by Edie Ramer
And she still had him. Boy, did she have him.
Her mood lighter, she called her mother’s number. As it rang, she walked to the front window. The apartment was on the third floor out of five. She looked out at a street with cars, SUVs and vans parked on both sides. Across the street were more apartment buildings that looked as if they’d been built in the 1950s, too. Not a picturesque view. On the corner was an Indian grocery store.
The phone rang again and then a third time. Katie’s tense muscles relaxed. With the next ring it would go to voice mail and she wouldn’t have to talk to her mother.
Instead a woman answered on the fourth ring. A stranger. Katie guessed it was Raelyn, but the voice never stuck in her mind. As if her mind rejected it the way her mother had rejected her.
“It’s Katie,” she said.
There was a pause on the other end, and Katie wondered if her mother knew other Katies and was trying to match the voice with the face.
“Your daughter.”
“I knew that. I wondered why... Is something wrong? Sam? Is he all right?”
“I’m visiting a friend in Chicago. Dad suggested I call you.”
“Did he?” Her tone wasn’t pleased.
“I never met my half-sisters. How old are they now?” It dawned on Katie that she didn’t know their birthdays. Why hadn’t she asked before?
Probably because she never thought to ask. Her mother never liked talking about her half-sisters. Katie had found out because her grandmother had heard about them from an elderly relative of her mother’s who lived in Tomahawk.
“Darling,” Raelyn’s tone turned coaxing, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to meet them.”
“Really.” Katie planted her feet apart. “Are you ashamed of them? Or of me?”
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re quoting the break-up line.”
“No!” Raelyn’s voice quivered. “It’s really not you, and it’s really not me, either. It’s my husband. He doesn’t want anyone to know what I was like before we were married. The children don’t know they have an older sister.”
Katie rocked back and forth on her heels, holding back a cry. “Why?” she asked, and her voice trembled. “Why did you contact me in the first place?”
“Your grandmother called and threatened me. Martin had just been accepted as principal of his first school. My aunt Lois in Tomahawk knew your grandmother and told her where I was. Your grandmother said if I didn’t phone you at least once a year, she would write the school board and tell them that the man in charge of their children was married to a woman who abandoned hers. I had to call you.”
“Then you should be happy. You’ll never have to call me again.” She hung up the phone and fought an urge to fling it across the room. With the first burst of anger burning inside her, she sucked in sobs. She would not cry over someone like her mother. Would. Not. Cry. Raelyn didn’t matter to her. That was the last time she planned on talking to her.
Katie headed to the kitchen. She needed to make her Soothe the Soul Pie.
In the cupboards, she couldn’t find ingredients besides sugar, flour and cinnamon. Not even butter, just margarine. She shuddered, then dug a pen and notebook out of her purse and started her list.
Feeling as though she were running on automatic, her emotions damped down until they were safe enough to pull out and examine—like hot coals cooling in a freezer—she put on her jacket, found the key, then left to shop at the Indian store on the corner.
Another time she would have stayed in the shop for an hour or more, smelling the spices with her eyes closed, asking the light brown-complexioned owners what was good with apple or pecan or even coconut. A thousand questions. But today she lingered only about twenty minutes. Though she’d seen cinnamon in the apartment, she didn’t know how old it was, so she bought that and other ingredients, including a sugar pumpkin.
She hovered in front of the crystallized ginger. In the end, she bought a small bottle. This wouldn’t be her soul soothing pie, but she hadn’t been able to resist the pumpkin, smaller than the ones they grew at home. And like apple and coconut, pumpkin was a Comfort Pie. Just the smell of any of these pies baking in the oven always made her feel better.
In the next hour she cut the sugar pumpkin in half, scooped out the seeds, baked it and then puréed the pumpkin in a food processer.
She’d made pumpkin pie so often, once she found the food processer in a high cupboard, she did everything automatically, not even needing a recipe.
But as she poured the pumpkin mixture into a pie plate, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Something was missing.
By the time the pie came out of the oven, she had watched The View, looked at the traffic out of the window and finished aerobic exercises that included jumping up and down as fast as she could to become breathless, proof that her heartbeat was speeding, her metabolism was up and calories were burning.
That meant she could eat two pieces of pie.
While the pie cooled she baked the pumpkin seeds then cleaned up and called Trish, who said she would never look at a pregnant dog from now on without empathy. She felt like she was carrying a football team inside her and they all wanted to be the team kicker. She couldn’t wait until they were out of her.
Before Katie could say anything, Trish took it back. Of course she’d wait. Of course she’d do whatever was necessary to have healthy babies.
Katie agreed and wished she were back home so she could hug Trish.
But Miracle wasn’t Gabe’s home. Chicago was.
“How’s your hunky blond boyfriend?” Trish asked, as if she were reading her mind. “I’m amazed you hooked up with someone from Chicago.”
“I’m happy I can amaze you.”
“So you’re staying in Chicago? Or just a vacation?”
“I don’t know.”
“You love him?”
“I haven’t told him yet.”
“Then you do love him.”
Katie closed her eyes. Her heart was still sore from Happy’s passing. But when she thought of Gabe, her heart seemed fuller. Her whole body felt brighter.
“Yes.”
“Does he love you?”
“I think so.”
“It’s been fast.”
“Not all of us meet the love of our life when we’re four.”
“When I was four, I thought Gunner was a pest.” Trish happily talked about Gunner and how he’d been the class nerd.
“But he was your class nerd,” Katie said.
“True. Actually, Gabe was your angel, and you met him when you were five. So what do you think about that?”
The oven timer buzzed, giving Katie a reason to stop the conversation. She took out the pumpkin seeds and scraped them into a bowl sitting next to the pie. The pie looked beautiful, but as she gazed at it, her pie alarm rang. Something was wrong.
The smell. It wasn’t right.
She backed away, her breaths short, her heart pounding.
This was nuts. The only thing wrong was her nerves. She needed to get out of here.
She was putting on her jacket when a key turned in the lock. One arm on, her jacket flapping against her thighs, she ran to the door. Gabe stepped in and she threw herself at him, holding him, hugging him, her head on his shoulder, tucked against the side of his neck.
Chapter Forty-four
Gabe hugged Katie back, feeling her heart pound against his chest. “What is it?”
She gulped in air and released it, repeating the process two more times, still holding onto him. Finally he no longer felt her heart slam and her breaths slowed to more normal inhales and exhales. Her grip eased, and she leaned back, looking into his eyes.
“I’m glad to see you.”
“You sure that’s it?”
“I’m turning into Happy,” she said, stepping back, her eyes sad blue circles.
He looked at one side of her face, then the other. “It’s too bad.
”
“What?”
“No droopy ears. Just think of the video I could put up on YouTube.”
She laughed then stopped and blinked, as if surprised at the sound. “Idiot.”
He smiled. If it stopped whatever the hell was scaring her, he’d play the idiot any day. “Don’t I get a kiss?”
“Always,” she said as they came together.
His lids closed, and an ahhhh hummed through him. It wasn’t just her pies that were magic. Her kisses were another piece of magic.
When they parted, she smiled at him with her mouth and her eyes, and it felt to him as if her whole body smiled.
“A new fashion?” He nodded at her jacket that was half on, half off.
“I was about to go for that walk along Lake Michigan.”
“I’ll go with you. Won’t be long.” He headed to the office to put away his filming equipment. On his way out, he stopped to sniff the air. “I smell pumpkin pie.”
She frowned. “It doesn’t smell right.”
“Smells great to me.”
Opening the door into the hall, she grimaced. “Something is wrong. I don’t know what it is.”
“The ingredients? Were they stale? Maybe the oven is off. I never use it. It could be just the air in the kitchen.”
“Chicago,” she said quietly, so he strained to hear her. “I think it’s the smell of Chicago.”
She turned into the hall before he could reply. As he followed her, a sense of heaviness settled in his belly.
They took the stairs, no conversation between them. On the sidewalk, she glanced sideways at him. “I knew I forgot something.”
He raised his eyebrows in a question.
She grinned. “My Packers sweatshirt.”
Relief eased out the tension in his gut. “You can’t wear that in Chicago. Packers fans are our mortal enemies.”
“That means you’re consorting with the enemy.”
“Is that what you call what we’ve been doing? Consorting?”
“I like it. We can use it in a crowd of people and no one will know what we’re talking about.”
They both laughed. He slung his arm around her shoulders, and now it felt as if everything was all right in the world, though just a few moments ago everything had felt all wrong.
“How was the interview?” she asked.
“Good. The girl reminded me of you.”
They got into his SUV and were on their way. It was early in the afternoon and the traffic should be fairly light to him, but he suspected it would seem busy to her. He turned east at the corner.
“How did she remind you of me?” she asked. “Was she tall and bony?”
“She said I was the angel Gabriel, and I would heal her.”
There was silence for a moment. “In that case, I think she will heal.”
He glanced at her. “If I could heal every kid just by being with them, I’d tour every damn hospital in the world.”
She reached sideways and put her hand on his leg. “You don’t know how powerful you are.”
“Only when I’m consorting with you.” He glanced quickly at her.
She smiled and pulled her hand back from his thigh. He immediately missed her touch.
Once they reached the walkway there was another switch of energy. It was parklike along the walkway, yet with a turn of their heads they could see tall buildings with long windows situated to catch the lake view. Another turn and they could see the sun sparkling on the water. The air smelled fresh, and the breeze had died down, perfect weather for a walk along a lake.
Other people thought this was a good day to stroll along the wide walkway, too, many of them with dogs. Katie stopped to pet every dog they saw, telling the owners about Happy.
The city of Chicago turned into a small town as they sympathized with her and told her their dog stories, quite a few hugging her. Gabe left his card with a woman whose boss’ son had cancerous tumor, and Katie told a seven-months-pregnant woman walking a poodle about her best friend being pregnant with quads.
After their walk he took Katie out for a late lunch. She’d told him how much she’d enjoyed the smells in the grocery store, so he took her to an Indian restaurant where she had the sampler plate and threatened him with her fork prongs when he swiped a piece of her tandoori chicken. When they were done, they refused dessert. Gabe told the waitress they had the best pumpkin pie in the world at home.
He turned with a smile to Katie and caught the small frown crossing her forehead. His smile dropped. He’d be glad when they were back at the apartment so they could eat the pie and discover it was delicious, like all her pies.
On their drive back to the apartment, the tension in the SUV thickened. He suggested a blues concert tonight, and she said she’d like that in a polite tone that had him clenching his teeth. He had to park his SUV on the next block. They walked to the apartment, hand in hand. But he felt a disconnect between them, a dissonance in the air.
Finally they were in the apartment, their jackets in the closet. Then she had to brush her teeth before she ate, saying she’d had too many spices to judge the pie. He brushed, too, because she was probably right, but he felt the tension building.
It seemed to take forever before they sat in front of the damn pie. He was starting to dislike it even before she served him a piece then dropped a large spoonful of whipped cream on it.
He took one bite and held back a groan. It was...good. Nothing wrong with it. But it was a less flavorful version of her other pies. They’d tasted...luscious. Perfect. Amazing. This pie tasted about as good as his mother’s, who never claimed to be a pie expert and just followed the recipe on the can.
“Delicious,” he said.
“You’re lying.”
“It is good. Maybe it’s the ingredients. Maybe they’re old.”
“Maybe I’ve lost my magic.”
“There is no real magic. You’re just a great pie maker. You have the touch.”
“Yes, and the touch is called magic. Some people call it a miracle.”
“Wasn’t the miracle prophesied? But you were baking great pies long before—” He stopped. It had taken him too long to notice she was shaking her head, her mouth pressed in a grim line.
“It’s Chicago.” She pushed the plate away though she’d taken only three bites. “I think I can only do this at home.”
“Katie...” He put his hand over hers on the table. She looked at him, her eyes dull as if a light had gone out of them. “That doesn’t make sense. You had a shock. You’re still grieving over Happy. Maybe some of the grief got in it.”
“I made the apple pie after Happy passed. That had magic.”
“It could be anything.”
She nodded, but he could see she didn’t believe it.
“You still want to go to the blues club tonight?”
“Sure.” She gave him a smile with no joy in it.
At the club she appeared to enjoy herself, even laughing and talking, but it felt as if he had a stranger by his side. When they went to bed that night, he held her and she was stiff in his arms.
“I’m not going to make love to you,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“Shut up. Just shut up. Something is wrong, and I’m just going to hold you.”
She gave one sob and turned her face to him, gripping him tightly.
“Thank you,” she said. “I know I’m trouble. I know I’m a lot of work.”
“It just so happens that my favorite kind of women are the ones who are a lot of work.”
She huffed out a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”
“My angel idiot.” She snuggled against him and relaxed her grip. He could tell when she fell asleep. He wondered what the next day would bring.
Chapter Forty-five
Katie pretended to be asleep the next morning until the door closed. Only then did she roll out of bed, feeling creaky and old. As if with
out her pie magic, her body had aged. She didn’t know if it was because of Happy, her mom or her missing pie magic, but she felt like she’d gotten a triple whammy.
She had Gabe, she thought, turning on water for a shower.
But was he enough?
After her shower she headed to the kitchen. There was a cup of coffee in the unplugged coffee maker. She warmed it in the microwave and was sipping it when her cell phone rang. Her father’s name was on the display, and she put it to her ear. Sam didn’t normally call to chat. Of course, she normally lived next door to him.
“Hi, Dad. Is everything okay?”
“Trish just went to the hospital in Tomahawk.”
“Oh no. The babies aren’t due for seven weeks. Trish said they might come earlier, but I was hoping they’d have more time. At least they kept up their insurance.”
“Insurance doesn’t pay for everything. I’m bringing a box of Kleenex. I hear hospitals charge for that. Next they’ll charge for toilet paper. When anything happens, I’ll call you—”
She headed for the bedroom, the phone to her ear. “I’m coming home.”
“With Gabe?”
“He has work to do here. I don’t.”
“Baby—”
“I can’t talk about it now. I have to pack. I’ll be there in about six hours. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
As she packed, she thought of the letter she would write Gabe. She couldn’t call him. If she did, he might tell her that he would come with her, and she’d have to tell him to stay.
Because the truth was, once she got home, she doubted if she could go away again. It was the coward’s way out to write a letter, and she guessed that made her a coward. She could live with that.
What she couldn’t live with was the loss of her magic. It was like living in the world where there was no sun. Just a dim haze.
It was either Gabe in Chicago or her pie magic in Miracle. There were win-win situations, and this was a lose-lose.
Perhaps she should give it more of a chance, but right now leaving felt like the right thing to do.
I love you, she wrote at the end of the letter. Chicago is a wonderful city, but Miracle is my home.
