, with Mom and Hannah’s help. Not his. It never made sense to me why he left. House burned. Son burned. Dad gone. Not even a visit so I could tell him all the things I told therapists and counselors instead.
Questions remained. I had never once wanted to speak to him. Now I had questions and the potential for answers. But did I want them?
I tugged out my phone and opened my text thread with Avery. My thumbs hovered over the screen, typed nothing. Even though I knew better, I put my phone away and headed home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Avery
I was never drinking again as long as I lived. My head throbbed and every clank and clang of the bakery created a sharp, stabbing effect. To the point that after the first twenty minutes, and two ibuprofens, I took off my hearing aids. The bakery was quieter but not enough, not when life retaliated against me with all its might.
I inhaled coffee like a lifeline and tried not to let the queasy sight of sugar lead me to do anything drastic, like attempt sugar-free anything. But it was mighty tempting to cut the servings in half. Or total.
Nell bustled around and I prayed she hadn’t tried to talk to me. Actually, I prayed no one tried. One night of drinking wasn’t worth this level of pain. And what good did it do me anyway? I got little sleep and all my problems magnified with the intoxication.
Me: Never let me drink like that again.
Jake: And how would you like me to stop you?
Instead of my body warming up, my head throbbed harder.
Me: I’m too hungover for even that.
Jake: Ouch, you going to share why you drank so much?
Me: Alcohol is like Pringles to me?
Jake: Try again.
I bit my lip and put my phone down, refocusing on my station. Not telling Jake did me no good. Or drinking and giving him a hint of an issue was the problem. I wasn’t sure. The only truth was that I was worse off today than yesterday.
No more alcohol. And time to put on my big girl panties. Maybe the hangover would lessen if I gave myself one less issue threatening to break me.
Me: Your mom wants me to help make the rugelach while she’s away.
I squeezed my eyes shut as I clicked send, knowing my words could cause damage. Jake knew too much. I had to hope that would turn into a good thing.
Jake: Wow. She trusts you.
More than trusts by the look of the recipe card. And I needed answers to gauge how to handle that particular bombshell.
Me: Has anyone other than Hannah ever made this recipe?
Jake: No one.
My stomach churned, and I seriously contemplated running to the bathroom.
Me: It’s too much. Why me?
Jake: You know the answer.
Jake: And I know why you’re freaked.
I closed my eyes and willed my stomach to calm down. It didn’t. I abandoned my station and fled to the bathroom, kneeling on the floor and debating if anything would actually come up.
Dry heaving produced nothing solid, for better or worse. I rested my head on my arm and worked at calming my breathing in hopes it would settle my stomach. When I next checked my phone, I had another message waiting for me.
Jake: So that’s why you wanted Dick Guy last night.
Me: Bingo.
Me: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to get this complicated.
Jake: Why is it complicated because my mom gave you a recipe?
All my agitation broke free and traveled down to my fingertips.
Me: Because it’s THE recipe. It’s what your mother is known for. I never even dreamed of getting to see the recipe, never mind bake it. And now that I have, I see how important it is.
I leaned against the wall. Okay, so I more than dreamed of seeing the recipe, but I had no clue if I’d manage or just pick up enough tricks and tastes to do my own. I needed to get out, but my stomach still felt queasy enough to be a problem. Plus, the floor was moderately comfortable, which just proved how bad a grip this hangover had on me.
Jake: That’s why you moved here. You want to steal from Mom.
Oh no. My body tensed and I wanted to sink
further into the dirty floor.
Me: You don’t know that.
Jake: Bullshit. You know everything in this long thread the same as I do.
Jake: I thought you wanted to stay a few years.
My heart ached more than my head and my stomach as I quickly typed my response.
Me: I did! I do!
Jake: So what does this really change?
Breathing was difficult and my head was spinning.
Me: I don’t know. Don’t ask me difficult questions after too much drinking.
Jake: But it shouldn’t be a difficult question. It’s only difficult because you want to leave.
Me: That’s not true.
Jake: Really? What do you want?
I stared at the door, torn between Erik’s dream and mine. I had been so sure our dreams were the same. Now I didn’t know what I wanted.
Me: Million-dollar question. I had planned to open my own bakery one day. But now everything is confused and complicated and I’m not answering hungover.
Jake: You can run, but you can’t hide.
Me: I’m good at both.
I stood, washed my hands, wiped my eyes, and fluffed my hair from total flat mess to slightly styled mess. I looked like I felt, but there was nothing I could do about that, and my head hurt too much to attempt pinching my cheeks.
On the other side of the door, I came face-to-face with Hannah. Her mouth moved and her sweet voice hit my ears, missing enough parts that no concept of comprehension occurred.
“Sorry, I took my hearing aids off.”
She scrunched up her face, clearly not understanding why, and dragged me into the office. I sat, too low on energy to do much else. She must not have trusted me to stay, because she blocked my path and crossed her arms.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a loud voice.
Too loud. I heard her, but my head wasn’t a fan. I put a hand to my temple. “I drank too much last night.”
She moved closer and when she spoke again, it was softer. “Do I need to yell at my brother?”
I shook my head, then held it to prevent it from falling off. “No. I was alone.”
She plopped into the chair next to me, scooting forward, concern causing her eyebrows to lower. “Is something wrong?”
Nothing I can tell you. “Just overwhelmed. I’ll be okay.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Now you sound like your brother.”
“Nosiness is a Ruben trait. Is this something he can help with?”
This was something no one could help with. “No. Like I said, I’ll be okay once this hangover wears off.”
Hannah didn’t budge.
“I’m sorry. I know I need to be more responsible—”
She waved a hand and cut me off. “No, it’s not that. We’re friends, right? Friends help one another. Especially, if my idiot brother is a problem.”
I put my head in my hands, willing my head to behave normally for a change.
“It’s not Jake. Jake’s…” Wonderful. The thought made my heart beat faster and for a moment I forgot about the hangover. Then a thought occurred to me. I looked up at Hannah. “You’ve seen the rugelach recipe, yes?”
She nodded. “A few times. I learned from watching Mom bake so I’ve never really needed it.”
She’d probably seen and fiddled with the card, but I had to ask. “You ever turn it over?”
“There’s more on the back?”
I shook my head and held up my hand. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”
I headed to my belongings and pulled out the index card from my purse. When I returned to the room, I handed it to her.
“Do I really want to turn this over?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Honestly, I have no clue.”
She studied me for a moment, then turned the card over. Her hand went to her mouth as she read. “Oh my God. I knew this recipe had been around since before Jake and I existed. I knew Dad did some baking with Mom when they were dating. But this…this is new.”
“I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds.”
“Oh, hush, don’t worry about that. I never turned it over, since everything I needed was right on front. It’s not a secret or Mom would have hidden it.”
“But she kept it. All these years and she never covered it up or rewrote it.”
Hannah had her eyes on the card. “Mom’s not big on erasing history. And this is more history than I had realized.”
Some stress vacated my shoulders by sharing, but more played with the hangover in my stomach. “I don’t deserve this.”
“You’re the best baker we’ve had. You fit right in. Of course you deserve this.”
“And if Jake and I break up or I leave?”
Hannah put the card down. “Problems?”
Yes. “No.”
She nodded, as if she knew exactly what I meant. “Well, you could hurt us with this. We’ve had people try and steal it. Caught one new hire snooping around back here in the office looking for it. We trust you. I don’t mean that to inflict more stress or pressure or make your hangover any worse. It’s the truth. Mom is careful about who she trusts. Sometimes it backfires. It’s all about where you’re willing to lay your heart on the line.”
She handed the card back to me and headed to the door.
“We still need your help making the rugelach while Mom’s away. Let me know if you want to plan a baking night. It isn’t as simple as it seems.” Then she closed the door behind her, leaving me alone.
One problem solved, twelve more created. My stomach still churned, and my head throbbed, but I knew nothing would ease it for quite some time. I held the card to my chest. I didn’t want to ruin their trust. But I still had my promise to Erik. And then there was Jake. Three elements that didn’t quite fit together.
*
Hannah bustled around my kitchen, setting up the supplies for the rugelach. The queasy feeling in my stomach lingered, no longer attributable to my hangover.
“Hannah,” I whined. Whined. What was wrong with me?
“Don’t you even think about it. Next week, you and I will be making these because I can’t make enough on my own with all my other responsibilities. So grow a pair and come learn.”
I whimpered but moved over to her and watched as she went through the steps. The index card sat nearby, but she didn’t look at it, not even a glance. My eyes wandered to the card occasionally, putting all the pieces together. Mostly, I tried to make sense of each step, how she separated the butter and cream cheese, knowing there would be tiny details that Hannah picked up from Nell that never made it into the recipe.
“Now you let the dough harden.” She put the wrapped sections into my freezer. “This is where your multitasking skills will come in. Best to line this up with another project.”
I nodded, troubleshooting how well this would intermix with my cupcakes. The huge significance of the situation still distracted me, and I found it hard to not focus on it.
“You gonna relax?” Hannah set my timer.
I tried to throw on false bravado, but much like her brother, she’d see right through me. “No. Shouldn’t someone more seasoned be doing this?”
Hannah leaned against the counter and crossed her legs. “Sure, we’ve got some great staff, loyal and talented. But they’ve already got their best talents on display. I can’t see any of them putting into their work what this ultimately needs.”
“And what’s that?”
“I know it’s foolish, but love. That’s what makes this recipe. I didn’t fully understand it until I saw the back of the card. It was created out of love. It’s made with love. You put that kind of soul into your baking. And, sure, maybe because of Jake, you’re in a position to care differently than the rest. That’s why all those people hoping to steal the recipe would never have been happy. Because they couldn’t; the real secret isn’t on the paper.”
I tried my best not to freak out, even though the thought of running away, even with her
in my apartment, had more appeal than it should. My plans had delivered a huge gut punch, leaving me lost and confused. Instead of getting clearer, the fog increased.
“What if I can’t recreate this on my own?”
Hannah shrugged.
“Try it before Mom leaves, just don’t tell her the results. She needs to go. I’ll juggle something if I have to. But you’ve got to try before you freak out.” She glanced over her shoulder. “There was a knock on your door.”
I had heard nothing and expected no one. I rose on my tiptoes to see through the peephole and caught part of Jake leaning against the wall, legs crossed. I opened the door.
“Hey there! I didn’t know you were coming over.”
He planted a quick kiss on my lips. “How are you?”
I put a hand on my forehead. Not warm. Should be.
“Yesterday, we said we’d do something tonight. Only you weren’t answering your phone.”
Crap. “I’m sorry. My phone wasn’t on me and I’m baking with Hannah.”
He put a hand over his heart. “Are you cheating on me with my own sister?”
Hannah appeared on the other side of the door. “If we swung that way, we could be so happy. Right, Avery?”
I couldn’t process, so I let Jake in. He studied the counter and the filling ingredients Hannah had already set out.
“Rugelach?” His voice was light, but his eyes found mine.
I feared more secrets would soon be spilled on the floor.
“Yup,” Hannah said. “Prepping Avery to help while Mom’s away.”
“Is that so?” He didn’t look away from my face, even as he chatted with Hannah.
“It’s a special recipe. I didn’t realize how much so. Mom rarely takes it out, so we never saw the back.”
Now he glanced back and forth between us. Already resigned to secret spilling, I picked up the card and handed it to him, backside up.
Jake read it for much longer than necessary, not moving, barely breathing. When he finally reacted, only his head moved, toward his sister. “Dad?”
“Who else? You know they used to bake together before we were born.”
Jake handed the card back to me, all movements matching the usual stiffness in his bad leg. I wanted to touch him, soothe him somehow, but I didn’t know what he needed.
