“Too much what?”
Her face crumbled. “I don’t want to leave anyone behind. I can’t carry that responsibility.”
Sadie felt her throat catch. “That’s why you left Portland in the first place, wasn’t it? To ease out of the connections you had to people and protect yourself from pain—not just Richard. Everyone.”
May’s shoulders pulled inward, but she didn’t answer with words.
“It didn’t work, did it? When your dad died, it hurt just as much, maybe worse, than if you’d stayed.”
“If I’d been here,” May said, “maybe I could have done something and kept Gary and Lois from . . . ” She shook her head, unable to finish.
Sadie didn’t have an answer for that. May was not responsible for Jim’s death; May couldn’t have stopped Lois any more than she could have prevented Hugh’s gambling or Gary’s greed or Jolene’s cancer. May had nothing to do with any of that, but Sadie wanted to focus on the future rather than trying to help May make sense of the last several weeks. There would be time enough for her to work through the past, but right now Sadie felt as though May were standing on a precipice, facing the decision of what to do next. She was broken and hurting, and Sadie hoped that that equated to an openness that might help May see things differently than she’d chosen to see them these last ten years.
“May,” Sadie began, “you’ve experienced more loss than anyone I know, but would you have chosen against having these people in your life in the first place if you knew how it would end?” Sadie had faced that question herself. If she’d known she would lose the love of her life, would she have married Neil at all? She had found her answer—a resounding yes that no longer hurt to say—but May had to find her own answer to that question. Sadie hoped May would trust herself to answer it honestly.
“No,” May said, but it came with another sob. Sadie understood that she didn’t want to not have had her parents and brother and sister and aunts and nephew; she just didn’t want to hurt anymore or cause that kind of hurt for anyone else. That was something else Sadie could relate to, though not quite on May’s level.
“Maybe you can let Richard make that same choice instead of counting yourself out so easily,” Sadie said, rubbing May’s arms as she spoke. “Richard was there when you lost your mother, and he’s been in the shadows through your father’s passing and this whole unbelievable mess that’s followed. Is there any possible way you can trust him to make the best decision for himself? Can you believe, even a little bit, that regardless of what may come, his life might be better for having had you in it?”
May dropped her head, her tears overflowing and dripping into her lap. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she said with a sob. “I don’t know.”
Sadie pressed her lips against May’s forehead, wishing there was a way to send all her feelings of love and tenderness directly to May’s broken heart. May was a good woman, and with all her heart Sadie wanted her to find joy.
“You have so much to give,” she whispered into May’s hair. “And someone who wants to love you.”
Movement caught her eye, and Sadie saw Richard step inside. He’d apparently been counting down those two minutes and was unable to wait even a second longer. She looked at Richard’s questioning glance and answered with a slight nod that it was a good time for him to come in. Sadie was aware that she was taking a huge risk of making everything worse by orchestrating this reunion. Yet, somehow, she felt that May was ready—ready to let someone else help her pick up the pieces, ready to have something to live for.
Richard knelt next to May, and Sadie felt May stiffen when she realized he was there. She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t move away or yell or slap him either. Sadie took both of May’s hands in her own and squeezed them slightly, willing May to open her heart just a little more. She wanted to point out that Richard had two healthy, happy children May could love if she felt unable to risk having her own and that he’d sacrificed all his security to help Sadie find Jim’s killer. She wanted to convince May that it was a logical decision for her to take this chance, but it was May’s heart that needed to believe.
Richard kept a comfortable distance and didn’t try to touch her right away. “May,” he whispered.
Sadie felt May stiffen even more. She squeezed May’s hands again as Richard continued.
“I am . . . so sorry,” he said, emotion causing his voice to tremble. “I know that’s not enough. I know those words in and of themselves can’t fix anything, but I am so, so sorry. Hurting you is the biggest regret of my life.” He sniffed, and May lifted her head, ever so slowly.
She looked at him, her tear-streaked face and swollen eyes reflecting fear and hope and everything in between.
“It seems as though I’ve been in love with you all my life,” Richard continued. “I beg you to give me another chance, to let us find happiness together—a happiness neither of us has found on our own.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” May said, shaking her head. “I just . . . I feel so . . .”
Sadie could think of several words that could work: alone, abandoned, betrayed, overwhelmed, hopeless, sad.
May dropped her head again, but Sadie could feel her resolve softening. With small movements, she removed her hands from where they covered May’s.
Richard saw what she was doing and shot her a grateful look as he placed his larger hand over May’s small and shuddering ones. May didn’t pull away at his touch.
“Let me love you, May, the way I should have the first time,” he whispered, raising his other hand to touch her face. “Please.”
For a moment May was still, and then another sob broke through and she moved ever so slightly toward Richard.
It was all the prompting Sadie needed. She slipped off the couch, and before she could take a step, Richard slid into her place. Just as May had crumpled into Sadie’s arms minutes earlier, she melted into Richard, allowing him to hold her, allowing him to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her hair as the sobbing began anew.
Sadie wiped frantically at her eyes as she walked toward the door. Before leaving the room, she took one last look at them, just in time to see May wrap her arms around Richard’s shoulders, holding him as tightly as he held her. Sadie closed the door silently behind her and wished them all the happiness they had never known.
Once on the porch, Sadie kept her hand on the doorknob but leaned back against the door, letting out a breath and willing away some of the lingering fear and tension that had taken hold of her neck and shoulders. Not all things broken could be fixed; Sadie knew that from her own experience with loss and with life in general. She’d been reminded of the same thing in spades as she’d watched the depth of human suffering this week and tried to comprehend the evil that could rot men’s—and women’s—souls. And yet, as the sun came up every morning, as the roses bloomed every spring, she was reminded again that there was healing even in a world so full of confusion and pain. There was hope. There was love.
And love, above all things, was worth the battle.
She started down the steps and smiled at Pete, who had stepped out of the car, watching her approach.
“Good?” he asked when Sadie was close enough to hear him.
“I think so,” Sadie said, continuing forward until she could link her arms behind his back and look up into his face. “I’m sure glad that life comes with second chances.”
Pete’s arms snaked around her back as well. “So am I,” he said, leaning down for a kiss—soft and perfect.
Sadie pulled back enough that she could still feel the barest touch of his lips against hers. “I love you, Pete Cunningham,” she whispered, wondering why she’d held back so long on saying those words. It had seemed like he should say them first, but why?
Pete smiled and tapped her nose with his. “And I love you, Sadie Hoffmiller. I love you, too.”
Second-Chance Baked Potato Soup
1⁄2 cup butter
1⁄2 cup fl
our
5 cups milk
4 to 5 large, leftover baked potatoes, peeled and mashed (or 3 cups mashed potatoes)*
1 teaspoon salt (don’t be afraid to add more to taste)
1⁄2 teaspoon pepper
4 green onions, chopped and divided
12 slices bacon, cooked, crumbled and divided
11⁄2 cups shredded cheddar cheese, divided
1 (8-ounce) package sour cream
Melt butter in a heavy kettle over low heat. Add flour, stirring until smooth. Cook for about 1 minute, stirring constantly.
Increase heat to medium and gradually add milk, stirring constantly until mixture is thick and bubbly.
Add potatoes, salt, pepper, half of the green onions, half of the bacon, and 1 cup of cheddar cheese. Cook until thoroughly heated. Stir in sour cream (add extra if necessary for desired thickness).
Serve soup with remaining portion of onions, bacon, and cheese sprinkled on top. Serves 6.
*To make soup from scratch rather than with leftovers: Wash raw potatoes and bake in the oven at 400 degrees for about 1 hour or until done. Be careful not to overcook them and make them too mushy. Let potatoes cool before cutting. Scoop out insides of potatoes and set aside. Then follow the recipe using the freshly baked potatoes.
Acknowledgments
In 2009, Deseret Book sponsored me on a book tour throughout the western United States with my friend Julie Wright (Cross My Heart, Covenant, 2010). Along the tour was my first and only visit to Portland, Oregon, and I knew immediately I wanted to set a book there.
I came home, toiled and whined far more than was warranted, and eventually handed the book over to my publisher. A big thank you to that Deseret Book team who made this a reality: Jana Erickson (Product Director), Lisa Mangum (editor, and author of The Hourglass Door series, Shadow Mountain, 2009–2011), Shauna Gibby (designer), and Rachael Ward (typographer).
Thanks, too, to my sisters, Cindy Ellsworth and Crystal White, who joined my friend Melanie Jacobsen in the pre-reading phase of this book—and boy, was it rough when it went to them! Thank you to Tawnya Gibson and my cousin-in-law Alisa Watson for some of the Portland weirdness I was not getting on my own. And thank you to Gregg Luke (Blink of an Eye, Covenant, 2010), who gave me some medical facts that, while they didn’t all end up in this book, have been saved for later use, they were that good.
Once again, I couldn’t have done this without my test kitchen bakers: Annie Funk (Annie’s Triple-Berry Summer Salad), Michelle Jefferies (Loaded Bread Dip), Don Carey, Danyelle Ferguson (Second-Chance Baked Potato Soup), Laree Ipson, Megan O’Neill, Whit Larsen, Sandra Sorenson, and our newest member, Lisa Swinton. Thanks goes out to Luisa Perkins for making up the Salmon and Wild Mushroom Casserole recipe for me and my good friend Cindy Voorhees, who also donated the Marvelous Bran Muffin recipe. Without the help of such wonderful cooks, I could never pull this off. Thank you, guys.
Thank you to my family, friends, and fans who have loved Sadie and sent me notes about how much they’ve enjoyed the series. Every one of those notes adds a drop to my lamp of motivation, and I so appreciate every thought that is shared. Thank you to my “girls”: Annette Lyon, Heather Moore, and Julie Wright. They become increasingly more important to me every year, both in writing and in life. Thanks, gals, for “getting” me.
Thank you to my fabulous writing group: Nancy Campbell Allen (Isabelle Webb, Vol. 2, Covenant, 2011), Becki Clayson, Jody Durfee, and Ronda Hinrichsen (Trapped, Walnut Springs, 2010) for reviewing the first fifty pages again and again, only to miss the ending every time. I’m blessed to have your friendship and your patience as well; Sadie would not be who she is without you.
Thank you to each of my children for their patience, but also for their enthusiastic support. One day they will know how hard it is for me to choose how to spend my time, but for now they simply know that my writing is important to me and therefore important to them. It is my greatest hope and prayer that the sacrifice is worth it and that my support of their talents and passions equalizes the strangeness I bring into their lives. Someday the words might run out and the ideas may run dry, and I am grateful to know that should that change come to pass, I will always have you.
Thank you to my husband, Lee, who has believed in me every step of the way. He is the answer to so many of my questions, the strength to my many weaknesses, and the soft place I’m always eager to return to. Thank you, Lee, for reminding me every day that I “fit” and for giving me a life where I can spread my wings and see just how far I can fly.
For all of this, a final thank you to my Father in Heaven, for giving me the measure I’m trying to live up to, for helping me find the words when I feel abandoned, for taking the words when I’ve abandoned something else, and for leading me to the understanding that there is a plan for each one of us, and that every gift, every passion, every opportunity we face in life is here to make us better and happier and closer to Him.
About the Author
Josi S. Kilpack grew up hating to read until she was thirteen and her mother handed her a copy of The Witch of Blackbird Pond. From that day forward, she read everything she could get her hands on and credits her writing “education” to the many novels she has “studied” since then. She began her first novel in 1998 and hasn’t stopped since. Her seventh novel, Sheep’s Clothing, won the 2007 Whitney Award for Mystery/Suspense, and Lemon Tart, her ninth novel, was a 2009 Whitney Award finalist. Blackberry Crumble is Josi’s thirteenth novel and the fifth book in the Sadie Hoffmiller Culinary Mystery series.
Josi currently lives in Willard, Utah, with her wonderful husband, four amazing children, one fat dog, and a varying number of very happy chickens.
For more information about Josi, you can visit her website at www.josiskilpack.com, read her blog at www.josikilpack.blogspot.com, or contact her via e-mail at [email protected].
Enjoy this sneak peek of Pumpkin Roll
Coming Fall 2011
Chapter 1
So, what’s the difference between a sociopath and psychopath?” Sadie Hoffmiller asked as she put the last plate in the dishwasher.
Pete Cunningham, Sadie’s boyfriend—though that was such a juvenile term—looked up from where he was replacing a hinge on the flat-fronted cabinet. “One starts with an S and the other starts with a P,” he said before going back to the task at hand—one of the two dozen items from his self-imposed honey-do list. They were in a suburb of Boston, watching Pete’s grandsons while Pete’s son and daughter-in-law, Jared and Heather, spent five days in Texas, where Jared had just accepted a residency following his completion of medical school at Boston University.
“Funny. I meant in a psychological way. How are the disorders different from one another?” She sat down on one of the cheap kitchen chairs that went with the cheap kitchen table; Jared and Heather had been poor college kids for ten years, during which time they’d had three children. The din of little boys playing in the other room was at a moderate level, giving Sadie and Pete a rare chance at adult conversation.
Pete turned the final screw and stepped back to shut the cabinet, which now hung perfectly. “This question wasn’t inspired by my grandchildren, was it?”
As if waiting for an invitation, three redheaded boys, graduating in height from tallest to shortest, ran into the kitchen. Kalan, the oldest, darted behind Pete, while Chance and Fig—a nickname somehow derived from Finnegan—held plastic swords above their heads, trumpeting a war cry in pursuit of their brother. All three boys had taken off their shirts to further emphasize their warrior physiques as only a six-, four-, and three-year-old could.
“Get ’em, Grandpa! Get ’em good,” Kalan yelled.
Sadie smiled as she watched the show; it was her favorite—Grandpa Pete.
After using a series of karate chop actions to fend off the blows, Pete grabbed the plastic blade of one sword and then the other.
“I cut your hand off!” Chance yelled, tugging at his sword.
“Hand!
” Fig repeated, pulling on his sword as hard as he could.
Pete lifted both swords until the boys had no choice but to let go. They stared at him with angry pouts.
“Gib it back!” Fig demanded.
Pete hadn’t stopped smiling. “I can’t.”
“Yeth you can.” Fig held out his hand. “Gib it back!”
“It’s almost time for bed.” Pete put the swords on the counter behind him.
All three boys immediately began whining in protest.
“If you get ready by yourselves, we’ll have dessert before story time.”
Sadie lifted her eyebrows, and Kalan yelled, “Dessert!”
“Ice cweam!” Fig yelled.
“Not ice cream,” Pete said, pulling open the refrigerator door. “Aunt Sadie made a Pumpkin Roll.”
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