Then I remember. Nanny is going to make it. My father actually said he loves me. And into my mind has popped a brilliant idea; one more chance to talk to my mother before the show. It’s foolproof, really.
So maybe things aren’t as bad as they seemed last night.
Maybe someone up there is listening to me after all.
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Chapter 16
pie in the sky
A text comes through from Dad shortly after I get up.
Nanny will be in the hospital for a week, if all goes well.
That’s awesome. But it’s Saturday morning, Sweetie’s busiest day. I jump out of my chair-slash-bed and start folding it up.
I am ready, and totally sure that today is the day. I will talk to my mother.
Lori sits up in bed, groggy. “What are you doing?”
“They’ll need me at the bakery.” I grab the cushions and put the chair back together. “I’ve got a lot to do today.”
She falls backward and moans. “I suppose you want me to get up, too?”
I laugh. “A little coffee would be nice.”
“Fine.”
I check my cell again. Still no word from Ethan. But that’s okay. Today will be a good day.
I go into the bathroom and take a quick shower, dry my hair, pull on the sweater that I’d packed for Chicago. My optimism flags for a second, but I push all feelings of doom as deep as I possibly can.
By the time I’m done in the bathroom, Lori is waiting for me with a hot cup of coffee.
“Oh, bless you.” I take it and sip. “Yummy.”
She looks at me funny. “You’re acting weird. Like cheerful or something.”
“Yeah.” I put the coffee down and pack up my bag. “Everything’s cool. New plan.”
“Uh-oh.”
I laugh. “It’s all good. Don’t worry.” I pick up the cup again, take a long swig. “Just come by later, and I’ll tell you.
I gotta go help Roz.”
“Okay.” She takes the coffee cup from me. “Sheridan.
Don’t do anything stupid, promise?”
“Why are people always saying that to me? I’m fine.”
“You want me to drive you?”
“Nah. I can walk.” I give her a quick hug and say good-bye.
I need the time alone to work out the finer points of my plan. It’s only eight o’clock, too soon to call Chicago.
But I can call information and get the number for the McCormick Place convention center. It’s right on the shore of 194
Lake Michigan. Nanny and Dad took me there to see The Nutcracker for Christmas when I was ten. I can picture it; I bet Mom’s already there, getting ready for the competition.
I hope she wins.
But more than that, I hope she takes my phone call.
I dial information and write the number down on my hand. I’ll call at nine thirty, which will be eight thirty Chicago time. The competition won’t have started yet, so I won’t distract her. Well, that’s ridiculous; of course I’ll distract her.
But I hope it will be a good distraction.
As I round the corner to Main Street, I see a crowd of people outside of Sweetie’s door. Oh no. I pocket my phone and run.
Mrs. Davis sees me first. “Sheridan! How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine. What’s going on?”
“Oh, I’m here to help. But Mr. Rasic sent me away.”
“You’re here to help? What about Geronimo’s?”
“Oh, don’t worry, we’re covered. No, I heard about your grandmother and was so worried. I’m no Lilian Wells, but I can certainly brew coffee.”
“Sheridan.” Sous-chef Danny walks up and gives me a hug. Lucy, his daughter, stands next to him, and when he’s done, she hugs me, too.
“I’m glad she’s gonna be okay,” Lucy says. I feel kind of guilty. We ate lunch together every day in the sixth grade.
What happened to us? We were good friends once. Until the 195
cakes. We were good friends until I got busy with my cakes.
“Thanks,” I say.
Everyone I see says something nice to me about Nanny and how they’re praying that she’s okay. When I go inside, I see that the bakery’s case is full and that Mr. Roz is smiling behind the counter. I see pastry chef Dominique walk in from the back with a full tray of muffins. The part-timers from the retirement home are also buzzing around, waiting on customers.
I see the Suits, crowded around one of the little front tables.
“Sheridan.” Gray Hair stops me. “How are you?”
“Fine. Thank you.”
He reaches out and pats my arm. “Quite a shock. But I’m so glad to hear the good news.”
I nod, then make my way around the case and into the back. Mr. Roz follows me, begins filling another muffin tray with batter.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask.
“Sheridan. You don’t need to be here. We taking care of things. Except for we need more room.”
He lifts an arm and points to the side counters. I see a lineup of homemade muffins, coffee cakes, cinnamon rolls.
“What is this?”
“That is how much people love you grandmother.” Then he leans in close to me. “Don’t ask me why they bring bakery food. We already got plenty. Who gonna eat all this?”
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There’s a pile of cards, a few potted plants, a vase of freshly cut white tulips with a big pink ribbon. Nanny will love those.
My eyes are fogging up. I shake my head. There will be no crying today.
“This is amazing.”
“Yes, amazing.” He stops, walks over to where I’m reading a small card on a potted hyacinth. “You have good friends here.” He pats my back. “They like family.”
I look up at him. He’s right. St. Mary is where my family is. Except for Mom. And she’ll be on her way.
“You go home. We have plenty of help here.”
“What about the basket weave cake?”
“You finished. They come pick it up. No worries.”
“But I can do something.”
“No. You go home and rest. But wait . . . first . . .”
He flicks open a white bag, picks up a lemon poppy seed muffin, and drops it inside.
“For you.” He hands me the bag and walks me to the back door. I shrug. I don’t think he’s going to let me stay.
And of course, it would probably be better if I made the call to Chicago at home, all by myself. So I don’t argue.
“Sheridan?” Dominique comes into the kitchen. “There’s someone up front asking for you.”
I step around her, see Ethan’s head above the crowd.
“Thanks,” I say.
He sees me and smiles, and I wave him to the back. Nan-197
ny would never let him in here, especially without a hairnet, but I lead him right out the back door and into the alley.
“Hey.” He reaches for my hand. I am relieved he’s here.
That he still wants to see me. He has terrible bedhead. I reach to pat down the sticking-up part. Then I kiss him.
Hard. Let myself enjoy the moment and try not to think of the trouble with Jack. Or the fact that I am the world’s worst kisser.
“Did you get my messages?” I ask after our lips detach.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I left my phone at home.”
“You were at the beach?”
“Yeah, I was waiting for you. Then everyone showed up and things got kind of crazy. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry about your grandma.”
“Yeah. It was scary.”
He puts his arms around my waist and pulls me in closer.
“You think we can get together this week?”
I scrunch up my face. “We can try.”
“Do you want to get together?”
“Well, yes. But I don’t know what’s going to happen with Nanny in the hospital. And this show, too.” I roll my eyes.
“But after this is all over, I’ll have more free time. I promise.”
“Sometimes you gotta make time, you know. If you want something bad enough.”
I wish he hadn’t said that. I mean, my grandmother did have a heart attack. But he pulls me in for another kiss and I 198
remember: he just wants to be with me. That’s a good thing.
“I’ll try.”
“You got some free time now? We can go to your house.”
He looks at me hopefully.
“No. I gotta go back in.” This is a lie, of course. But I need to call my mother, and there’s no simple way to explain that to him. Plus, I am way too stressed out right now to think about making out with him and what that might or might not lead to.
“Okay.” He steps back with a sad, crooked smile. “Well, call when you can fit me in.” “Okay,” I say. “Maybe like Wednesday?”
He shrugs. “Sure. Whatever.” He holds my hand until both of our arms are stretched out. Then he lets go and walks away, down the alley.
That didn’t go well. If we can just get through this week, just get through the rest of school and into the summer, we’ll be fine. I hope we can make it that far.
All alone in the alley, I check my cell phone. Still an hour before I can call Chicago. Maybe I should have gone with Ethan, or invited him home. But I couldn’t, not with Nanny in the hospital. If she found out we were alone in the house, it would give her another heart attack for sure.
I go back into the bakery, pick up my bag. Everyone is so busy in the front that they don’t even notice.
Up in my bedroom, I pull out a notebook, try to hammer out a script of what I might say to her. She’ll be upset.
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Think it’s an emergency. So I’ll have to calm her down, tell her everything is okay. It’s me, Sheridan.
For the next hour, I try to psych myself up for the phone call. Finally, it’s nine thirty. I pick up my cell phone. My chest is so tight I fear I might be having a heart attack.
Five minutes pass. I’ve still got the phone in my hand.
Luckily, I copied the number off of my palm, because sweat has made it unreadable.
I dial. And the phone rings. I take a breath so deep I can feel the air in my toes.
“McCormick Place Information.”
“Hello.” Don’t throw up, Sheridan. This is too important.
“Yes, I am trying to get in touch with a contestant in the cake contest.”
“One moment, please.” And now I am listening to some ancient Elton John song.
“Hello?” It’s a man’s voice.
“Yes, hi. I need to get in touch with someone in the cake contest.” I gulp. “It’s an emergency.”
“Well, we can page the person. What is the name?”
“Margaret Taylor.” I am sitting on the end of my bed; my leg shakes, up and down, up and down. My blood is pump-ing fast. This is it. I have to stay in control.
“She’s a contestant?”
“Yes, sir. I believe so.” I hope so, anyway.
“Oh yes, here she is. I’ll page her, put you on hold.”
“Thank you,” I say, too late, because I’m already hearing 200
Elvis on the hold music. I press my hand to my chest, as if that can calm the beating of my heart. Every muscle in my body is tense. I wait. The Elvis song is over; now we’re on to
“Across the Universe,” by the Beatles, which I know because Nanny loves their music.
After a while, I stop paying attention to the music. She’s not coming to the phone. I’ve been on hold for ten minutes.
I haven’t breathed in about that long; I might drop dead soon.
Okay, another five minutes and I’ll hang up.
Some song I don’t recognize at all starts playing. At the end of this song, I’m going to hang up, then try again later.
“Hello?” The woman’s out-of-breath voice takes me by surprise.
I stand up, open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
“Hello! Is there anyone there?” the woman shouts. She’s upset, as I predicted.
“Yes!” Okay. My mouth works again. That’s good.
“Who is this? They said it’s an emergency? Who is this?”
“No. Everything is okay. It’s me.”
“Who?”
“It’s me.” I swallow. “Sheridan.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mom?”
“Oh . . . Oh.”
“Yeah, it’s me, Mom!” I’m grinning. I can’t believe I’m 201
talking to her. “Mom, oh my God it’s been so long!”
“Yes. Yes, it has. Listen. I’m at this contest.” She laughs; she’s happy. “Can I call you back?”
“Mom, it’s taken me so long to find you. It’s so good to hear your voice.” I’m smiling so wide my face might crack in half. “Mom, Dad got a cable show. We’re filming next Saturday. And they need a cake. I’m making it, but it’s got to be perfect and I need your help. Can you come?”
The words trip clumsily out of my mouth.
“He got a show, huh?”
“Yeah, he did—can you believe that?”
“Yes, I can,” she says in a kind of faraway voice.
“But . . . But I’ve got to go now. Let me call you back.”
“All right. Okay. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Right, I’ll call you.”
“But you don’t have my number. Let me give you my number.”
“No. I’ll call you back. I’ve got to go now.”
I am silent.
“Okay?” she says. It hits me that her voice is only vaguely familiar. Like something I heard in a dream.
“Okay.” I feel impatient suddenly. “Don’t forget, Mom.”
“No.” I can hear in her voice how badly she wants to get off the phone.
“Promise?”
“Yes. Bye.”
I don’t want her to go. “You said you were coming back.
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In my card. Remember?”
“Oh.” She laughs again. “I did say that. That’s right. But, Sheridan, honey, I’ve really got to go now, really, things are just getting going here.”
“So you’ll call me?”
“Right. So . . . okay, good-bye?” “Okay. Bye.”
And that’s it. She’s gone. I put the phone down. Fal backward onto my bed. That was not what I thought it would be.
At al . But she’s going to cal back. She promised.
I reach into my bag, grab the blue velvet box, and pull out Jack’s bracelet. I fasten it around my wrist. Rub the bird between my fingers like a good luck charm.
I will not cry. Will not. She said she’d call back. She promised, didn’t she? I play back the conversation in my head. I can’t remember. Did she promise?
I roll the velvet box around in my hand, take out Jack’s note. Hope you get what you real y want. I close my eyes, tight, until I see funny shapes and colors behind my eyelids.
She promised to call me. That’s what I really want. I want my mother to keep a promise, for once.
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Chapter 17
gum up the works
So when is she going to call? It’s Tuesday. I can’t sit by the phone all day, waiting for her. But when I check the messages at home, check the caller ID, there’s nothing. As far as I know, she doesn’t have my cell phone number, but I check it constantly anyway, just in case.
The Suits have a full agenda for me this week: they’ll film me working on the cake tonight, then I have a wardrobe fitting tomorrow night, and there’s more crap on Thursday.
Whatever.
And to make matters worse, Ethan hasn’t been in school.
He texted me to say that he has a cold. Then Mrs. Ely actually called my father yesterday and ratted me out on the art project, telling him that it’s 50 percent of my semester grade.
Thanks a lot, Mrs. E. And now I have to show him my work every night, like I’m six years old. So I’
ve been going over to Growly’s garden, frantically sketching the spring flowers.
Surprisingly, Dad doesn’t seem too mad about the project, and he hasn’t said a word about our fight in the hospital, or even punished me for planning the whole Chicago trip. I figure he’s waiting until the show is over, so he can be sure I’ll behave, and then he’ll slam me.
All of these things are particularly annoying to me today, and I head to the bakery after school in a wonderful mood.
As I finish up the birthday cake for little four-year-old Logan Ellis, Dad walks in the back door. I’m concentrating on some muddy tracks for the monster truck I’ve already sculpted and covered with fondant. Nothing too complicated.
Roz walks in with a tray of cookies. He’s cleaning out the case for the day.
“Jakup.” Dad nods at him.
“Ah, Donovan. Good to see you.” He walks over to Dad, grabs his hand in both of his, and gives his signature shake and wide smile. “How is Lilian today?”
“Much better. They think she’ll be out of the ICU soon.
In fact, I’m taking Sheridan to see her now.”
I stand up straight. “What? No. I don’t have time.” This is the truth, but I’m also a little nervous.
It’s not that I don’t miss Nanny; I just don’t want to see her all zoned out with tubes sticking out everywhere. “I need 205
to start the gumballs and work on the hibiscus flowers”
“Gumballs?”
“Yeah.” I go back to my monster truck. “An engagement party. They met at a gumball machine or something.”
“Gumballs? Christ, what will these people think of next?
I thought I told you not to take any more cakes this week?”
“It was already on the books. And I gotta have it done on Thursday so I can finish the cake for my fake birthday party.” There’s a sharp edge to my voice.
“Can you handle it? And your schoolwork?”
I am so not in the mood for this today. “It’s not rocket science, Dad. They’re gumballs.”
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