The Cake Therapist

by Judith Fertig

  Oh, God, no.

  With my good hand, I found my phone and turned the flashlight app on again. Its bright white light made everything look even more surreal. I maneuvered myself up on my knees and shuffled closer to check the body. Spiky dark hair. The eyes bruised and puffy, a cut over one eye, mouth bleeding, but I recognized the dusting of freckles and that nose ring.

  Oh no.

  I aimed the flashlight down the side of her body. Her jeans and panties had been pulled below her hips. I saw a dark stain that could be blood. Oh no. Please, no.

  I placed the lighted phone on the floor and held Jett’s limp, cold hand with my good one.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s all over. You’re safe with me. Help is coming. They’re on their way.”

  She was still unconscious, but I kept repeating those words, squeezing her hand, as much for my benefit as hers.

  I heard a police cruiser screech to a stop.

  In the time that followed, I told my story over and over again. To Daniel, who had also responded to Diane’s tantrum in front of Rainbow Cake. To Sister Josepha and Sister Agnes, who were in their robes and slippers; Josepha had her arm protectively around the older nun. To Ben, who took off his coat and put it around my shoulders. To Jett’s mother and brother, who came after I called them.

  “I’ll get that no-good bastard,” Jett’s mother growled, and then howled in frustration. “Who would hurt my baby?”

  For all her bravado, she looked scared, too, an older biker-babe version of her Goth daughter, with mascara running down her cheeks. She brushed tears away with the backs of her hands. Jett’s junior high brother, pimply and underweight, shrank behind his mother.

  An ambulance took Jett to the hospital. Jett’s mother and brother followed in their car.

  “I need to go, too, see if Jett is all right,” I told Ben.

  We were sitting in Ben’s SUV while the police crime-taped the grotto and shepherded the nuns back inside with an admonition to lock up tight. They waved us on as well.

  “He didn’t . . . touch you . . . did he?” Ben asked carefully as he drove me home.

  “No, no. But, Jett . . .”

  “I understand, Neely. Of course I do. But there’s nothing we can do to help her right now,” he said. “She’s getting the care she needs, and her mother and brother are there for her. It would be better to see her when she’s conscious and you feel better. Tomorrow.”

  I nodded, closed my eyes, and said a silent prayer that Jett would wake up and be all right.

  “Why were you at the grotto? You shouldn’t be walking around by yourself in the dark.”

  I bristled at that.

  Okay, Ben was just being Ben: good-hearted, concerned, protective. Would it be so terrible to have someone watching out for me for a change? No, it wouldn’t. But I had to make myself clear to Ben. I wasn’t the resident ditso. I had lived in New York, for God’s sake, and managed to get around when Luke was away, which was most of the time. I was independent. I refused to be limited anymore—I had to be my full self. The person who colored inside the lines married to someone who didn’t recognize them. The dimpled daddy’s girl without a daddy. The cake therapist who couldn’t figure out her own life. And now was as good a time as any to start.

  “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not the victim here,” I replied, a little too forcefully. “I was the one who tried to save the day. I’m not some weak, hand-wringing damsel in distress that you had to rescue.”

  Ben flinched as if I had slapped him. “Oh, no?” He turned to look at me. “Then what am I doing here?”

  “Well, I called you after I called nine-one-one. I could have had Daniel take me home.”

  “Right,” he said sarcastically. “Daniel.” He shook his head. “You won’t admit you’ve had me on speed dial since second grade. I’ve answered every time you called the Damsel Rescue Hotline.”

  “You act like I’m some flake.”

  “Well, you’ve done a pretty good impersonation of that for the past few years.”

  Now I was mad. “How can you say that?”

  “I can say that because it’s true. Guys talk, you know. I probably don’t know all of Luke’s adventures, but I know enough. Why would you put up with that crap? That’s not the Neely I thought I knew. When you really needed to call me to get you the hell out of there, you didn’t.”

  I turned to face him. “I didn’t ‘put up with that crap,’” I yelled, angry that I was starting to cry when I just wanted to be mad. I wiped the tears from my cheeks with the backs of my hands. “I wasn’t clueless or weak. I was stuck, okay? Stuck. I hated being stuck. But I finally did something about it. All by myself.”

  I turned away from him, looking out the window into the black night, trying to stifle the sobs that came from deep down.

  Ben reached in his breast pocket and handed over his handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Neely. I shouldn’t have said that. You’ve been through enough tonight.”

  We rode in silence for the next few minutes. I dabbed my eyes and took several deep breaths and tried to calm myself. I breathed out a big sigh. When I had settled down enough so my voice wouldn’t wobble, I returned to our previous conversation. I had made a start with Ben, trying to let him see the person I was now. But as much as I wanted him to know everything, I also knew I needed to find a better moment than this one to reveal the woo-woo of my intuition. For the next few minutes, I needed to sound not crazy; so I kept it simple. “You wanted to know what I was doing on the convent grounds so late at night. Well, I was just out jogging and I heard glass breaking and went to see what was going on. I guess it wasn’t the smartest thing.”

  “No. But you probably saved Jett. He could have killed her.”

  I nodded. “I wonder why she was there.”

  I began to shiver uncontrollably.

  “It’s the aftershock,” Ben said, matter-of-factly. “It will stop in a few minutes. I’ve got the heat cranked up, and you’ll be home soon, safe and sound.”

  At my house, Ben helped me off with my coat, then up the stairs.

  At the door to my bedroom, Ben held me by my shoulders. “That guy is still out there somewhere, Neely,” he said. “You’re not safe alone, so I’m staying here tonight.”

  I was too tired to resist. Wordlessly, I led him across the hall to my office with its big leather lounge chair, the Christmas present I didn’t give Luke. I got a pillow and blankets from the closet and handed them to Ben.

  “Thank you for everything,” I said. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you. You were only trying to help. I do appreciate that, no matter how snarly I get sometimes.”

  He smiled down at me, smoothed and kissed my forehead. “I’m sorry, too. I dunno,” he said, rubbing my shoulders. “There is something about you that always gets to me, Neely. Way back to when you were a skinny little girl who got a hundred on every spelling test but couldn’t remember to wear your gloves when it was below zero.”

  I smiled. “I remember that. You tried to give me yours, and I wouldn’t take them. But I walked home from school right next to you, with both of my hands in your coat pocket. I had creative solutions even back then.”

  Ben smiled and rolled his eyes. “You just keep telling yourself that. . . .”

  I wrapped my arms around his middle, tucking my head under his chin. In a perfect world, I would kiss him, tentatively at first, then more and more deeply. We would sink down into the big leather lounge chair, Luke be damned. I’d curl into Ben’s lap, getting as close as I could. We would spend delicious time getting to know each other again, slowly, before I led him across the hall to my bed. And there we would finish what we had started years ago.

  But tonight was not the night. I couldn’t risk hurting him again. When our time came, I wanted it to feel like the most natural thing in the world. It would feel so right, I wouldn’t have
to think about it. I would just know.

  Right now, my body was willing, but I was still waiting for my head and heart to catch up.

  I pushed back from Ben, gently ran my finger down his arm, and said good night.

  “I’ll be in here if you need me,” he said.

  In my bedroom, I changed into my nightgown, took my first sleeping pill with a glass of water, and fell into bed.

  15

  I woke up a little after six a.m., late for me, but I was happy to have fallen asleep to begin with. My arm was stiff and sore, and that brought back last night’s trauma with Jett. I needed to go to the hospital to see her. I needed to know that she would be all right.

  And then I thought about Barney. He needed to go out and be fed.

  And it was Saturday. There was a full workday ahead at the bakery, minus one employee.

  Quietly, I tiptoed into my office. Ben was snoring softly. His blanket had fallen down, so I gently pulled it up to his chin.

  In sleep, he looked just like the boy I had known since grade school, if you could see past the not-quite-perfect nose and the scar on his chin. A battle-scarred boy, determined to protect everyone he cared for.

  I tried to be as quiet as possible, making coffee downstairs in the kitchen, but I heard Ben push the lounge chair back into its upright position and come down the steps.

  “Black? Cream? Sugar?” I asked, pouring him a mug of coffee. Sleepy-eyed, Ben still managed to beam out that strong, masculine, shoulder-to-lean-on beacon in a wrinkled shirt with mussed-up hair. Maybe one day soon I wouldn’t need to ask what he wanted in his morning coffee; I’d just know. Maybe one day soon I would walk into his arms and belong there.

  “Just a little cream.”

  I filed a mental note as I handed him his mug.

  “Well, it wasn’t much of a pajama party,” I said by way of apology.

  He smiled at me as he took a big sip. “No pajamas, for one thing.”

  Any other guy, especially those I had come across in the sports world, would have put a leer into that, but Ben didn’t need to. He had my undivided attention.

  “I’m glad you stayed. I felt a lot safer. Thank you.”

  “Is that the statement that damsels in distress are required to give in rescue situations, something like ‘you have the right to remain silent’?”

  “How did you know? You must have done this a time or two.”

  “Or three or four.”

  I took a sip of my coffee and grimaced. “Does this taste okay to you?” The coffee seemed weak to me. I hoped I wasn’t starting with some new mystery when I wasn’t finished with the old one yet.

  “Yeah. It’s not as good as your lattes next door.”

  “Well, let’s go get the good stuff.” I was relieved. I poured out our coffees in the sink, rinsed out the mugs, and grabbed my coat and bag.

  We went in the back door. Norb turned to look at us, raised his eyebrows slightly, and went back to baking the two hundred rainbow cupcakes we needed today for a gay pride event. That was another reason I loved Norb. He didn’t ask; he wouldn’t tell.

  Once again, I fired up the trusty La Marzocco for Ben’s latte. I tried to guide the foam into a heart, but it spread out into a pumpkin that split apart. When would I get the hang of this? Maybe it was my sore arm.

  Ben munched on his second ham and cheese croissant and downed the glass of orange juice I brought him. “Can’t say when I’ve had a better breakfast, Neely,” he said, wiping the crumbs from his mouth with a napkin.

  There was something about feeding a man who appreciated your efforts and ate every bite. I squeezed his shoulder as I got up from the café table to make my own latte. I was surprised I could be so civil in the morning. Maybe it was the five hours I had actually slept.

  “What’s your day like?” I asked Ben as I tried to guide the foam into a simple spiral, but ended up with a double helix.

  “Going home to clean up. Then we’re doing security for a shareholders’ meeting in Queen City, which might turn ugly,” Ben said. “And then I have another wedding tonight. I can stop by after that, if you want. Shouldn’t be too late.”

  I smiled. “I’d like that. A lot.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll be here most of the day, but I’ll sneak out at some point to go see Jett.”

  After Ben left, I looked at the cupcakes piling up on the cooling racks. Instead of making each one a rainbow, we were doing separate batches of color, so the cake and frosting matched. When they were all displayed, you’d get the full Roy G. Biv effect.

  When I checked the walk-in refrigerator, I saw that Jett had filled the disposable piping bags with seven different colors and flavors of buttercream, as I had asked. I lined up three dozen raspberry cupcakes on the work counter and started piping rosy frosting on each one. Orange was next, then lemon yellow, pistachio green, and so on. Whatever I had left over, I’d put out for sale.

  As the sun came up, I was packing up the last of the violet-hued blackberry cupcakes.

  That task completed, I threw on my coat and jogged the few blocks to Mrs. Amici’s house. Her key wasn’t under the doormat. I peeped in the front window and saw a backpack on the plum-colored armchair. That had to be Bobby. And no barking, so Barney was still asleep. Good.

  Back at the bakery, the morning had begun. The Professor came in at his usual time, had his usual breakfast cupcake and latte, and his usual chat with Maggie that left them both smiling as they parted ways. I briefly wondered how he spent his Sunday mornings, since he was here every other day.

  The gay-pride organizer picked up the boxes of rainbow cupcakes. Roshonda stopped by for her caramel macchiato, but she was mum about her date, a good sign. She didn’t stay long. We arranged to meet up later at Finnegan’s.

  By late Saturday afternoon, the bakery had finally gotten quiet.

  “Let me know how she is,” Maggie said as I left to see Jett at the hospital.

  When I got to Jett’s room, she was sitting up in bed, staring out the window. She startled at the noise, then visibly relaxed when she saw it was me.

  Wordlessly, I passed her a box of rainbow cupcakes.

  She opened the box and started to cry.

  I sat down on the bed and took her hand. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” I grabbed a tissue from the box on the side table and handed it to her.

  She dabbed her eyes. “I got a mild concussion. My head hurts.”

  “It’s a good thing to be hardheaded sometimes.”

  She gave me a watery smile.

  “Those frostings I made look pretty good,” she said, pointing to the cupcakes, then looking down at her hands, which still showed the effects of the food colorings she’d used. “I’m glad I get first pick before my mom and brother come back. She’s supposed to take me home when she gets off work,” Jett added. “But I don’t want to go home if he’s still out there somewhere.”

  “You know who attacked you?”

  Jett closed her eyes and nodded. “Crazy Sean, my old boyfriend.”

  “I thought he wasn’t stalking you anymore.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  She twisted a lock of hair in her fingers, like Maggie’s little girl. My heart ached for Jett.

  “You might as well know, Neely. They had to do a rape kit,” Jett said. “At least I was out of it for some of what they had to do. And then they let me take a long, long shower.”

  “I wish I had gotten to you sooner.”

  We sat quietly for a few moments.

  Then her voice dropped to a whisper. “How did you find me?”

  I stroked her hand. “I was out jogging and heard glass breaking and the grotto was dark. I knew something was wrong.”

  She dabbed her eyes again. “After I broke up with Sean in January, he started following me home from
school. He works construction, so it was only on days when it was too cold or too wet to work. And then he started following me when I was out with my friends at night. One night I agreed to go out with him again, and we got into another fight. I told him to get a life, but he backhanded me across my face. That’s when I stayed at your house.”

  She blew her nose and got another tissue.

  “I thought all of that bad stuff was finally over with. My dad leaving. My mom crying. My boyfriend stalking me. I just wanted it all to go away. I went to the grotto to light a candle—weird, huh? Me, lighting candles and everything.”

  “Not so weird,” I assured her. “I’ve gone there, too. It’s quiet and peaceful and being there just makes you feel better.”

  “Until he ruined it,” Jett said angrily, wiping her nose.

  I gathered her into my arms and rocked her back and forth.

  When Jett started drifting off to sleep, I gently settled her against the pillow, put the box of cupcakes on the side table, and walked out to my car.

  The day had warmed up, one of those quicksilver weather changes March always brought. I threw my coat in the backseat, rolled down the driver’s side window, and drove out of the parking lot.

  Maybe taking off my coat lowered my carefully constructed defenses, too. There was a smell of spring in the air and that sense of yearning that always came with it.

  I want. I want what I can’t have. I don’t know what I want.

  And then I heard that song. The Beatles’ “Something” stopped me in my tracks even after the car in front of me had driven off, trailing sound. I sat at the stoplight. That song churned up a depth of yearning that took me by surprise.

  “Something” was an unlikely song to pick for a lullaby, but my dad never did things the usual way. No “Rock-a-bye Baby” for him. He just sang me songs he knew and liked. I remembered sitting on his lap in the rocking chair in my little bedroom, a chink of fading light coming through the blinds. I heard the sound deep in his chest, felt the in-and-out of his breath, the warmth of his arms around me. The words lulled me to sleep, but what they really meant was, Go to sleep. You’re safe. You’re special to me.