Game on!
Chapter 19
Summer and Keefe worked side by side for a few hours without saying a word but were aware of each other’s every move. Summer wondered if Keefe really needed to touch her waist as he slipped by her to retrieve the butter. She wondered if she could have scooted past him on the way to the whisk without touching his arm.
Summer remembered seeing an interview online with a singer who was publicizing her ubiquitous “duets” album. The singer said she loved doing duets because it made you competitive in the very best way: each of you trying to outdo the other. The results were usually inspiring! By the time Keefe was ready to flip over the OPEN sign, Summer was fairly certain it had been years since the glass display cases held such an assortment of perfect breads, cookies, and pastries. The Napoleons held the place of pride, but Summer nudged them over to display her Nanaimo Bars.
“Too bad Queenie is giving this place the cold shoulder,” Keefe said. “She’d be impressed with those Nanaimo Bars.”
Summer took that to mean he was impressed with them.
“We’ll…I mean…I’ll take one home to her,” Summer said.
“Won’t matter,” Keefe shook his head. “She won’t eat it. She throws away anything I bring from town.”
Summer pursed her lips. She’d been doing online research about personality changes in seniors. Of course, there were the terrifying possibilities: cancer, dementia, a brain injury. All risks, but Summer was hoping for a more benign diagnosis. One interesting report stated that people reaching their senior years tended to reevaluate what’s important in life. They worked on changing themselves instead of other people. This was the sort of evaluation to which Summer could cling. But she had to admit, Queenie didn’t seem to be giving up working on others, especially Summer.
Maybe she could poke around Queenie’s computer and see if there were any medical records or current searches offering clues. She might even try some old-fashioned sleuthing: looking in the medicine chest or speaking to Queenie’s doctor.
Anything but ask her.
Summer felt lost without her grandfather. Grandpa Zach would know what to do. Another twinge of remorse struck Summer. She had wasted so much time. She stole a look at Keefe as he went to open the front door. She used to wonder if she should have let her grandfather come between them. Should she have intervened as soon as she knew there was an issue? Now she wondered if she should have let Keefe interfere with her precious relationship with her grandfather.
It was too late in any event. Summer snapped back to the present as the bakery doors swung open. The entire town seemed to turn out. She was greeted by old-timers singing the old refrain of “You’ve grown up” and newcomers who were curious about the tiny house. All of them were sorry that Queenie was not back at the store. Summer was touched by their concern, although their expressions of concern were transparent.
“I don’t see your grandmother,” said a man Summer didn’t know but who obviously knew Queenie.
“She’s up at the house,” Summer said.
She realized this man might not know anything about Queenie. Just because someone bought bread at your store didn’t mean he had any insight into your life.
“We have a little farm over…” Summer began.
“Flat Top Farm” the man said. “Everybody in town knows about Flat Top Farm. Your grandmother is an institution around here. Don’t tell her I said that. She thinks that makes her sound old.”
“I won’t,” Summer said. “I promise.”
Especially since I don’t know who you are.
“Did you make these?” asked Mrs. Dodson, eating a butter cookie (which Summer had made). Mrs. Dodson owned the general store – and had for as long as Summer could remember. “You’ve got your grandmother’s touch. Where is she?”
“I thought Queenie would be here to see her granddaughter take over the helm,” Mr. Caleb said.
“I’m not sure I am taking over the helm,” Summer said as she bagged two Nanaimo Bars, a loaf of French bread, and twelve chocolate meringue cookies for him.
She was aware Keefe was listening to every word. Was that why he was being so testy with her? Was he afraid she was going to take over the bakery, which he saw as his? She tried to work up a killer outrage, but in all honesty, he had been doing the bakery’s heavy lifting for years.
She’d never really thought about the succession of the bakery before. Summer had always assumed it would go to her father, who had no interest in the bakery, and then to her, who did have an interest in the bakery but more of an interest in Keefe. Her grandfather had to have used some sort of supremely enticing bait to make Keefe turn his back on her. Or did he? Keefe seemed to be doing just fine with the younger women in Cat’s Paw, who seemed to lingering at the cash register, where Keefe was stationed. She had to admit, he was more at home here than she was.
And whose fault was that?
By noon, the shelves were so bare, they would have disappointed an ant colony. Summer was happy she’d put away a few chocolate meringues for herself. Keefe turned the sign back to read: Closed. With a bakery the size of Dough Z Dough, hours were irregular. Summer was used to her grandparents returning to Flat Top Farm in the early afternoon many times, but she couldn’t remember ever selling out before lunchtime. But she’d been gone a long time.
“Is it always like this?” she asked.
“We stay busy,” Keefe shrugged. “But today was crazy. I’m not sure if more people were interested in getting the scoop on Queenie or getting the scoop on you and your tiny house. But whatever it was, it worked for us.”
For us?
“I didn’t know Evie was back in town,” Summer said.
“With a vengeance,” Keefe said. He headed out the back door with a bag of trash.
What did that mean?
Summer went back to the kitchen. She gave Shortie a few doggie treats and the remains of a slightly burnt sugar cookie. He’d been very good about staying in the kitchen. She realized with a start that she hadn’t checked her phone in hours—a rarity for her. But she’d been so busy, it hadn’t even occurred to her. She tried to Facebook-stalk Evie, but Evie had a private account. Nothing very important to be read on Twitter or seen on Instagram. She tried to resist searching eBay, but couldn’t help herself. She logged on and typed in: M’Laitest. A new crop of her own possessions popped up. She had to give it to Lynnie, she was making some serious money on these hand-me-downs. The nerve! Summer logged off the website and was scrolling through her contacts to find Lynnie. That’s when she heard the back door slam. She stuffed her phone in her back pocket as Keefe came back into the room.
“It’s good to have you back, Summer,” Keefe said. “I’ve missed you.”
She looked at him. He said it so casually. If he’d meant it in any meaningful way, would he be smiling like that? She had no idea where she stood with him or where she wanted to stand with him. And what about Evie?
For that matter, what about the fate of the bakery? And her grandmother? There was so much to wade through right now.
Keefe walked toward her, his look very serious.
“I mean it, Summer,” he said. “It just feels right having you back.”
“Really?” Summer said. “You seemed to be getting along just fine with Evie.”
“I could never have kept the bakery going without her,” Keefe said. “You know this is not a one-man job.”
Summer knew she was in no position to ask what Keefe’s relationship with Evie was. She could read the intent in Evie, but when she looked in Keefe’s eyes, she saw something else entirely.
Summer’s heart was pounding. Shortie seemed to realize something was up, because he started barking. She looked down to tell him everything was okay. The last thing she needed was for her dog to attack the man of her long-ago dreams.
But Shortie was not barkin
g at Keefe. He was barking at the man standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
It was Bale.
Chapter 20
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Bale said.
“Bale!” Summer said. “No, of course you’re not interrupting.”
“Hey Shortie,” Bale said as the dog came over to check him out. “Remember me?”
Summer’s feet finally started to move. She met him at the doorway and gave him a hug.
“What a surprise,” she said, keeping her back to Keefe. “I thought the Tiny House Convention wasn’t till next week.”
“It isn’t,” Bale said. “But these shows don’t produce themselves. Vendors need some time to set everything up. My tinies are all at the fairgrounds, but I had some time to kill so I came up to Cat’s Paw. You made it sound pretty interesting.”
“Did I?” Summer stammered. “I mean, I did! It is!”
Keefe cleared his throat. Summer and Bale turned to him.
“It’s a great place,” Keefe said, heading toward them with his hand outstretched. “So, by process of elimination, I’m guessing you’re the guy who made the caboose?”
“That would be me,” Bale said.
The men shook hands.
Summer hadn’t thought the two men would burst into some sort of fertility dance, but there didn’t seem to be the slightest sign of a struggle for male dominance. Summer was disappointed. One minute she thought both men craved her, the next, she worried that neither of them did.
“Can I get you some coffee?” Summer asked. “We had a busy morning, but I have a few burnt sugar cookies left.”
“How could he refuse an offer like that?” Keefe said, gesturing that they should all go back into the bakery’s showroom. “I’ll make the coffee.”
All the men, Bale, Keefe, and Shortie went into the bakery while Summer scratched off the offending edges of the sugar cookies. The bakery phone rang. Summer looked to the wall where the phone had always hung. It wasn’t there.
Just another little cosmic sign that everything changes.
She looked around for the source of the ring, finally locating a small, inexpensive cordless phone. She knew she was a technology snob, and made a note to get a new phone soon.
“Hello?” Summer said, the words her grandfather taught her to say coming back without her realizing she hadn’t said them in over a decade. “Dough Z Dough. What’s cookin’?”
She cringed. She had never realized what horrible dialogue that was! Not to mention, they were baking at Dough Z Dough, not cooking!
“Summer?” a voice said from the other end of the phone. “You might not remember me. Gina?”
Gina? Just Gina? But then she realized she did know Gina. She was a woman about her grandmother’s age. If you could say that Queenie had a best friend, Gina would have the designation. Summer had always called her…
“Aunt Gina?” Summer said.
“I didn’t want to introduce myself as Aunt Gina,” Gina said. “I mean, you’re a grown woman now.”
Summer wasn’t sure what to say. Did she not want to be called “Aunt” by a grown woman? Or did she not want to force the moniker on Summer? Why was everything so complicated in this small town?
“I stopped over this morning, but the bakery was packed,” Gina said.
“I guess you were hoping to see Queenie,” Summer said, knowing this phone call was just another attempt by a concerned friend to figure out what was going on.
“And to see you,” Gina said. “I was so happy when I heard you were back. Are you staying?”
“Yes,” Summer said, surprising herself. “I mean, no, well, yes—for a while. But I’ve got places I need to be.”
Catching a glimpse of her distorted bag, she decided not to go into details about her future in felted purses.
“It’s good to have you back for any amount of time,” Gina said. “I’m sure Queenie is thrilled. By the way…”
Here it comes.
“How is she doing up there at the house?”
Summer didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t say Queenie was fine; she obviously wasn’t. But she wasn’t sick. Should she tell Queenie’s closest friend that Queenie seemed healthy but weird?
“She’s…” Summer began, “she’s Queenie.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Gina chuckled.
The call ended with promises of getting together soon. Summer stacked the cookies on a white dish, arranging them as best she could to hide the brown ends, and carried them into the bakery. No one, not even Shortie, was there. She could smell the coffee, and could see a drop of spilled cream and two torn sugar packets, so she knew they’d been there. She looked out the window. Bale had brought one of his tiny houses with him. At least she thought it was a tiny house. He was standing in front of an apparently converted school bus. She watched him as he fielded questions from interested onlookers, finally opening the door and letting people step inside. If the attention he was getting, not to mention the curiosity the country had shown her in her trek across America, was any indication, the Tiny House Convention was sure to be a big hit.
Summer put the cookies down. Queenie would throw a fit if she thought Summer would let less than perfect Dough Z Dough cookies out of the bakery. She closed the door behind her and stood by Keefe, who was sitting on his motorcycle with Shortie in his lap, sipping his coffee and watching Bale.
“Do you guys draw a crowd everywhere you go?”
“Actually,” Summer said, “we do.”
Summer studied the school bus. This was a new design. She’d only seen tinies on trailers at his lot. She was impressed Bale didn’t go the clichéd psychedelic-flowers route. The bus was painted a deep green. She thought the color could only be described as shiny olive. Bale did keep things interesting.
“I’ll watch Shortie, if you want to go check it out,” Keefe said.
“That’s okay,” Summer said, shoving her hands in her jeans pockets.
She hoped the gesture said: “I’m a woman of the tiny-world and a converted school bus is no big deal.” She felt at home by Keefe’s side. If she went to see the bus, would that signal her solidarity with Bale? Did she have solidarity with Bale? Would Keefe be threatened? Would that be a bad thing?
“You sure?” Keefe asked.
“I’m sure,” Summer said, smiling at him.
“Okay,” Keefe said, handing Shortie to her. “Then I’ll go. I think you guys are all nuts, but…”
Keefe’s voice trailed off as he walked toward the crowd surrounding the bus.
Summer didn’t need him to finish his thought. The idea of living in less than three hundred square feet seemed to ignite the imagination of so many people. There were some who looked longingly at the caboose and said, “I think I could live like this.” They did so in almost a whisper, as if to say the words out loud would be daring the cosmos to take away all their hard-won stuff. Almost everyone she met on the road had a love-hate relationship with their stuff; even people already living in tiny houses were trying to figure out how to declutter. The appeal to others was the concept of getting out from under debt. Life without an insanely huge house payment would be so much simpler. Of course, Summer also met a lot of people like herself, who saw the tiny house on wheels as a gateway to a new life.
No matter what the motivation, a tiny house signaled one thing: freedom.
As she watched Keefe disappear into the bus, she wondered, What about this lifestyle appeals to him? Her heart started racing as it occurred to her that he might be just like her, seeing the mobile existence as a way to start a new life. Although she’d done a valiant job of boycotting Cat’s Paw for years, she never pictured the town without Keefe. Even as she wrapped her head around the idea that Grandpa Zach was gone, Keefe remained a constant.
Did Keefe want his own freedom?
&nbs
p; Was freedom just escape in disguise?
Was it possible Keefe wanted out of the bakery?
Questions came at her fast and furiously. Had he discussed this with Queenie, and that was the trouble the bakery was in? Was Queenie staying away to prove to him how valuable he was? Was she just pretending to have forgotten how to bake to guilt him into staying? Summer would not put that past her grandmother. She almost dismissed the notion. Why would Queenie be reconfiguring old family recipes if she was pretending to have lost her touch? The answer came to her in an instant. Boredom! Queenie was a woman of perpetual motion; staying at the house must be driving her crazy. Summer thought of another possibility: Queenie asked Summer to come back because she wanted to signal the bakery could move on in spite of Keefe’s impending desertion.
It was only a theory, but the pieces fit.
If she were right, it meant Queenie wasn’t sick. Summer was warming to this idea more and more.
Summer blinked as she realized Keefe and Bale were walking toward her, a ribbon of townspeople still pulling themselves up and into the bus.
Shortie squirmed in her arms and she put him on the ground. When he was excited, the dog would wag his entire frame. As he ran, his long body would curve in the middle, so his tail was almost parallel with his ears. It was quite a form of locomotion, but he still managed to propel himself toward the men. Summer wondered to whom he would run. Shortie barreled into Keefe’s legs. He barked and Keefe picked him up.
If only it were this easy to make a choice.
“The bus is pretty cool,” Keefe said.
“I’m unveiling it at the road show,” Bale said, looking at Summer. “You should come to the show.”
He wanted her to come to Seattle with him! She could feel her cheeks turning pink. The fact that he was asking her in front of Keefe was too tasty. This was a fantasy she wouldn’t dare have dreamed, it was so perfect.
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