by Katie Powner
A thin layer of perspiration formed on her forehead and the back of her neck. And under her arms. She stared at the cake with trepidation, and her mother’s face stared back at her. There’s my girl.
Bea’s eyes stung. Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be gone so fast. I didn’t know this would be so hard. I tried, Mom. The cake . . .
A knock sounded at the door as a lump formed in her throat. She shook her head to clear it. The clock on the stove said 11:50.
The knock came again. Hot coffee. She should still have ten more minutes. She wasn’t ready. A quick glance told her Jeremy and her dad had their hands full, so she set the spatula down with a groan. Fine. Maybe Grandma could help her salvage the cake.
She hurried down the hall and pulled open the door.
Marge.
Grinning.
Holding a beautiful, magazine-worthy German chocolate cake in her arms.
Bea burst into tears.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Mitch wasn’t sure what the big deal was. Why had Bea gotten so bent out of shape over a birthday party he never even asked for? He shook his head while she stabbed at her lunch, and Marge batted her eyes at him.
“I had no idea you were making the cake, Bea,” Marge said. “I’m so sorry.”
His mother perked up. “Cake?”
She and Rand had arrived two minutes after Marge and three minutes before Bea had gotten ahold of herself.
Bea didn’t look up. “It’s fine.”
“Is it your famous German chocolate cake, Caroline?” June asked. Then she looked up with a frown. “I mean, Beatrice.”
A jolt of pain Mitch could feel from the other side of the table flashed across Bea’s face. Mitch glanced at his father, wondering what he was thinking. He seemed so unfazed by all the little lapses his mother made, as if he were already used to it. But how did you get used to such a thing? They needed to discuss his mother’s future, and they needed to do it soon.
Marge reached over and patted June’s hand. “Of course it is, June. And it’s perfect. Isn’t that wonderful?”
June smiled at Bea. “I knew you wouldn’t forget.”
His mother resumed eating with a happy humming sound, and Bea pushed meat around her plate with a sickly expression. Jeremy set a gentle hand on her shoulder.
Marge leaned closer to Bea and spoke quietly. “I should’ve known you would want to do it. You just never said anything about a cake, and I didn’t want Mitch’s birthday to go by without—”
“You could’ve just asked.”
Marge nodded. “I thought—”
“You should’ve asked.”
Mitch’s eyes widened. “Bea.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” Marge waved away his objection. “You’re absolutely right, Bea. I’m sorry.”
Bea gave her a sidelong look. “Did you use my mom’s recipe?”
Marge’s face tightened. Mitch held his breath, suddenly realizing why the cake was such a big deal. How could he have been so clueless? How many times had he made it worse for Bea since Caroline died by sticking his head up his butt and leaving it there?
Marge set her fork down. “Yes. I did. She copied it for me years ago.”
He braced himself for Bea to start crying again. Instead, Bea’s pinched face relaxed. “Good.”
Phew. He let out his breath and eyed the cake on the counter. He’d rather die than tell Bea, but he, for one, was glad Marge had made it.
As everyone finished eating, Bea stood to collect the dirty plates. Jeremy jumped up to help. Mitch had to give the kid one thing at least. He was helpful.
Even though Marge had some sort of clip holding back her hair today, it still spiraled and jutted out in all directions like octopus tentacles. She patted it down to no avail and turned to his mom and dad. “I bet it’s beautiful out at your place this time of year.”
June nodded. “It’s always beautiful.”
“Of course.” Marge smiled. She was ever smiling. “You’ve lived there your whole life, right, June? It was your parents’ ranch?”
“Yes.” June’s wrinkled hands rested on the table. “I was born in that house. So was Mitch. ’Course, it looked a lot different then. Rand put a lot of work into fixing it up when we got married.”
“I can’t imagine what it would be like living in the same place for that long,” Jeremy said. “My family moved every couple of years when I was growing up.”
“That’s the trouble with people these days,” June said. “Never staying put. I’ve never lived anywhere but the valley, and I never will.”
“Except when you went to your aunt’s in Chicago,” Jeremy said.
June’s head jerked up. “What?”
Mitch gave Jeremy a sidelong look. Boy, oh boy. His mother didn’t like talking about her past. She always said, “Today’s more important than yesterday.” How did Jeremy even know about that trip?
Jeremy continued, all wide-eyed and earnest. “Grandpa Rand said you lived with your aunt in Chicago before you got married.”
June moved her hands onto her lap. “Oh yes. Well. That was temporary.”
“How long were you there?” Jeremy asked.
The kid was skating on thin ice. Mitch watched his mother to see what she would do.
June fidgeted. “I . . .”
His father came to the rescue. “About four months or so. Right, dear?”
She sank lower in her chair as if the exchange had stolen all her strength. “Yes. That’s right.”
Marge rose from the table. “How about some cake?”
Mitch was glad for the distraction. He worried whether a conversation about the past might confuse his mother. Could her recollection of the past even be trusted anymore?
There was a loud knock, then the door opened, and Frank called out, “We made it.”
“Just in time,” Mitch called back. “We’re about to have cake.”
Frank and Dorothy bustled into the kitchen and greeted everyone, not batting so much as an eyelash at the sight of Marge standing in Mitch’s kitchen. They’d seen it all, those two.
“Sorry we’re late,” Frank said. “You know how it is.”
Frank was always the first person to arrive at the church building and the last person to leave. And he always dropped everything when someone needed to talk.
“Don’t worry about it.” Mitch gestured for them to find a seat. “We’re glad you’re here.”
Bea fished around in the junk drawer and came up with a handful of candles and a lighter while Marge took out little plates from the cupboard. She knew right where they were. Mitch watched her warily, hoping Frank wouldn’t notice. She seemed so at home here.
He tried to examine his heart to see if that bothered him, but it was too full of memories of Caroline. All the birthday cakes she’d made. All the birthday kisses. Year after year of little surprises hidden around the house, just for him.
He didn’t need those things. He could get by just fine without gifts, or a cake for that matter. But without Caroline?
Bea stuck the candles in the cake and lit them. “Ready?”
As she carried the cake over and set it in front of him, everyone sang the birthday song. Frank belted it out as if leading the congregation. Marge’s eyes twinkled like the amethyst stones hanging from the bottom of her metal hoop earrings.
She caught him looking and sang a little louder. “Happy birthday, dear Miiitch . . .”
All of a sudden, he couldn’t remember Caroline’s voice singing the familiar song. Couldn’t hear it.
“Happy birthday to you.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Mitch snuck one more bite of cake from the plate before covering it with plastic wrap. “You look beat, B.B. Why don’t you go sit on the couch. Jeremy and I can finish up.”
She scrubbed at one of the cake pans and shook her head. “I’m fine.”
Their company had gone home about an hour ago after sticking around to visit for quite a while. He’d practically
had to push Marge out the door. Then he and Jeremy and Bea had eaten some meat sticks and leftover cake for dinner and started cleaning up the kitchen. He’d thrown Bea’s unused baking attempt in the garbage when she wasn’t looking.
Jeremy took the pan from her hands and gently nudged her aside. “He’s right. You should go rest.”
She looked back and forth between their faces as if trying to gauge how serious they were, then held up her hands. “All right. I surrender.”
She trudged from the kitchen and disappeared. Mitch grabbed a dishrag from the sink to wipe the table.
Jeremy rinsed the cake pan and set it on a towel. “She doesn’t like that name, you know.”
Mitch frowned. “What name?”
“B.B. She doesn’t want people calling her that anymore.”
Mitch’s neck tensed. “It’s just an old habit. She doesn’t mind.”
“Yes, she does.”
“Then why hasn’t she said anything?”
His words were accusatory, but his tone fell flat. She had. Several times.
“She’s not a kid anymore.”
Mitch tossed the rag back into the sink, and it hit the dishwater with a splash. “I’m well aware of that.”
Jeremy set to work on the second pan and didn’t respond.
The ceramic bowl from the Crock-Pot was still soaking, but Mitch picked up the base and put it away in the cupboard. “You’ve been gone a lot lately.”
“Yeah. Meeting a lot of people. Getting a lot of good ideas.”
Ideas again. Mitch huffed.
Jeremy stopped scrubbing and set his hands on the edge of the counter. “You can’t eat ideas. I know. But I’m going to make this work. For Bea and our baby.”
“But they need you now.” Mitch lowered his voice to be sure she couldn’t overhear from the living room. “Bea’s on her feet all day. I worry about her stress level, and how are you going to pay the medical bills for the baby?”
“With all due respect, it’s not your job to worry about any of that.”
Mitch could feel his face heating up. “Well, if you’re not going to . . .”
Jeremy turned to face him, his eyes alight with a fire Mitch had never seen in them before. “I take my responsibility very seriously. I will provide for my family. I will do whatever it takes. But I won’t stand by and watch you disregard Bea’s wishes or dismiss my contributions to our family.”
He wiped his hands on his jeans and marched out of the kitchen. Mitch realized his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut.
“Huh.” He shared a look with Steve, who had been lurking underfoot ever since scoring a bite of meat stick from Bea. “What do you know.”
He’d never seen this side of Jeremy before. Never would’ve guessed he had it in him.
Maybe Jeremy had what it took to be what Bea needed after all.
THIRTY-NINE
Thanks for coming with me, B.B.” Mitch drummed the steering wheel with his fingers. “I mean Bea. Sorry.”
Her eyes remained fixed on something far in the distance. “What are you going to say to him?”
Mitch let out a long breath through his nose. Good question. He knew he needed to have the hard conversation with his dad about what to do about his mother’s condition, and after spending a couple of days trying to figure out how to talk to Dad without his mom listening in, Mitch had come up with the solution of bringing Bea along to distract her. He’d even finished his typical Tuesday work ahead of schedule so he could get off early.
But he still hadn’t figured out what to say.
“We need to talk about the future.” He raised two fingers in the standard country-road salute as another truck drove by in the other lane. “I’m just not sure what he’s thinking.”
“Grandma can’t stay out here.” Bea turned to him. “She needs to come live at the house.”
“I can’t watch her all the time.”
“I’ll watch her.”
Mitch huffed. He couldn’t agree to that. Couldn’t expect Bea to take on his mother’s care.
“You’re not going to be around much longer, so then what?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re trying to get rid of us again?”
His heart squeezed. That was the last thing he wanted. It had been miserable having her gone the past two years. But . . .
“Do you really want to live with your dad forever?”
Bea moved a hand to her stomach. “We’ll find a place in town.”
It’d be a dream come true for him, wouldn’t it? Keeping her close. Watching over her. A bubble of hope began to rise in his chest.
Bea gave a confident nod. “Then I’d be available anytime.”
The bubble popped. Mitch turned onto the gravel drive. Anytime? Sure, except when she had to work or take care of her baby. She had no idea what kind of commitment that was going to be. “You can’t just give up your own life.”
Her eyes flashed. “You can’t just shut me out of this like you did with Mom.”
Oh yes, he could. If that’s what was best for her. “We don’t even know what your grandfather’s going to say.”
“You need to tell him I want to help.”
Mitch grunted but didn’t respond. He couldn’t tie Bea down like that. He wouldn’t. It was his job to protect her, just like when Caroline was diagnosed. Whether she liked it or not.
“Even If It Breaks Your Heart” by Eli Young Band came on the radio, and Mitch glanced over at his daughter. The song was about never giving up on your dreams, but all he could think about was whether he was willing to break his own heart for Bea’s sake and tell her he didn’t want her staying in Moose Creek. Could he really push her away like that?
There was already a distance between them he didn’t know how to breach—a distance he had caused—but if he told her she shouldn’t stick around, told her she could have no part in her grandmother’s care, she might leave and never come back. That wasn’t what he wanted. But what he wanted hadn’t mattered when Caroline was sick, and it didn’t matter now.
Bea hung back as Dad hopped out of the truck and headed for Grandma and Grandpa’s house. He was doing it again. Acting like he didn’t want her around anymore, just like after Mom died. Should she move across the country a fourth time? Would that make him happy?
Not that she could afford to do that.
She neared the house and checked her phone before climbing the porch steps. Cell service was better outside. She raised her eyebrows at a text from Amber.
Are you home?
She wasn’t sure what to make of that. Wasn’t exactly in the mood to do Amber any more favors after the way she’d told Bea to “get out of here” the other night. But what if Hunter needed her?
No. I’m at my grandma’s. What’s up?
Dad paused at the front door and called back to her, “You coming?”
“Be right there.”
Just hoping we could talk. I could meet you there for that haircut we talked about.
Haircut? Bea pursed her lips to one side. She’d forgotten all about that. It would be the perfect distraction to keep Grandma occupied while Dad talked with Grandpa.
Hunter too?
Of course.
Okay, see you in a few.
She stuck her phone in her pocket and walked to the house with a hint of hesitation in her step. It would be thirty minutes before Amber and Hunter arrived, but a small pit of dread was already forming in her stomach. What did Amber want to talk about?
Inside, her dad was sitting in the living room with Grandma and Grandpa, talking about food. A flood of relief washed over Bea when Grandma June smiled at her in greeting. Nothing like the look she’d given her the last time Bea visited.
“Come in, come in.” Grandma gestured to the couch. “Have a seat. You look wonderful, Bea.”
Bea sat down. “Thanks.”
“Your father was just pestering me about my diet.”
“I wasn’t pestering.” Dad leaned forward and re
sted his elbows on his knees. “I was merely asking if you’d been taking your supplements.”
Grandma sat up straight and regal and looked down her nose at him. “And how about you, Mitch? What did you have for breakfast today?”
“Okay, okay.” Dad conceded defeat and pushed himself to his feet. “Never mind. I think Dad and I are going to go for a walk now, Mom.”
Grandma tilted her head. “Bea and I will come, too.”
Grandpa Rand wobbled a bit as he rose from his chair. “Now, June, I don’t think—”
“It’s a beautiful day. Some sunshine will do me good.” Grandma hopped to her feet, her spryness in stark contrast to Grandpa’s slow, unsteady steps.
Dad caught Bea’s eye, and she gave a slight nod. She knew what her job was, yet she also knew she had to do it in such a way that Grandma wouldn’t be suspicious.
“How about Grandma and I go for a walk and you guys stay here?” A walk would kill time until Amber arrived for Grandma’s haircut. “You guys could never keep up with us anyway, right, Grandma?”
Grandma snorted. “Of course not.”
Grandpa sank back into his chair and waved his hand. “Sure, all right. We wouldn’t want to slow you down.”
Grandma had already pulled on her walking shoes and a light jacket. She put her hands on her hips and jerked her chin at Bea. “Don’t just stand there. Let’s go.”
Bea chuckled and followed her grandma to the door and out into the sunshine. Grandma was right. It was a beautiful day.
They started down the gravel drive in silence. Some days the mountains were sharp and jagged as if carved from stone, but today they were soft. They looked as if they’d been shaped from blue-and-green sand and could collapse at any moment under the weight of the sky.
Bea took a deep breath of fresh air, enjoying how it felt to move and stretch her changing body. To work the ligaments in her hips that seemed to be loosening more each day as her body prepared itself for what was to come. She looked south and southwest at the Spanish Peaks and the Tobacco Root Mountains. They were both far grander in scale than the Bridgers, but their distance tamed them. The mountain in her backyard always appeared to be the most fearsome mountain of all.