by Dawn Atkins
“It did. By accident,” she said, relieved that Beth Ann didn’t know more. It was a sobering thought that stayed with Cara as they cleaned up the kitchen and waited for the rolls to bake. Beth Ann seemed quieter, too. Would they ever get past the bad memories?
The rolls turned out perfectly, round and golden-brown. Cara tipped them onto a plate. Beth Ann tore open one and took a bite. “Mmm.” Her eyes widened. “It’s even better than the batter. It tastes just like a rainbow.”
Cara took part of Beth Ann’s to taste. It was tangy, sweet and nutty. “Yum.”
“Here’s Rosie’s. Let’s put it on top.” They’d marked it with three blueberries.
Upstairs, Beth Ann fetched a grumpy Rosie from her bedroom.
“Good God, what’s all this fuss over a roll?” Rosie groused.
Beth Ann held out the marked one. “It tells your fortune!”
“My what?”
“With jelly beans. Each color means something. You’ll win money or fall in love or get lucky. We invented it.”
“My grandmother used to bake them when she had a decision to make or a worry.” Cara gave Rosie a pointed look. “She called them good-luck buns.”
“See what you got, Rosie,” Beth Ann said. “Here, Mom.” She handed Cara a roll and took one for herself. “Ready, set, open.”
They pulled their rolls apart, filling the air with the smell of spice, citrus and cherry. Cara’s jelly bean was yellow—you’ll come into money. If only that were true. Money would solve most of her problems.
Rosie’s, of course, was green. But so was Beth Ann’s.
“We both got green for good luck,” Beth Ann said, eyes wide in surprise. “So we get double luck!”
“Yeah?” A smile flickered, then faded on Rosie’s face.
“Taste it,” Beth Ann said.
Rosie took a bite.
“Plus, now you don’t have to be scared of the doctor.”
Rosie stopped midchew. “Excuse me?”
“Because of the good luck you just got.”
“You heard us talking?” Cara said, staring at her daughter.
“You were loud.” Beth Ann shrugged. “Rosie made a deal to go to the doctor if we stayed longer.”
At least Beth Ann didn’t seem to know about today’s appointment.
“When I had to get stitches,” Beth Ann said to Rosie, “I was scared, too. I took Bunny with me so I wouldn’t cry and I didn’t.”
Her daughter still clutched Bunny to keep from crying.
“That’s good advice, don’t you think?” Cara said, fighting emotions—sadness for her daughter and pride in her, too, for trying to help Rosie.
“You could bring that picture of Eddie on your nightstand,” Beth Ann continued. “Anytime you get scared, just look at it.”
Rosie seemed too stunned to speak.
“Don’t you like the roll?” Beth Ann asked.
Rosie lifted it to her mouth, then set it down again, turning to Cara. “If I do this,” she said slowly, “you have to stay until I…” She cleared her throat and looked away. “Until it’s over.”
Did she really think the surgery would kill her? Poor Rosie. Cara wanted so much to ease her worry, but the woman was a brick wall.
Except she’d crumbled just now. For Beth Ann. The two shared a similar bond to the one Cara had had with her grandmother.
“Can we stay?” Beth Ann asked, her eyes as big as Christmas morning. “For Rosie? Please.”
How long would that require? A month maybe? And what about after? If the tumor were cancer, Rosie would be so scared. She would need all the support she could get. “We have commitments,” she said faintly. “And then there will be school for you.”
“Can we stay until school starts? Please? Please?”
Cara was startled by how much Beth Ann wanted this. She looked at Rosie. In her stubborn, gruff way, Rosie was pleading with her, too.
She blew out a breath, giving in. “If my job and the apartment will wait…”
“Yay! I get to stay!” Beth Ann jumped up and down. “We both got good luck, Rosie! Double good luck.”
Rosie had gone slack with relief. “The rest of the deal’s still on,” Rosie said. “Jonah is not to know.”
“You’re kidding,” Cara said.
“Not one word. And that goes for you, too, young lady.” Rosie turned her attention to Beth Ann. “This whole talk we just had is top, top secret. Got that?”
“I do. Pinky swear.” Beth Ann crooked a little finger for Cara and Rosie to grip.
“Pinky swear,” they all said together.
Rosie picked the jelly bean out of her bun and looked at it. “Good luck from a jelly bean. What are you two doing to me?”
Anything we can to help. Cara had her doubts about staying, but the fact that Rosie needed her meant a lot. Cara had a place here, a role to play, a job to do. All her life, she’d longed for that feeling.
That was why she’d wanted college in the first place. But Barrett had crushed that dream and nearly killed her for daring to have it. She’d rallied and tried again only to have him return and send her running for her life.
Cara would not give up. In the meantime, she would help Rosie with her health and her café.
She took a bite of her bun. It was really, really good. Maybe they could sell them in the café. They would bag them by the dozen and include a card explaining each fortune. What a great idea!
Every day she stayed here her confidence grew. The café had pulled her out of the tailspin of Barrett’s return. And, don’t forget Jonah. Jonah was good for her, too. Cara was glad she’d be seeing more of him. She couldn’t deny that.
And what about Barrett? The thought came again, as it always did when she had a quiet moment. They were safe here. If they made no calls, stayed off the internet, opened no accounts, they should be okay, right?
A shiver ran down her spine, so she opened another bun for luck.
Red. You’ll fall in love. Impossible, of course. But her heart turned over in her chest all the same.
* * *
BARRETT FORCED A smile, then took a sip of the foul-tasting powdered iced tea Deborah had insisted on serving him. She’d made him wait forever while she’d mixed it up and fixed a tray with a dozen stale, store-bought ginger snaps.
It infuriated him that Cara had chosen to live in this sad cracker-box of a house, which reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap air freshener, when she and Beth Ann could have lived in luxury at his mother’s. He didn’t dare think about that very long or his rage would flare. He had to focus on the future, start fresh, forgive and forget.
Barrett had a few final questions before he could escape the place. “You must see how painful this is for me, Deborah. All I live for is to see my wife and little girl again.”
“Oh, I know, and it just breaks my heart.” Deborah snapped up another cookie. She’d nervously inhaled six already, afraid Barrett might blame her for Cara’s actions. “My daughter has it in her head that you mean her harm,” she said. “She can be so stubborn, that girl.”
“And you can’t recall any friends Cara mentioned who might know where they’ve gone?”
“Not really, no.” Deborah gave him a shaky smile and took another cookie. “She didn’t confide in me. Never has.”
Barrett knew Deborah was a narcissist, totally oblivious to her daughter or anyone else but herself.
He wanted to sweep the tray and its contents to the floor
in pure frustration, but he forced himself to speak calmly. “And Beth Ann never received any of my letters, as far as you know?”
“Cara always got the mail.”
And paid most of the bills, he assumed, based on Deborah’s complaints about her living expenses these days.
“How about Beth Ann? Did she have friends?”
“She finally made one this year. Serena…Sandoval, I think. Little Mexican girl. Not much English, but she always put away her dishes and said please and thank you. They were thick as thieves, those two.”
Barrett perked up. Maybe Beth Ann had told her friend their plans. “Does she live nearby? Serena?”
“No, no. They’re out in a mobile home park. Desert Sands…Silver Sands…I don’t recall.”
That was a start, at least. He pulled out the check he’d prepared to cement Deborah’s loyalty. “I want to thank you for all you’ve done for my family…and for your faith in me.” He held it out.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she said, staring at the dollar amount, then taking the check. “You’ve always been generous.”
“You’ll call if you hear from her or remember anything else?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Deborah had always been his advocate. Couples argue, accidents happen, had been her take on the incident that had torn apart his family.
“Was there a memento you wanted from their room?” she asked.
“No, no. Just seeing where they slept helped me.” He’d asked for a private moment so he could search for receipts, brochures, business cards, any clue to where Cara and Beth Ann might have gone or to whom they’d spoken.
Cara had been careful. Neither one had used Deborah’s desktop computer. Cara had taken her laptop with her.
“What should I do with the rest of their things?” Deborah asked.
Burn them. They reek of you and this hovel. “I’ll let you know,” he said with feigned sadness.
He drove away, waving as she stood in the driveway. As soon as he rounded the corner, he pulled to the curb and released his fury in the safety of his car, bellowing and pounding the steering wheel until he feared he’d broken a knuckle. Then he called his P.I.
“What’d you get?” Malloy asked right off.
“Not much. Her mother’s an idiot. She had to look up their cell phone numbers—both phones are dead, by the way. She barely recalled the name of Beth Ann’s school, let alone the one where Cara worked. They left a week ago.”
“That’s when she closed out her checking account.”
“No clues at the house. She left the BMW and took her mother’s clunker. I’ve got the plate number.”
“I’ll check for tickets. It’s a long shot, but worth trying.”
“Deborah said the car’s been acting funny,” Barrett added. “If it breaks down, they’d be stranded. Cara’s only got $500.”
“It’s possible,” Malloy said, but Barrett knew Malloy was humoring him.
“Or she could have bought plane tickets,” he said gloomily. “Face it. In a week, they could be anywhere.”
“I’ll pretext her principal with a job-reference inquiry and see what he knows, tap into her school email, see if I can connect with any colleagues. Don’t worry. I have a trick or two up my sleeve.”
“You’d better at the rate I’m paying you.”
“Worse comes to worst, Cara will have to request school records in the fall.”
“That’s months away.” He wanted his family now. “I’m going to talk to a friend of Beth Ann’s. She’s Mexican, possibly illegal. That will give me leverage with her parents if I need it.”
“Hang tough. Cara will surface. It’s impossible to truly disappear these days. She’ll make a mistake and we’ll catch her. Don’t worry.”
Easy for Malloy to say. Barrett needed Cara and Beth Ann like life itself. In fact, he woke at night gasping for air, still in prison until he was reunited with them. He wanted it to be how it had been at first, when Cara was sweet and eager to please. She’d needed him and he’d wanted to give her the world. When Beth Ann was born—their love made flesh—it had been perfect.
Until Beth Ann started school and Cara got bored and confused. He’d been too busy at work to catch the signs in time, but he’d learned his lesson. This time he’d have clear priorities and so would she.
Barrett was willing to forgive Cara for all of it—for putting him in prison, for turning his daughter against him, even for this betrayal, running away.
If he could do that, she could surely forgive him his part in the accident—his one mistake.
Forgiveness was the answer. Forgiveness would make them whole again.
If he knew Cara at all, she wanted what he did—to have their happy family back. And he did know her—better than she knew herself. This was his chance to prove it.
* * *
THE NEXT EVENING, the breeze lifted Cara’s hair from her forehead, but it didn’t cool her one bit as she crossed the gravel yard toward Jonah’s trailer carrying the plate of good-luck buns she wanted him to try.
It wasn’t the summer heat that made sweat trickle down her face, her ribs and the backs of her legs.
She was nervous. It wasn’t her errand—to tell him she’d be staying the summer and her plans for the café—it was that she’d never been to his place before. Cara had taken extra care getting dressed tonight, without admitting to herself why, donning a red-silk tank and white denim skirt, earrings and full makeup. She’d even curled her hair, as if she were going to a party…or out on a date.
So stupid. What on earth would Jonah think?
Already, he would think her insanely ambitious with his aunt’s café. Rosie had made her promise not to mention the foreclosure either.
The strings of white lights on Jonah’s deck were bright against the newly darkened sky. Red geraniums in barrels and the homey wood furniture softened the futuristic effect of the silver trailer.
At the door, Cara paused to breathe in the smell of pines mixed with the warm yeasty aroma of the buns, which she’d wrapped in plastic and placed on one of Rosie’s decorative plates, covered with baby chicks popping out of eggs. Wooden wind chimes clinked like a quiet xylophone.
It was some seconds before Jonah responded to her tap on his door. She saw that he’d come from the shower, and the sight of him nearly took her breath away. He wore a towel around his hips, and water gleamed from his bare chest, his hair wet and tousled. He smelled of a fresh application of that woodsy spice of his, and it hit her so hard, her knees gave way like a girl with her first crush.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
It took a second for her to respond. “Oh. Uh. Bringing you these.” She thrust the plate of buns at him.
“Thanks.” He started to close the door.
“Wait. Can I come in?” Her face burned.
“Oh. Sure. Dressed like that, I figured you were going somewhere.” He looked her up and down.
Cara flushed even hotter. “Just to see you.” And be alone with you in your tiny trailer barely big enough for a bed. Ulp.
“Come in then.” He held the door as she passed, looking her over again, making her tingle everywhere his gaze landed.
They had no choice but to stand close together in the small space. The low ceiling made Jonah seem larger than ever beside her. He was barely dressed, the towel hanging so low it seemed about to drop. Desire swooshed through her on its familiar path, setting off little fires here and
there.
Jonah swayed, possibly feeling it, too. He cleared his throat. “I’ll put some clothes on.” He set the plate of buns on the small table that divided the tiny kitchen from the main room, then tromped down the short hall.
“I’ll wait here,” she called, long seconds too late.
When he turned toward her to close the curtain that marked off the bedroom, she caught sight of his bed. Where he slept. Naked?
Cara wished she had a glass of water. All the moisture in her mouth was gone. Maybe turned into the sweat that had made her top stick to her stomach. She pulled the fabric away from her skin and looked around the compact space. Everything was in miniature—sink, stove, cupboards, even the windows. Framed photos placed on ledges along both walls drew her attention. Each showed a piece of furniture with a hand-scrawled description. Jonah’s work, no doubt.
She was studying a picture of some elaborate built-in cabinets when Jonah emerged, as sexy in a black T-shirt and cargo shorts as he’d been in nothing but a towel.
“You do cabinetry, too?” She nodded at the photograph.
“Not anymore.” He frowned briefly. “A partner and I did high-end cabinetry. He found the clients. I built the cabinets. Furniture’s more interesting.”
She wondered what had happened, but knew better than to ask. He’d moved to the table, clearly to change the subject.
“So what’s this you brought?” He peeled back the plastic and picked up a bun.
Cara joined him. “They’re called good-luck buns.” She reached past him to pick one up, vividly aware of how close her arm was to his chest. The chest that had been bare and water-dotted just seconds ago. She was here for business reasons, but they stood barely a kiss apart and his scent was turning her knees to wet noodles.
“So, what, you eat a bun and get lucky? Be great at pickup bars. Save on small talk.” His eyes twinkled at her.
“Would you like that? Getting lucky without having to say a word?”
“I’m not much on the subtleties of banter, but I know a loaded question when I hear one, CJ. Let’s move on.”
