by Tia Louise
She nods, and I stand in the pedals to get momentum. I’m pushing hard, doing my best to pick up speed when a tall form emerges from the poboy shop.
My heart plunges, and I push harder. We fly past, making our way quickly through the four-block garden district, past my mother’s house on the corner, and onto the trail leading out to the strand.
I leave nothing but dust on the road behind us.
* * *
Both of my new customers are impressed and bragging about their cakes when I leave them. They offer to recommend me to friends in the area, which I desperately need to keep my business growing. I also get permission to leave fliers at two of the more expensive resorts. I take business cards for the head chefs at the restaurants, although I’m repeatedly told they handle desserts in-house.
“Ups and downs,” I say with a sigh, holding Coco’s hand and walking to my bike Dixie. “Nobody said starting a business was easy.”
Coco back in her place, I pedal us a little closer up the coast to a portion of beach hidden from the tourist traffic. I park Dixie and unpack the picnic lunch Tabby made for us while I decorated the cakes.
Sitting on my towel, I can’t help remembering how I know this little cove. Jackson had taken me here. It’s where we’d meet when we didn’t want to go all the way out to the strand.
I watch Coco running up and down, chasing the waves rushing in and out, and my mind travels to when it would be me out there in the surf, dancing to show off for him in my itsy bitsy bikini. He’d sit on the sand, dark skin shimmering in the sun, looking like a god. He’d smile, and my stomach would flip.
I’d dance up in front of him and kick the sprays of water. The little drops would hit his heated skin, and he’d be up on one fluid movement, chasing me. I couldn’t outrun him, and he’d toss me over his shoulder, carrying me out into the swirling cold breakers. I’d squeal as if I didn’t love it, and he’d lower me. Our lips would meet, and it would be salt water and cinnamon. Bathing suits pushed aside, thumbs sliding back and forth across beaded nipples. My breath would catch as hard muscle met slippery heat…
Coco runs into my arms like a little bird, and I slip bite-sized crackers into her mouth. She only stays until the edge is off her hunger, then she’s right out in the waves again. She’s as much of a water bug as I ever was.
I thought I could depend on Jackson in those days, but he broke me. He ripped out my heart and left me bleeding and devastated. Resting my cheek on my knees, I watch my daughter play and do my best to blink away my tears, to put the memories in the past where they belong.
I owe Coco stability, a mother who can’t be broken.
I have to be strong.
It doesn’t matter if he’s back.
* * *
It’s late when Coco and I arrive at my mother’s house. The sun is hidden low in the trees, and blue-green shadows stretch over the sidewalks. Hopping off the bike, I maneuver it through the white fence surrounding the yard, keeping a hand on my daughter.
Taking her out of her seat, I leave the bike parked at the gate. Her sleepy head is on my shoulder, and her arms and legs go around my waist. I can’t help thinking of a baby koala, and the warmth filling my chest soothes that old wound.
“Emberly?” My mother quickly steps into the foyer when we enter.
I gesture to Coco asleep on my shoulder, and she gives me a tight-lipped nod. Impatience tightens my throat, and I reconsider my earlier plan to spend the night here. The idea of waking up alone in my bed with the balcony doors wide open and Jackson right outside sends my imagination down a rabbit-hole of impossible possibilities.
Not going there.
At the same time…
Not going there with my mother either.
She silently hated Jackson when he was here the first time, and her hatred turned verbal after he left. The last thing I can cope with on top of everything else is the nonstop lecturing, warning, badgering, questioning.
Without hesitation, I step into the shower with Coco in my arms. She whines in my ear, and her little arms tighten over my shoulders. I tilt the showerhead so it’s not pointing in her face and wash the salt water out of our hair.
I read somewhere ocean water is actually really good for your skin and hair. It’s probably fiction, but I decide tonight to believe it and don’t bother with the soap or lathering us up too much.
Grit gone, I wrap us in a thick, expensive towel and head to bed.
* * *
“I guess she has to go to preschool today,” I say, carrying Coco into the kitchen where my mother sits at the small table immaculately dressed and holding a cup of coffee.
I, by contrast, am in my cutoffs and the maroon tank I wore yesterday. My hair is twisted up in a messy bun, and Coco is on my hip, complaining that she can’t spend the day “baking,” riding bikes, and swimming in the sea with me.
My mother studies me. “I thought you might need her with you yesterday.”
“Why?” I deposit my daughter in a chair at the table and step over to pour myself a cup of coffee.
As much as I hate to admit it, I do appreciate having coffee ready when I wake up… in an air-conditioned bedroom with my little girl’s foot against my face.
“I thought he might try to see you.” Momma is still watching me, and those words pull me up short.
“You knew he was back?”
“He stopped by the house Sunday evening.”
Betrayal flashes in my chest. “You didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t see the point.” She sets down her cup and leans back in her chair. “I knew he’d find you eventually.”
Eventually… She could have fucking warned me. She could have saved me that lightning strike.
Sarcasm drips in my tone. “I’m surprised you risked her being around such a negative influence.”
She sniffs and lifts her coffee. “Most men are put off by other men’s children.”
I try to swallow the knot in my throat. I always knew Marjorie Warren was sneaky. Now I’m convinced she’s just plain evil.
“Colette will go to school today.” That gets a whine out of my daughter. My mother’s response is firm, albeit far more gentle with her granddaughter. “There is more to life than baking.”
I let that jab go, turning to my baby instead. “I can’t wait to hear all about the new monster.” I hug her tightly, rubbing her back and kissing her little shoulder. “I’ll make a cupcake for him.”
Suddenly Coco is far more interested in returning to school. I pick up my bag and give my mother one final glare before leaving.
If I thought it would sell, I’d create an ass cake with her face in the center. As it is, I have a penis to make. And some other, more respectable items.
Either I’m lucky or he’s inside one of the buildings. I see no sign of Jackson when I arrive at my place. Wheeling Dixie into the alley, I quickly fasten the chain, though it’s not really necessary in Oceanside, and enter through the back door.
A few moments later, my apron is on, and I’m shaking out the flour to make the puff pastry crust for the fruit tart. I left a list of ingredients with Tabby yesterday. A quick check in the refrigerator, and I see she bought them all.
Raspberries, strawberries, kiwis, blackberries, and blueberries sit in pretty little green baskets on the shelves. The bell over the door rings and I look up to see my best friend checking over her shoulder as she dashes inside.
Today she’s wearing a red and white gingham blouse with the sleeves rolled up. Her dark hair is pinned around her head in curls, like a classic 1950s pinup. Her eyes are dramatically outlined, and her lips are red velvet—as usual.
“I should keep more fruit in here,” I say, looking in the refrigerator again. “For Coco.”
“Where did you sleep last night?” Tabby actually sounds concerned.
“I stayed at Mom’s.” Closing the door, the ingredients for the custard filling are in my hands. “We didn’t get back until late.”
“Thank g
oodness.” Her shoulders fall with her exhale. “I was worried.”
“About what?” Pressing my lips together, I give her a frown. As if.
“Don’t look at me like that.” She pulls out the stool beside me. “I remember how you two were in high school. Now he’s suddenly back, and looking… as good as ever.”
A little growl is in my throat. “I have more important things to focus on now. Like Coco and this shop.”
“Doesn’t mean he isn’t still out there.” She nods to my torso. “Or in there.”
Heat filters through my chest. “How are you managing to pay bills on all the money I pay you?”
“What money?”
“Exactly.” I nod, returning to my pastry dough. “Maybe you should get a real job.”
“Rude!” She drops her large hobo bag in the corner. “Are you going to talk to him?”
“Who?”
Her eyes say Bitch, please.
“There’s nothing to say, Tabby. We broke up. Or at least we moved on.” I’m kneading the pastry dough a little too hard. “Everybody else needs to move on as well.”
The doorbell tings, and we look up to see both Betty Pepper and Donna White entering the store.
“Saved by the bell,” I mutter.
“Don’t ever say I don’t deliver,” Betty announces. “You say you need business, and I bring you business.”
“Hey, Miss Betty.” I nod, reaching for my twelve-inch tart pan and lowering the rolled crust into it. “How’s it going, Donna?”
“Hi, Emberly, Tabby.”
Donna White is such the demure wallflower. I confess, I was surprised Betty Pepper got her something as bold as a penis cake for her shower. I wonder if she also gave her toys…
“What can I do for you ladies?” I smile as I carefully press the dough into the tin, paying careful attention to the corners.
“Donna wants to order her wedding cake from you.” Betty holds her hands up as if it’s a victory. “I’m here about… what we talked about at church.”
Tabby frowns like she can’t remember. “What did we talk about at church? My uncle’s sermon on lasciviousness?”
“Tabitha Green, you know very well that isn’t a word.” Betty snaps, and I snort.
“I know what you need, Miss B,” I say. “Chocolate, right?”
Her eyes twinkle. “Right, but I want to be sure you have the proper fillings. The one you made last time was a little on the plain side.”
“Oh!” I’m slightly taken aback. “I’m sorry. I guess, considering what it was, I didn’t think you’d want a lot of extra… things.”
“Obviously, we don’t want anything red or yellow inside,” she carries on, oblivious to my best friend turning green in the face.
Donna is blissfully ignorant of what we’re discussing… at least I think she is. She walks over to the windows and looks out and to the left. I don’t allow my mind to wonder what she’s seeing.
“I made a cayenne pepper and chocolate cake over the weekend—”
Tabby jumps in. “Oh! That sounds perfect! Hot chocolate for a hot cake?”
Betty’s nose wrinkles. “I’m not sure. I get the reflux, you know.”
“Um… in that case…” I pull out my chocolate combinations cheat sheet. “I’ve done a chocolate cake with chocolate mousse filling and chocolate buttercream or fondant… Devil’s food with coconut pecan buttercream filling and dark chocolate ganache frosting—”
“That one!” Tabby cries. “Do that one. Trust me, BP, that is the cake you want. It is so good. So good.”
The older woman’s lips curl. “I’m not sure about coconut. That might look like something nobody wants to see.”
“It’s not flaked coconut,” I explain. “It’s coconut flavor.”
She smacks the counter with her palm. “Book it.”
I scribble down the order on my notepad, and the short little lady scoots up closer. Her shoulder is just under my armpit. “How are you holding up?” Her voice is low and full of concern.
“I’m doing just fine, thanks.” I nod, without meeting her eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“I swear, the whole town’s buzzing.” She steps back and starts pacing. “Jack Lockwood slipping in like that under cover of night… and the nerve of Wyatt giving him a job. As if the Lockwoods haven’t taken enough money out of this town—”
“Isn’t he staying at his mom’s old cottage a few blocks away?” Donna asks, still staring through the glass.
I wish she wouldn’t do that.
“That’s just it,” Betty continues. “His mother was a good, local girl. Your own mother’s best friend.” She nods to me. “And Randall Lockwood just ruined her. And Oceanside—”
“And we’re working hard to bring it back,” I cut her off, brightly, already sick of this conversation. “Me and Daisy with her antiques… and André! His sandwich creations are as good as anything you’d get on the strand or anywhere!”
“André’s a good boy.” Betty nods, and I wince. “It’s why I’m having this party for his and Thelma’s anniversary! I love those two like they were my own kids.”
Tabby and I exchange a hopeless look, and I press my lips together. This old woman has no idea how wrong her words are—on so many levels.
“Well, I’d better get back to the store.” She waddles to the door. “Donna, you stay and tell Emberly what all you want on your wedding cake. Then you come right back. I need your help with the inventory.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Donna says in her shy voice.
“And Emberly.” Betty holds the door wide open, as she’s shouting at me. “Don’t you worry one bit about that Jack Lockwood. My Bucky will take good care of you.”
My jaw drops as my body flashes hot and cold. I don’t have time to say a single word before that old lady pulls the door shut behind her with a slam, and we watch the top of her teased grey hair marching past the window outside, headed in the direction of her store.
Nine
Jack
Curtains are the first thing I see when I arrive to paint. I’m working on Wyatt’s hardware store today, and sheer, white-lace curtains have appeared in all the downstairs windows of Ember’s place.
It’s possible she’d already planned this addition to her interior design, but I can’t help thinking it has something to do with me. And I don’t like it.
Light blue paint, up and down.
It’s hotter than it was two days ago. My muscles have adjusted to the manual labor, and even though I’m using sunscreen and working early in the day, my skin is darker.
All three balconies have shutters, which are painted black. Betty and Wyatt’s second floors are dusty and full of boxes and old fixtures—something you can’t see from the street. Ember’s windows are open. I’ll start there tomorrow.
Light blue.
Up and down.
Sweat runs down my cheek, and my thoughts drift between my unfinished business here and the unfinished business I left behind.
First one, then the other.
Up and down.
Waves on the ocean.
Yesterday afternoon, I walked down to the little cove just outside of town. It’s between here and the developed coastline of Oceanside Beach, not too far to walk or ride a bike.
Thick pine trees surround it and narrow creeks cut through the landscape. A few little footbridges are dotted around, but you have to be careful. They’re old and can break without warning. The terrain keeps it from being interesting to real estate guys like my dad, but it’s as beautiful as any other spot in this area.
It’s where I used to take her.
Desire pulls in my chest when I remember those days. Being there felt like we were the only two people on Earth, and we acted like it. Pausing in my brush stroke, I glance down at her shop remembering all the public decency laws we broke on that little secluded stretch of beach.
Last night, I couldn’t sleep. I walked up the path and stood in the street in front of these buildings.
Her windows were open, and standing there, in the moonlight, I imagined how it used to be when I would come for her at night.
I’ve only been aware of her presence a few days, but I’ve noticed she’s always alone. No other cars are parked around her building. It’s only her and her daughter.
Light blue.
Up and down.
I’m at the end of Wyatt’s building. I’ve done both floors, upstairs and down. All that’s left are the shutters, but it’s late. I’m ahead of schedule and hungry as a horse. André has been keeping me fed since I met him, and I try a new sandwich every meal. Yesterday I tried the turkey, apple, and Brie, and when I said I didn’t like it, he was pissed. I tried to explain I’m not much of a Brie fan, but…
Laughing to myself, I climb down through the steel bars. When I drop to my feet, I almost shout. Ember is standing right in front of me holding a large pink box.
“Oh!” She almost falls, jerking to avoid me.
“Hey!” I reach out and catch her arm. “Were you trying to sneak past me?”
“Of course not. I didn’t even know you were still here.” Her cute little chin lifts and she tries to look superior.
I’ve seen her mother do this before, but it’s all wrong on Ember. It makes me laugh, a scratchy rough-voiced noise from working in the heat and not speaking all day.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t have come out if you’d thought I was still here?” Placing one hand on the wall of her building, I lean closer, inhaling lavender and cedar.
“What are you doing?” A slight tremble is in her voice.
Do I affect her as much as she does me? Are her panties wet?
“I’ll start on your place tomorrow,” I say. “Early.”
Her slender throat moves as she swallows. “Should I stay away until you’re finished?”
“You don’t have to. It doesn’t seem like you have a lot of customers.”
“I have customers.”
“Sorry.” Straightening, I lower my arm and step back. “I only meant the scaffolding shouldn’t be in your way. You’re free to work or do whatever you need to do.”
