Sugar

by Karin Kallmaker

  Peering around Quinn, Sugar was delighted to see her grand¬mother looking much, much better than Sugar had anticipated. "Why, yes, you are. I brought you an egg custard if they're letting you have solid food."

  "They gave me something they claimed was a solid breakfast but I have my doubts. My throat won't stop being dry, though."

  "That's the anesthesia," Sugar explained. "Are you in any pain?"

  "A bit, but not bad. Just don't bump the bed."

  "See you this evening," Quinn said to Gran after gently kissing her on the forehead. She was nearly to the door when it opened and Charlie peeked into the room.

  "Hi," Charlie said directly to Sugar. "Is this a bad time?"

  Sugar wanted to turn her back and put her nose in the air. She wanted to pretend that Charlie's presence was of zero consequence to her. But instead she felt herself blushing as her sisters, with a single set of eyes, glanced from Charlie to her and back again.

  Sugar found herself making introductions. "Meet the Sorenson girls. Patricia, Quinn, Rose and of course me, Sugar."

  If Charlie was daunted by meeting them all at once, it didn't show. Then Sugar noticed Charlie had her hands in her pockets. Was that because maybe she was nervous and didn't want it to show? "I just wanted to see how Mrs. Fulton was doing."

  "Please come in, dear," Gran urged. "I'm doing well. And how is your father?"

  "Much, much better today. He might get to go home day after tomorrow if he keeps getting stronger."

  "What good news."

  "It's a pleasure to meet you," Quinn said. "I really do have to go, I'm sorry. 'Bye all." Quinn left after a pointed look at Charlie, fanning herself elaborately as she went out the door.

  "I've got those papers for you to sign and that lovely check," Patty said.

  "You made out like a bandit," Rose said enviously. "How come nobody will burn my house down and give me a nice nest egg?"

  Trying to hide her annoyance, Sugar said, "I don't consider what happened to have been a grand piece of luck, Rose."

  "Seems like it to me."

  "Charlie was one of the firefighters on the scene. She probably had better things to do with her time." Sugar signed the papers where Patty indicated.

  "Is that how you met? Talk about the mother lode. That fire may have been the best thing to happen to you."

  Charlie said quietly, "Or it might have killed her, but let's not worry ourselves too much about that." Rose started to interrupt, but Charlie dished out one of those bedroom smiles that Sugar was chagrined to admit was having the same effect on her as it was obviously having on Rose. "Besides, we'd met before then. I jogged past her house almost every day for four months on the sheer hope she'd be out getting her morning paper."

  "Now that's what I call romantic," Gran said.

  Charlie gazed at Sugar for a long minute. Sugar couldn't read the expression in her eyes at all. Was it a kind of apology for stalk¬ing off so rudely yesterday? Was it / want you, I want to spend more time with you, so how come we can't figure out how?

  Charlie sighed abruptly, and Sugar could breathe again. "I need to get back to my father. I'm so glad you're feeling better."

  She slipped out of the room before Sugar could think of a thing to say.

  Rose said, "She could make me change my religion."

  "Claws off," Sugar snapped.

  "So it's serious?" Patty pointed to one last place on the paper¬work to be signed.

  "No. Yes. I'm not sure. Give me a break," Sugar muttered. "No, Rose, you cannot date her. She's not your type. First off, she's not a guy."

  Rose pouted. "Pity. What a waste of all those muscles."

  Sugar did not think Charlie's muscles were the least bit wasted, but she didn't say so. Maybe she was finally learning how to handle

  her sisters. Do what Patty says, sometimes, and ignore Rose most of the time. Listen to Quinn darned near all of the time.

  Patricia handed Sugar an envelope. "The grand prize. Don't forget to set aside taxes, and don't spend it all in one place."

  "It's going directly to the bank."

  "And now I have to run," Patty said. "Thanks for the lemon squares. I love these things." She, too, gently kissed Gran on the forehead. "I'm glad Sugar is with you, but call if you need any¬thing, okay?"

  "I'll keep it in mind," Gran answered. She abruptly looked tired and pale.

  "Why don't I leave you the custard," Sugar said. "I'll come back in a little while, after you've had a chance to rest. Coming, Rose?"

  Even Rose couldn't be so dense as to miss Sugar's intent. She trailed out the door after a dutiful kiss on Gran's cheek.

  "You really do have all the luck," Rose said once the door was closed. "Maybe I should try women. I have no luck at all with men."

  Sugar winced as she considered the swath of destruction in the lesbian community that Rose would leave in her wake. "I have to warn you, lesbians your age like to talk a lot." Talking had never been high on Rose's list of good qualities in a man.

  "I suppose you heard I'm getting a divorce."

  "I did. I'm sorry it didn't work out."

  "Why do you suppose I think if I fuck them I have to marry them?"

  Sugar turned toward the elevators. "I don't know, Rose. I do know that since marriage wasn't ever an option I thought I'd get to use, I never got confused about the difference between a good time in bed and a good time in life." But she nearly had, she realized. Emily had been one but likely not the other. Noor and she had had a good time in life, but only up to a point. Bedroom fun had been adequate but not mind-blowing.

  Forever was such a complicated recipe, a recipe she hadn't given much thought to because the end result wasn't something

  she had believed was possible. It occurred to her that she'd been fairly contemptuous of Rose's failed relationships, but at least Rose was trying.

  "Like I said, maybe I should try women. Oh look, there's that gorgeous creature again. Go get her, Sugar Pie, she's a dish and a half." Rose cheerfully waved good-bye, the click of her high heels and sassy walk drawing the usual complimentary attention.

  Sugar noticed Charlie looking, too. "So now you've met my sis¬ters," she said as she approached. "Rose got all the looks."

  "She's got nothing on you."

  Sugar shook her head. "Don't do that."

  "Do you think I'm lying?"

  "I've got an artistic eye. You look and walk like a model. Rose has got all the well-rounded curves. Tree is unbelievably gor¬geous—"

  "Oh, you got me there. She's easily the most attractive woman I didn't date."

  Sugar didn't want to laugh. "So you can't tell me that there isn't a difference between all of you and me. I'm not in your league. I'm not even in the B squad."

  Charlie looked amazed. "Don't you look in the mirror?"

  Sugar sighed. "Why are we even talking about this?"

  "Because I'm avoiding apologizing for being rude yesterday."

  "Oh."

  "I'd much rather spend the next several hours convincing you how lovely you are and how much I'd like to get acquainted with every inch of your body."

  "Oh," Sugar said again. Bedroom voice, it was the bedroom voice. "Why were you upset yesterday?"

  Charlie shrugged. "I wasn't myself. I mean, I don't usually let beautiful women out of my truck without kissing them first."

  "You've kissed a lot of women in your truck?"

  "Well, when you have heat, you have heat."

  Even though Charlie's expression was as smoldering as Sugar could have hoped for, it annoyed her. They had more than heat,

  didn't they? Why was it so unbelievably confusing and frustrating to talk about how they felt? She settled for a falsely bright, "Yep."

  Charlie's light brown eyes steadily darkened. "Is that a prob¬lem?"

  "It wasn't with the producer." Sugar could have torn out her tongue the moment the words passed her lips. Was she trying to make Charlie jealous or something?

  "I'm glad you had a good t
ime." The look that had seemed to be removing clothes from Sugar's body was gone. Charlie patted her pockets. "I need to run some errands, but I'm glad I got a chance to apologize. We'll probably run into each other again."

  "Probably," Sugar echoed. Her subsequent "See ya" was aimed at Charlie's back.

  She stood in the hallway for several minutes, once again replay¬ing their conversation in her head. Where had it gone wrong this time? They agreed they had heat and every time they did they got upset and said stupid things and somebody walked off. It was like a souffle all puffed up and perfect but then somebody slams the oven door.

  Though she felt thoroughly unsettled, Sugar went to the bank and then completed the delivery of baked goods for the shelters. Meeting Noor for an early dinner was a welcome prospect. Noor was positively glowing with her pregnancy and Sugar didn't have the heart to burden her with woes of her love life. Instead, it was a wonderful diversion to hear about exams and ultrasounds, sperm donors and Deenie's family's response. She'd never seen Noor looking so happy. Whatever the recipe was she and Deenie had found, it seemed to be working out for them.

  After dinner they made a sweep through Noor's favorite store, looking for both maternity and after-maternity wear. Noor felt that Sugar's new hairstyle required softer colors. Sugar bowed to pressure for several new tops and even let Noor talk her into a bra that wasn't white.

  Gran was glad to see her after dinner, but her strength quickly ebbed. Tomorrow she'd be urged to try sitting on the edge of the bed and Sugar only then began to realize how long the road to recovery would be, even for someone as healthy as Gran was. They'd manage, though. So far, they'd managed really well.

  The house was quiet when she got home. Even the whir of the laptop didn't fill the space. She checked e-mail, read headlines, even tried to work up interest in a game of solitaire, but nothing settled her.

  The restless feeling still lingered Thursday morning, and in the stillness of the house it was hard not to think about the contest. Somewhere out there chefs were assessing the humidity. Anyone who worked with delicate baked goods would fuss over the sharp upward spike in temperatures. It was nothing to her, she thought morosely. Quick breads, cobblers and crisps were, for the most part, foolproof.

  The delivery of Gran's rented hospital bed was a flurry of activ¬ity. Sugar had the movers break down the existing bed and move it to the garage. After they left she spent some time with the lighting and side chairs, trying to arrange things so Gran's first reaction wasn't that she was returning home to a sick room. She'd buy a new sheet set, Sugar thought, in bright colors as far away from hospital moods as possible.

  Loaves and other goodies packed for deliveries, she checked her e-mail on her way out of the house. The short message from Emily reading, "Nothing here even compares to your work," was depressing. Fine, Emily could think Sugar had made a huge mis¬take, but Sugar did not regret it. She was sad about it, but she wasn't wishing anything undone. Admittedly, she was curious about the outcome, but the message from Emily seemed like a big "I told you so."

  It was easier to set aside her long-suffering feelings when she saw how cheerful Gran was. The doctor ate two of Sugar's low-fat,

  high-fiber oatmeal raisin cookies while explaining how pleased he was with Gran's progress. There was more postsurgical swelling than they liked, which could delay her physical therapy by a day or two, but overall, things looked good for a normal recovery period. Gran could be home in ten days.

  She visited with Gran for a while, reassuring her that the baked goods would be delivered and that no, no one from church had called to say the Harvest Fair would be completely changed while Gran wasn't paying attention. She read the names of people who had called with best wishes and fussed about the pretty flowers that had arrived from the auxiliary. But she felt as if her brain was a computer processing a program in the background that she didn't realize was running.

  It was ridiculous to think that she felt that way because Charlie Bronson might think badly of her, though for what reason she could not begin to imagine. And it was mere politeness that kept her inquiring daily about Charlie's father's progress. She was relieved when he was moved from ICU, relieved for his sake, not the sake of his bad-tempered daughter. And if she looked at the digital photograph she'd taken of the Bronson family's long-ago fishing trip, it was to send good thoughts through the ether for his recovery, not to gaze at the little girl holding his hand.

  Admittedly, the days seemed long. Grant Street Bakery won the Seattle Eats Event Dessert grand prize. The photo Emily sent of the Art Deco-style wedding cake was titled, "No Contest." It was a very pretty cake, Sugar allowed, and the long, jewel-like accent decorations were difficult to make. But if she'd had the time and focus, there would have been no competition. Next year, she thought. Next year.

  Her own orders kept coming in, however, and her calendar was filling up in a very encouraging way. The settlement nest egg made her business plan look not nearly so bleak. Within a day or two she no longer thought about the contest. It wasn't strange to wake up at Gran's anymore, either. The weather warmed sufficiently that

  Sugar spent Saturday evening on the patio, reading for a while, then letting herself get lost in the glory of the rising full moon. She wanted to tell someone about how beautiful it was.

  Be honest, she told herself firmly. Its not just anyone you wish you were sharing the moon with tonight. So what are you going to do about it?

  Sunday afternoon she arrived at the hospital to find Gran enjoying a variety of visitors. Sugar's chewy, still-warm peanut-butter cookies were appreciated by all and nobody seemed to notice when she slipped out again, another box of cookies under one arm.

  Given how she and Charlie had bumped into each other before, Sugar had been surprised not to have done so again, even though she was certainly not wishing for that to happen. She'd had enough hot and cold from Charlie Bronson to last a lifetime. That they might now have to encounter each other wasn't her problem, Sugar told herself as she carefully pushed open the door to Chuck Bronson's room.

  Her first thought was that there was no sign of Charlie and the second was that firefighters, as a breed, were big. The three of them visiting Chuck took up as much space as five members of the church auxiliary.

  "I thought by now, if your nutrition plan allowed, you'd be bored of hospital food," Sugar said shyly. She gave the other men, still in their work uniforms, a stern look. "These are for the patient."

  Chuck looked about the way Gran did—strained but recover¬ing, and tired but glad of diversion. "I'll have to share because they're not letting me eat that kind of thing until tomorrow."

  "In that case, I will bring you more," Sugar said as she popped open the box.

  Ralph, talking around a mouthful of cookie, asked, "Are you

  married? Do you want to be married?" A buddy nudged him, hard. "What? Oh. Sorry, didn't mean anything by it. I forgot you were Charlie's girl."

  A flash of extreme annoyance mingled with an undeniable flush of pleasure. "I'm not sure what gave you that idea," she said.

  Even Chuck joined in the laughter of the three other men. Sugar was about to ask what was so funny, but they all sobered guiltily before she could.

  Even before she turned she could smell Charlie's cologne.

  "Hi," Charlie said, hands in her pockets. "What's so funny?"

  "Nothing." Chuck quickly gestured at the cookies. "Have a cookie."

  The men went into fits of giggles. Sugar would have glared at them if she could have torn her gaze from Charlie. Jeans were never meant to look so sexy, of that she was certain. A pristine white KCFD polo shirt was supposed to look official, utilitarian even, not luscious to the point of seductive. She told herself to stop staring but she couldn't. It felt wonderful to look at Charlie.

  "So you finally got here," Chuck continued after Charlie silently chose a cookie from the box. "These guys have been here forty minutes. Your shift ended at the same time, didn't it?"

  There
was more giggling, but it quieted at a glare from Charlie. Not looking at Sugar, she said, "They might want to go around smelling like our last fire, but I don't. And after three days of the shower at the firehouse I was ready for my own."

  "I need to get back to my grandmother," Sugar lied. "I just wanted to bring the cookies and tell you I'm so glad you're feeling better."

  "Thank you very much for the cookies," Chuck said warmly. "I was afraid when they delivered my soup for dinner these guys would take it."

  "You're welcome. See you." Sugar said it generally, not to anyone in particular, and made what she hoped was a dignified exit.

  Charlie's cologne seemed to be in the elevator, in the hallways, even in Gran's room. It wasn't fair.

  "Why there you are," Gran said excitedly. "You just missed her. What a shame."

  "Who?"

  "Charlie. She was just here. Said she'd been on duty for the last three days or would have stopped in sooner. Look at the gladioli she brought! Said she'd noticed the potted ones on the back patio and thought I'd be glad for the sight of some."

  Charlie had checked in on Gran before going up to see her father. Had, in fact, stopped to shower and change beforehand. Her head spinning, Sugar was pretty sure she made all the right responses. The flowers were beautiful, and probably accounted for the smile that she couldn't get off her face. Somewhere deep inside a little imp was turning cartwheels. Okay, so today they hadn't really spoken to each other. But contact had been mutually made. Talking could happen sometime this century, perhaps.

  The rest of the country called it Memorial Day, but it was just another Monday to Sugar. She popped up to Chuck's room and left an easy-to-digest egg custard. Sometime in the early after¬noon, Charlie left Gran a travel magazine on the Holy Land. On Tuesday Sugar caught Charlie in the act of leaving peppermint tea, so she gave her the two-person spice cake for Chuck.

  "I remember you said it was a favorite. Yesterday he thought he'd be allowed."

  "And day after tomorrow he'll probably get sent home," Charlie added. They moved slowly toward the door of Gran's room, step¬ping out of the way of the visitors for the other occupant.