Tea and Crumples

by Kinard, Summer;

  Table of Contents

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Intro

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Recipes fromTea & Crumples

  Acknowledgements

  Tea & Stones

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Tea &

  Crumples

  a novel

  Summer Kinard

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2015, by Summer Kinard

  Tea and Crumples

  Summer Kinard

  skinard.lightmessages.com

  skinard@lightmessages.com

  Published 2015, by Light Messages

  www.lightmessages.com

  Durham, NC 27713 USA

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-61153-123-7

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61153-124-4

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without the prior written permission of the publisher except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Dedication

  for Seraphim

  Intro

  A woman is like a tea bag—you never know how strong she is until she gets in hot water.

  ~Eleanor Roosevelt

  “But I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail; and when you have turned again, strengthen your brethren.”

  ~Luke 22:32

  Chapter One

  On the morning that was to be the second worst day in Sienna’s life, the scones did not turn out well. She glared into the trash can in the over-warm kitchen of Tea and Crumples. It was half filled with rejected scones—too soft, too grainy, too crumbly or bitter. The batch in the oven smelled better, at least. It was her third that day and would be on the menu. Hopefully. Maybe. She had come in early to bake before the lingering summer heat filled the shop too much. She left Peter to sort out the dogs for the day.

  Peter did not usually take the dogs to the vet. It did not matter that Sienna had told him three times that morning to make sure that he took the dogs through the orange door with the dog silhouette. He was overwhelmed by the movement, the fur, and when the moment arrived, he went into the purple door. Pogo and Jonquil raced flat out towards two different cats on two sides of the room, and Peter fell over a chair.

  “It’s probably not broken, but they are taking me in for X-rays since I can’t stand on it.” Peter swallowed and breathed as though he had winced. A rush of small snaps came over the line as the EMT fastened a brace around his leg. “The dogs are staying at the day care next door till we can get them.”

  “God, Peter.” Sienna sucked in a breath and leaned against the cool steel counter. Peter’s tendency to minimize ailments had amplified over the summer. If he admitted such severe pain, he might be seriously injured. A wash of panic bleached out the air around her. She needed to get to him. “I, um, I’ll meet you there. Wait. Which hospital?”

  “University.”

  “Okay. I have to get these pans out of the oven in five minutes, then I’m heading out.”

  “What are you baking?”

  “Gluten free stuff. Brownies, cookies, another attempt at the scones.” Sienna smiled tightly. Peter was trying to take his mind off the pain. She could hear it in his voice. “I’ll bring you a brownie.”

  “That would be great.” Peter’s throat closed over a moan as the ambulance door shut, jiggling him. “Listen, Sienna, I have to hang up now. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Sienna listened to the silence as the cell signal ended.

  Something was wrong, something more than Peter’s fall. She cast her eyes around the small commercial kitchen, looking for any sign of trouble. Every tool was in place. The floor and counters were clean, and the dishes were stored away. Had she remembered to lock the door behind her when she came in through the front earlier? The butter had been melting, and she had to get it inside quickly. A bell sounded from the storefront.

  Sienna walked into the teashop and stood behind the counter. It did not take long for her to see the dark-clad man standing in broken sunlight in front of a display of journals. He was taller than she by a few inches, even though she was wearing boots.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Sienna called authoritatively. “We’re not open. I just forgot to lock the door.”

  The man turned toward her and stood very still. He looked towards her without breaking the stillness so that she wondered if he had heard her. “Hmm?” he asked. Her shoulders dropped a fraction. She stared at him, confused at her sudden desire to trust him. “Oh, sorry. I saw that you sell stationery, and I tried the door.” He smiled slightly, and his gray eyes assessed her. “When will you open?” He tilted his head slightly, and she tilted hers in response. A white square at his neckline caught her eye. He wore a clerical collar. He was a priest, then. That must have been what she had noticed.

  “Our soft opening is tomorrow morning.” Sienna felt an odd tug in her chest and put it down to the desire to unload one’s burdens on someone strong. She swallowed hard to keep herself from blurting the news about Peter. A timer dinged in the kitchen, drawing her out of the spell. “Listen, I’m sorry for the confusion. I appreciate you dropping in. Wait right here, and I’ll give you a free sample of my soon-to-be world famous scones.”

  “Is it okay if I browse while I wait?” He smiled again, this time with the charismatic grin Sienna associated with great actors and politicians.

  “Is that a real collar? Are you sure you can be trusted?” Sienna found herself returning the man’s smile.

  “It is a real collar. I’m a priest.” He cocked an eyebrow rather than answering her second question.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Sienna turned and rushed into the kitchen. An apron covered her front, but she felt conscious of her tank top and shorts as she walked away from him. Was she worried that the priest might check her out? It was her habit to expect respect from all men, especially men of the cloth. Something else must be off. She glanced down at her hand and noticed the absence of her wedding ring. Of course. She had left it by the sink while she kneaded dough.

  Sienna pulled the trays of warm cookies and scones from the oven and placed them on wire racks. There was no time for removing the baked goods off the pans if she was going to catch Peter in triage. She scrambled for a small paper sack and placed a piping hot scone into it. This batch looked much better than the last attempt, but she did not have time to taste it. She hoped that it was good for the priest’s sake.

  She turned to go back into the storefront, then remembered the ring. Sienna pushed the plaited gold band over the wonky knuckle on her left ring finger. That should clear up any ambiguity with the priest. She picked up the scone bag and returned to the front.

  The priest was writing on a small tablet when she arrived at the counter.

  “Your scone. Father?” Sienna held the bag toward the priest with her left hand so that he could not m
iss the ring.

  “Oh.” He seemed startled, whether by her presence or the ring, she could not tell. “Greg. Only a few old school parishioners call me Father these days.” He smiled at her again, the light in his eyes confusing her. “Thank you for the free sample.”

  “You’re welcome. If you like it, come back tomorrow when we open. There will be a wider variety available then as well.” Sienna fiddled with the knot in the front of her apron, eager to get away. She wanted to speed up her departure by removing the apron, but she liked having the extra layer of cloth between her tank top and the minister.

  “Here’s my number.” Greg slid a thick ivory note toward her over the counter. “I see that you carry my favorite brand of journals but not the ruled standard size. Could you perhaps make a special order for me? I promise to be a faithful eater of your scones.” His eyes danced again with an impish smile so that Sienna suspected him of flirting.

  “Um, sure,” she said. “I’ll put in an order first thing tomorrow. But for now, I really must close up here. I have an urgent appointment.”

  “Of course,” Greg said, running his eyes over her again. For a fleeting moment, his brow creased with concern. Then the twinkle was back. “And I imagine you’ll have to get out of that apron first.”

  “Right.” Sienna smiled tightly and nodded to the door.

  Greg got to the threshold with surprising speed. He nodded a goodbye, then turned out the door with another enigmatic smile.

  Sienna locked the door behind him.

  When she arrived at the hospital, Peter was already through triage.

  “Mrs. Bannock?” A kind-eyed male nurse asked her. “Come this way, please.”

  Sienna followed nervously. Hospitals made her uncomfortable. It was the smells that got to her. She had been a cook and a baker for too long not to smell the sickness and wounds that the disinfectants masked for most people.

  “Here we are,” the nurse said, stopping in front of a glass-walled treatment area in the emergency room. “Your husband’s compound fracture got him expedited. We’ve just given him a little morphine for the pain, but he should still be able to talk a little. At least, he’ll know you’re here. If you have any questions, ask for me. I’m Rob, and I’ll be looking after your husband until he’s moved to surgery.”

  “Thank you, Rob,” Sienna said sincerely. She watched him out the door, then turned toward the bed where Peter lay, pale and grimacing, a temporary cast around his right leg.

  “Sienna?” He tried to lift his hand toward her, but the medication had taken too strong a hold.

  “Yes, Peter. I’m here.” Sienna squeezed his hand, surprised to find it chilly. Peter’s hands were always warm. Hers ran to cold. It had been one of her first excuses for touching him, in the beginning, the Southern version of borrowing a jacket in a chill. Since she could not warm his hand, she kissed it. “How are you, Love?”

  “Mmm,” he mumbled. “Hurts.” He opened his eyes with obvious effort. “Good see you.” He attempted a smile.

  Sienna smiled back, fighting through the tension building in her jaw and forehead. She could do this. She could smile for Peter. But his hands were so cold. And the hospital smelled dangerous, like loss.

  “Don’t worry,” Peter comforted. He knew her so well. She could not hide her fear from him. “Just clumsy.”

  Sienna stroked Peter’s forehead. His brown eyes fluttered under her touch, and he relaxed, dozing under the affect of the pain meds.

  When she was sure he was asleep, Sienna pulled out her mobile phone and pressed the top name on the speed dial.

  “Marnie? It’s Sienna. Peter’s in the hospital. Any way you can come over to see us here?”

  “Lord have mercy!” Marnie said, startled. She sounded discomfortingly far away, causing Sienna’s heart to sink. “Oh, SiSi, you know I would come right this instant, if I weren’t in Wales.”

  “Wales?” Sienna knit her brows. Marnie went on pilgrimages a couple of times a year. Sienna sometimes lost track of her friend’s schedule. “Oh,” she sighed, deflated.

  “I’ll pray from here, of course. What is it? A broken leg?”

  Sienna nodded, used to Marnie’s uncanny ability to know what was wrong or right with people. “Yes. His right leg. Compound fracture, but I don’t know more.”

  “Mrs. Bannock?” An athletic blond woman in a long white coat called from the door.

  “Listen, Marnie, the doctor is here. I’ve got to go. Pray.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  Sienna turned off her phone and turned to greet the doctor.

  “Mrs. Bannock?” the doctor repeated.

  “Yes. Please call me Sienna.”

  “Sienna. I’m Dr. Murphy, the resident orthopedist. I understand that your husband has a broken right leg.”

  “Yes,” Sienna said, tension narrowing her eyes. The sense of unease was growing, and she could not seem to push it aside.

  “We’d like to take your husband in for X-rays. Does he have any pins or plates that you know of?”

  “Um, no.” Sienna squinted. “No plates or pins. He says he’s clumsy, but he’s actually never broken a bone before.” They were going to take her husband to look at him through machines, and she suddenly felt the need to talk about him. “I think his only surgery was wisdom tooth removal.” She tried to smile.

  “Good,” Dr. Murphy answered. Her voice was low for a woman’s, reassuring, like Sienna’s grandmother’s voice had been. The doctor watched Sienna for a moment, her eyes lingering on the tightness in Sienna’s face and shoulders. “Is there anything else you would like us to know before we take him to the back?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing I can pinpoint. Something just seems off. Do you bake?” She frowned when the doctor shook her head. “Well, sometimes you can smell that an ingredient is off, before you taste it, even if it looks okay.” She sighed. “Peter’s not supposed to have cold hands,” she said, hoping she sounded less wild than she felt.

  Dr. Murphy nodded and tilted her head. “How about this? I’ll have Nurse Rob bring in some heated blankets, and you can stay with Peter while we move him.” She quirked her lips, as if determining whether to speak. “And, this is just a hunch, but I would like to run Peter through an MRI as well, if that’s okay with you. Your insurance may charge you an extra fee, but the test can tell us a lot more about what is going on with your husband.”

  “Yes, do the test,” Sienna choked out. Her head started to throb, and her hands were now colder than Peter’s.

  Waiting seemed to take several hours. Sienna tried to pray, to plan, but she could not think at all. Her only goal was to be near Peter. She held his hand every moment she could without being in the way of his treatment.

  In reality, Peter had been lucky to have injured himself on a midweek morning. The hospital was at top efficiency, and Sienna only had to wait until dinner time before the doctor returned, holding files and accompanied with a small entourage of strangers. Peter had been sedated to keep him from injuring his leg and for his comfort.

  “Mrs. Bannock—Sienna?” Dr. Murphy asked, moving into the room to allow a few other white-clad persons entrance. “These are my colleagues, Dr. Jameson and Dr. Avery.” She nodded to a youngish, dark-haired man and an older woman with bifocals. Three younger persons in scrubs stood attentively back, obvious medical students. “And these are our interns, Drs. Patel, Chen, and Darcy.” The students nodded politely as they were named. “We’d like to talk with you about Peter. Would you mind coming with us to the conference room?”

  “Actually,” Sienna squeezed Peter’s relaxed hand. “I’d rather stay here, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Of course.” Dr. Murphy nodded to the others. The interns disappeared for a moment, reappearing with rolling chairs sufficient for the three senior physicians. The students sat on a bench behind them. When they were settled, Dr. Murphy continued. “Sienna, when we had a look at Peter’s leg, we found more than just a compound fracture. I’m sorry to
tell you, Peter has cancer.”

  “Cancer?” Sienna gasped. Shock and recognition fought for control of her mind as she ran through what in hindsight were obvious symptoms: his recent lethargy, clumsiness around furniture, and the unusual inconsistencies in the bedroom. Her heart raced, and she choked out her next question. “What kind of cancer?”

  “Dr. Avery,” the older doctor reminded kindly. “I’m an oncologist. Peter appears to have a very advanced form of prostate cancer, stage three or four. It’s unusual for men Peter’s age to have prostate cancer, but this form is the most common for those who do.”

  “Will he live?” Sienna’s mouth was almost too dry for speech. Dr. Avery noticed and nodded to one of the students, who brought Sienna a glass of water before the conversation continued.

  “His chances of survival are fairly good, and he will most likely be able to enjoy a full life in remission.”

  Sienna connected a few dots, then looked at the third doctor. “Dr. Jameson?” she asked. “A urologist, perhaps?”

  “That’s right,” Dr. Jameson nodded. “We have to wait on a few test results, but we will likely have to do surgery tonight to remove the large tumor.”

  “Given his weakened state, we prefer to put him under anesthesia only once,” Dr. Murphy interjected. “I will repair Peter’s leg, and Dr. Avery and her team will take out the tumor.”

  “I’ll be there to make sure we keep Peter’s systems as intact as possible,” Dr. Jameson finished.

  The doctors went on, explaining about radiation and hormone therapies, the different prognoses if biopsies showed that Peter’s bone had been weakened by cancer or if the cancer was still fairly contained. By the time they finished, Sienna was numb. They would know more after the surgery to repair the bone, which was the first priority. If the bone was cancer-free, Peter would likely live. Sienna focused all of her energy on willing it to be so. She imagined his ragged bone and hoped that it was only broken.

  Marnie called back after the doctors had left Sienna alone with Peter for a few minutes before the surgery.