I Only Have Pies for You, page 11
Her smile broadened as she lifted the lid of the present, reached inside, and pulled out a familiar yellowed piece of paper.
I gasped, my heart stopping in disbelief. “Omigod, that’s—”
“Hazel Culpepper’s famous Heartstring Pie!” Julip held up the paper, but the writing on it was deftly blurred by the cameras. “This recipe has been hidden for decades, but at last, it’s been rediscovered and is ready to share …”
Julip went on talking about the legendary healing power of the Heartstring Pie, but her words reached my ears only as the fuzziest of white noise.
“I don’t understand,” I mumbled through my daze. “How did she even get the recipe in the first place?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Mom’s voice was tired, clipped, and as close to anger as I’d ever heard it. “She has it now, and she’s going to squeeze every bit of profit she can out of it.”
Zari nodded. “Her plan is to bake the pie during the Bonnet Fair on Saturday, and then she’s going to sell the recipe to viewers.”
Mom rubbed her forehead as if she had a horrible headache. “She’ll probably have all sorts of Heartstring merchandise made up, too. Heartstring Pie pans and T-shirts. Lord knows what else.”
“It’s horrible,” Zari said. “She used you guys to get to the pie recipe.”
“Some people just don’t know how to respect others’ personal lives.” I glanced at Zari, frowning. “She wouldn’t have even known I’d found the recipe in the first place if you hadn’t broadcast it to the entire world first.”
“Dacey!” Mom scolded. “It’s done with now …”
“Right,” I snapped at Zari, “I hope you’re happy with the damage you’ve done.”
“Dacey,” Mom whispered. “That’s enough.”
Zari’s expression turned from concerned to startled as the full meaning of what I’d just said sank in. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her mouth caved with hurt. “I … should go.” There was a tremor in her voice, and my throat squeezed tight. I was still angry, but suddenly, I was ashamed of how vindictive my words had been.
Mom was looking back and forth between us, her eyes full of regret. “Please stop this fighting, girls. It’s not what GG Hazel would’ve wanted.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I said dully. “Not anymore.”
Mom sucked in her breath, and I couldn’t look at her then, afraid of what I’d see in her face.
“Zari, how about a slice of your favorite Lemon Zinger before you go?” Mom asked, her voice straining toward a false cheeriness.
Zari shook her head. “No, thanks. Not tonight.” I thought I glimpsed the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “I … wish Julip hadn’t done what she did. I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you about it, either.”
Her last words were high and pinched, as if she were trying hard not to cry. The door shut with a click, and less than a second later, Mom’s eyes were lasered on me.
“You’re too hard on Zari,” she said, as if this were just one more problem to add to her already overwhelming plate of troubles for the day. “Everyone makes mistakes, Dace, but your temper—”
“Not now, Mom. Please. I can’t talk about it now.”
She looked like she wanted to say more, but she nodded.
“I can’t believe Julip did this,” I said.
“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Mom shook her head. “Only I wish it hadn’t been the Heartstring Pie recipe she got her hands on. Any other recipe, I could’ve made peace with, but this one.” She swallowed. “It’s a tough one to take.”
My hands balled into fists. “She’s a thief! And I still don’t know—”
My words hitched in my throat as suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. I thought back to this morning, and I saw the scene replaying before my eyes. I’d fallen asleep with the recipe in my pocket. Julip and Chayton had come into the shop. I’d gotten up from the chair and Chayton had sat down in it. The recipe must have slipped from my pocket when I stood up and then … Chayton. He’d sat down in the chair.
I turned to the door. “I have to go. Right now.”
“What? Where?” Mom said.
“I’ll be home later,” was the only way I could think to respond.
I raced for the door, and Mom called after me, “Dad’s making dinner tonight. I have to run some pies to Bertie’s Waffle House …”
“Okay!” I called back.
In seconds, I was rushing to the stables, my fury growing with each stride. I knew exactly how Julip Freedell had ended up with the Heartstring Pie recipe, and I was going to do something about it.
I hurtled into the Jenkins stable, short of breath, my blood howling in my ears. Chayton and Mr. Jenkins looked up, startled, from where they’d been mucking out stalls.
“Hey, Dace!” Chayton held up his hand in a wave, then dropped it just as quickly when he saw my expression.
“Don’t you ‘Hey’ me.” I stomped across the hay-strewn ground toward him. “I know what you did.”
“Um …” Chayton glanced at Mr. Jenkins, who leaned his rake against the wall.
“I have a few things to take care of,” Mr. Jenkins said. “I’ll be in my office.” I didn’t wait for him to go before rushing into my next sentence.
“You stole GG Hazel’s recipe.” The words shot from my mouth like wasps homing in on a target, and Chayton’s head snapped back as if they’d hit the mark. “You found it at Pies N’ Prattle, didn’t you?”
Chayton frowned. “Dace, hang on a sec. I don’t even know what you’re talking about—”
“You don’t know.” The sarcasm in my voice was stone-cold. “You don’t know that your mother has my family’s recipe. That she’s planning to bake our Heartstring Pie and sell the recipe on her show?” I closed the distance between us and jabbed an accusatory finger into his chest. “You know because you gave her the recipe.”
“Dace, listen …” He grabbed my hand, but I yanked it from him. His eyes locked on mine. “I didn’t take any recipe. I didn’t even know you’d found it until I saw Zari’s article today at school. And I had no idea about my mom—”
“You’re lying.” I backed away from him, my throat burning. “You’ve been lying about everything. You pretended to like me so that you could get close to me.” I pressed my hands against my forehead. “God, when we were making that pie, and when you helped me with Ginger … Your mom probably put you up to it all.”
Chayton’s eyes darkened with sadness. “How could you say that?” he asked. “I’ve been honest with you from the beginning. Why would I have told you that my mom sent me to your shop yesterday if I was trying to help her? You know how frustrated I am with her—how much I hate when she takes advantage of people—”
“I thought I did. I thought I was getting to know you. Until today.” I glared at him. “You used me.”
Chayton stared at the ground for a long second, and then kicked at his pile of straw, sending it flying. “You’ve already decided not to believe me.”
“Why should I believe you? You don’t have any idea what loyalty and friendship are.” I spat the words. “You never have.”
Chayton sighed. “I thought we were past all of this, Dace. We were heading in a good direction. Maybe even great. But … there’s nothing I can say, is there?” The hurt shone in his eyes. “There’s this pattern you have. Someone makes a mistake, and you get angry. Only you don’t let go of your anger. You say hurtful things, and you leave the rest of us to wait it out, thinking we’ll eventually forget about it.”
“So you admit you made a mistake,” I persisted. “You took the recipe.”
“That’s the only part of what I said that you heard, wasn’t it?” He picked up his rake. “You made up your mind about me a long time ago,” he said softly. “I should’ve known you couldn’t change it.”
“Why would I change it? You’re just another of your mom’s puppets, doing whatever she wants, no matter what the price.”
An odd look crossed his face then, as if a door was closing over it, shutting me out. Then, without another word, he turned from me, resuming his work.
I backed toward the doors of the stable, passing Ginger’s stall. I glanced in her direction. She was watching me with her huge, velvet eyes, but the confusion I saw in them cut me to the quick.
What had I just said? Stark regret blistered my insides and tears pricked my eyes. What had I just done? I stumbled out of the stables, hoping I’d at least make it home before the waterworks began.
I didn’t hear my cell phone the first few times, but at last, its ringing broke through my daze.
“Dacey?” Dad’s voice was strained. “Where are you?”
“Dad?” My heart, already pounding, broke into a gallop. “What’s wrong?”
“I just got a call from Mr. Victor.” His voice broke. “Your mom’s been in a car accident. She’s all right but banged up pretty good. He’s taking her to Bonnet Hospital. I’m meeting them there—”
“Wait for me.” My tears were falling now. “I’m coming home.”
I didn’t wait for Dad’s response. I didn’t wait another second. I ran.
I stared at my phone screen, the Candy Crush game flashing its fluorescent colors. I’d thought I’d be able to do something mindless while I waited for Dad to come back to the tiny waiting room, but I couldn’t even concentrate enough to play the stupid game. Of course, that might’ve had something to do with the fact that every few seconds, my phone buzzed with another text from someone asking after Mom. The first three had been from Zari, Bree, and Maria, but as the Bonnet phone tree worked its magic, more and more messages streamed in from Mrs. Gonzalez, Mrs. Beaumont, Mr. Jenkins … Even Chayton had texted, but his was the simplest, only four words long: HOPE EVERYTHING IS OK.
He probably didn’t expect, or even want, a response, and I didn’t want to give him one. He’d get news through the Bonnet grapevine soon enough anyway.
I put down my phone, giving up on the game, and stood up to pace. But the room was so small all I could really do was turn in a small circle. The Bonnet Hospital was an old nineteenth century farmhouse that Doctor Higgins and his team of nurses and physician’s assistants had converted into a medical facility. There was a bigger, proper hospital an hour’s drive away for more complicated surgeries and treatments, but this one got the job done when it came to delivering babies, removing tonsils, and setting broken bones.
I could hear Dad’s and Doctor Higgins’s voices through the paper-thin walls, and I took it as a good sign when I heard a low rumble of laughter from Doctor Higgins. Still, my stomach spun uneasily.
My thoughts over the last hour had run on a repeating loop: Mom, Heartstring Pie, Chayton, Zari … Mom, Heartstring Pie, Chayton, Zari. My mind couldn’t decide what to focus on—worry, guilt, or anger—so it was dividing itself equally between the three. The one thing it had decided on, though, was that somehow, everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours was my fault.
That verdict was so consuming that I didn’t see Dad until he was beside me, making me jump.
“How’s Mom?” I asked instantly.
“She’ll be fine. She’s got a mild concussion and a broken collarbone. Bed and brain rest until the end of the week, and she’ll be right as rain.” He smiled. “She’s more worried about that pig than she is about herself. Of course, your mom’s so bighearted, she would’ve run herself off the road to save a cockroach, let alone a pig.” He gave a tired laugh as he sank into one of the waiting room chairs. “Mr. Victor must have apologized to me a hundred times before he went home.”
“Well, Tootsie was the one that ran right in front of Mom’s car! Again! For the hundredth time!”
Dad nodded. “And she’ll probably do it again. That pig is one master escape artist. But your mom admitted she was distracted. Didn’t see Tootsie until it was almost too late …”
My stomach lurched. “Was she thinking about the Heartstring Pie recipe?” I asked softly, sitting down beside him.
Dad shrugged. “She didn’t say.”
“I know she was. She’s so disappointed that the recipe’s gone.” I sucked in a breath as tears filled my eyes. “And I’m the one who lost it—”
“Oh, Honeybee.” Dad put his arm around me, kissing my forehead. “These things just happen. Recipes get lost, bones get broken …” He chuckled. “Pigs go rogue. There’s no sense in wishing life is something different than it is.”
“But I do.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Dad said. “We grown-ups say these supposedly wise things, but in the end, there are plenty of times we wish things could be different, too.” He brushed gently at my tears with his hand.
“But the recipe could’ve helped the shop,” I hiccupped.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He tucked my head under his chin and we sat like that for several minutes before he added, “The shop’s brought a lot of people joy and maybe even a measure of healing. Soul soothing, as your mom likes to say. But there are times I’ve wished your mom wasn’t so attached to it, when I wished she could be free of the responsibility she feels for it.”
“Me too,” I confessed in a whisper. “Maybe she would be, if I could do more at the shop. I just want to help somehow.”
“You’re here. You love her. That’s helping enough.”
I shook my head. “But if I could actually bake …”
Dad sighed. “Dace, you’ve got to quit focusing on your cant’s. Your mom can bake, but she can’t ride a horse for the life of her, so you’ve got her there.”
I smiled, remembering the last time Mom tried to ride Ginger and ended up falling off, right into the Brazos. “True.”
“And your legendary GG Hazel? She was a terrible nurse.”
I stared at him. “No way.”
Dad nodded vehemently. “Couldn’t stand the sight of blood, but she still wanted to do her part for the war effort. She didn’t say a word to the Red Cross about her squeamishness, either. She was determined to get past it. The head nurses, though, they figured it out soon enough.”
“But what about the story of how she helped the wounded soldiers at Normandy Beach?”
“Oh, she was at Normandy,” Dad said, “but not dressing wounds. She handed out food and blankets, and they put her to work cooking, too.”
“What about her baking?” I asked.
“That came after she got back to the States.” Dad grinned. “As it turned out, she had a knack for baking pies, and the rest is history.”
I let this news sink in. “Why didn’t Mom ever tell me?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe she got so caught up in the legend of Hazel Culpepper that she forgot who Hazel was as a person. Or maybe she was worried that if you knew you’d give up trying to bake.”
“GG Hazel’s failure at nursing would have given me permission to fail at baking?” Even as I said it out loud, I wondered if it might’ve done that very thing. If it might’ve given me an excuse to quit. But after sitting with GG Hazel’s story for a minute, I realized that it wasn’t having that effect on me at all.
“Well, don’t be mad at Mom for not telling you before, okay?” Dad said. “She’s your biggest fan, and whatever her reasons, she was only trying to help.”
“I’m not mad. I feel … better.” I said it with some surprise. Knowing that GG Hazel wasn’t perfect, that there was something she hadn’t excelled at, was strangely soothing.
“Good.” Dad hugged me, then stood up. “Mom’s sleeping now, and Doctor Higgins wants to keep her overnight to monitor her concussion. Why don’t I take you home? Mom asked me to bring her favorite fuzzy pajamas, so I’ll pack a few things and bring them back after I get you settled for the night.”
I nodded, and we moved toward the door. Suddenly, I was struck with an idea.
“Dad, can you drop me at Pies N’ Prattle on your way home? There’s something I need to do.”
“Sure,” he answered. “But you go straight home afterward. I’ve arranged for Mrs. Beaumont to stay overnight with you while I’m with Mom. I don’t want her worrying—”
“It’ll only take a couple hours, and I’ll check in with Mrs. Beaumont while I’m there. Oh … and Dad? Can we swing by Bonnet Grocery on the way? I need some Heath bars.”
Dad stared at me, then laughed. “What on earth for?”
“Can’t tell you. Not yet.”
“I should’ve known better than to ask.” He grinned, then hugged me. “Clearly you’re a girl on a mission. And you’ve never reminded me more of your mom.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
We stepped into the balmy night air, and a few lightning bugs flickered their welcome as we walked to the car. My heart buoyed a bit at the sight of them. There were still so many unknowns, so many doubts. The one thing I felt certain about, though, was Mom. She took care of most of the town, of Dad, of me. Maybe there was something I could do to take care of her, now that she needed it. I just had to find the courage to give it a try.
There was a warmth to the air inside Pies N’ Prattle when I stepped through the door, and I felt a gentle easing of my nerves. The shop didn’t fill me with trepidation like it usually did, or with reminders of the abilities I lacked. Instead, it felt welcoming, as if it knew what I’d come here to do.
Even though Mom wasn’t here, there were signs of her everywhere. Her apron hanging on the hook, the nearly empty glass of iced tea she’d left on the counter. It was comforting, and for the first time, so was seeing the photo of GG Hazel on the wall.
I smiled, feeling a kinship with my great-grandmother that I’d never felt before. I knew one of her failings now, and she seemed human, more real. With her determined eyes and the slightly crooked bend in her smile, she looked—I finally noticed with amazement—a little like me. How had I never seen the resemblance before?
My hand was steady as I pressed my palm against the faded photograph.
