by Edie Ramer
“Where will you be staying?”
“A friend’s place. Not Cherise.”
“Another woman?”
Scratching his chin, he pictured his mom on her gold chair with her slippered feet on a hassock. Wearing pants with elastic now that she was a little stocky. She hated it, used to being one of the skinny girls who could eat anything and not gain an ounce. She kept warning him he was like her and he’d gain weight when he was her age. The one time he told her he wasn’t worried because he wouldn’t go through menopause, she’d shot back, “No, you’ll go through man-o-pause.”
His sisters had laughed so hard they cried. He and Don had just looked at each other, shrugged, then chugged their beers and turned back to watch the Cubs game.
No way was he telling her he felt more for a woman he’d only known for two days than one he’d lived with for eleven months. He could imagine her worry that he was making another mistake.
If he’d learned one thing from being so near death that he could feel its heat and smell its sulfuric breath, it was that he didn’t want to spend his life worrying. And he sure didn’t want to cause the people who loved him any more distress.
“Her name is Sylvia,” he said. “She won’t even be there. She’s in Canada, filming a movie.”
“A real movie?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom, a real movie.”
“You’re rolling your eyes, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me. I can tell by your voice. Yes, I know your videos are real. But it doesn’t seem the same.”
Gabe opened his mouth to lecture her on control and copyrights and making money off the videos for your whole life versus a filming job, but he bit the words off. That wasn’t the reason he called.
“Listen, I need a name. Remember when I was seven and really sick, just before I went to the hospital? While you worked, you left me with the babysitter in the apartment building?”
“The bottom floor apartment in the front? I remember. Well, not her name. You know how bad I am with names.”
“Not her. The little girl who used to sit with me.”
There was silence on the other end. He imagined the blank stare on her face.
“I think she lived in the next apartment building or across the street.” He rubbed his hand across his chin and mouth. It was all so long ago. He remembered parts of it so clearly. Other parts...it was like he was swimming through a thick fog. “She used to call me her angel Gabriel.”
His mom laughed. He laughed, too. Embarrassed but smiling. “I know. Silly.”
“Not silly. Yes, I remember her. She was so sweet. Too bad her mom was a piece of work.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was on something. Drugs or alcohol. I heard she was with a lot of men. The poor girl wore the same clothes all the time. The babysitter—Janell, I think, it’s all coming back—she used to wash the girl’s hair. She told me that she wasn’t getting paid, but she was afraid if she didn’t take care of the girl, the mom would leave her alone in the apartment.”
“What did the mother do?”
“I don’t know. Waitress, I think. Why are you asking?”
“You remember the girl’s name?”
There was silence on the other end.
“Mom?”
“Why are you asking?”
“I just am.” He pictured his mother frowning, a suspicious look on her face. “Do you know what happened to her?”
“They left. Just after you were in the hospital that last time—” She stopped, her voice choked. “I was so afraid that you were...just so afraid.”
“I know, Mom, I know.” Memories rushed back. And the one memory. It was clearer than the others. While the other kids played, the girl sat with him in the apartment. Telling him he was the angel Gabriel, and angels never died. Angels flew around and had fun. And sometimes they helped the tooth fairy.
When he was in the hospital he told that to himself, over and over. And he would picture her. Small and thin. Pale blue eyes and a sad look to her face. Even her smiles had been sad.
If only she had tried to feed him pies, he would be sure she was the right girl.
His mom sniffed. A sound he’d hoped never to hear again.
“It turned out to have a good ending, so no need to cry.” He blinked hard. “Her name. It was Katie, wasn’t it?”
“It could’ve been. I’m not sure. I think she and the babysitter came to the hospital to see you.”
His eyes closed, and he gripped the cell phone tightly. He’d been so sick then, heavily medicated. He’d forgotten so much. But his mother’s words unlocked cells in his brain, and he could see the hospital room. See the walls, cream paint on the top half, green on the bottom. And he could see the girl standing by the bed, her expression serious.
“You’ll be out of here soon,” she whispered. “You’re an angel and other angels are watching over you and you’ll be all right. Then you’re going to grow up and marry a princess and be happy because God won’t let his angels die.”
“Have you met her?” his mom asked, bringing him back to the present.
“I might have.”
“In that tiny village? Miracle or Magical? Did she say anything?”
“It’s Miracle. I’m not positive it’s her.”
“Did you ask her about it?”
“I doubt she’d remember. The girl was a year or two younger than me. Five or six. This one lives with her dad. Her mother isn’t in the picture.”
“If it’s the same girl, that’s a good thing. Did she live in Chicago with her mom? That’s something she’d remember.”
“I don’t even know how to ask her.”
“I can’t believe this. You, with more nerve than anyone I know. You, who will dare anything. What are you afraid of?”
“Snakes.”
“Stupid. If you want to know, ask her.”
“I will.” He changed the subject, and they chatted about his half sisters for a few more minutes until she yawned and said she was falling asleep.
After the call ended, he stayed on the edge of the bed, frowning because he knew the real answer to her question, What are you afraid of?
If Katie was that girl...it would make a difference. She’d kept him from dying. She’d said he was her angel. But all those years ago, she’d been his angel. Her faith had kept him alive. Without her, he’d be dead.
He would owe her.
He wouldn’t be able to walk away from her.
In his heart he knew Katie wouldn’t leave Miracle. She was happy here, making her pies. Fulfilled and satisfied.
Not him. Filming the videos wasn’t everything for him. It was just one thing. With YouTube and cable, there were new career opportunities for filmmakers.
He could do anything.
But not if he stayed here. He’d almost died once. And sometimes in Africa, he thought it could happen again.
If he stayed in Miracle, it would be another form of dying.
Chapter Fifteen
In the darkness before the sun rose and the moon lowered, as almost everyone else in Miracle except for a few cats and insomniacs slept, Katie baked pies, her fingers busy and her heart singing, her stereo playing country music.
When she was done with her orders, she realized that without paying attention, she’d made two extra pies. Her Goodbye Pie and her Welcome Home Pie.
As she drove to the truck stop just outside Tomahawk to drop off an order, the sky lightened and her mood darkened.
Something good was going to happen today.
And something very bad.
The pies were never wrong.
Chapter Sixteen
By mid-morning the air had warmed. Indian summer. More like spring than fall. Katie made a trip to her dad’s pumpkin patch for four sugar pumpkins. She loved this time of year, still warm but with a freshness in the air, the leaves turning colors, and best of all, pumpkins and apples growing in their own garden a
nd on their own trees.
Yet she was thinking of other places she’d traveled to with Sam: Disney World, the Smoky Mountains, Nashville, the Grand Canyon, San Francisco and California wine country. And, of course, places closer to Miracle: Wisconsin Dells and the fun she had on the water rides; Summerfest in Milwaukee, with its many bands playing music that made her giddy; and the Mall of America in Minnesota with all the stores. She was always glad she went but more glad to return home.
In her kitchen, she turned her attention to the pumpkins, pushing down the restlessness. She cut the pumpkins in half and was scooping out seeds when through the open window she heard the crush of stones beneath tires.
Happy was outside, and Katie rinsed her hands and hurried out—just in case her mostly blind and deaf dog wandered under the tires. That’s what she told herself. But her heart accelerated, and she knew she’d been waiting for this.
The first sight that met her eyes was Happy in the back yard. Happy’s nose lifted, smelling Katie, then her jaws opened in the oversized smile that had earned the undersized Beagle her name. She bounded toward Katie with the energy of a younger dog. As if she hadn’t seen Katie in five days instead of five minutes.
Katie’s second sight was Gabe getting out of the car with his wavy blond hair and his eyes shining at her. Looking at him, she felt like a flower that bloomed. Last night she’d bloomed quite a few times.
When she woke up this morning and he was gone, she told herself she was relieved. Her life was so good, and a man would just mix it up. Like putting a chili pepper in one of her pies.
Now she was thinking that a chili pepper might be just what she needed.
“Hey.” His voice was different today. Gentle and serious.
“Hey,” she said back, forcing herself to not try to read anything into his voice, his eyes, his body language. There were two pies and one man. She’d find out soon which one was for him. She bent to pet Happy but kept her gaze on him. “Did you just get up?”
He shook his head. “The video’s on YouTube. Want to see it?”
A thrill shimmered through her as she straightened. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.” She wanted to say a thousand times yes, but it wasn’t that kind of question. That was the kind of answer to a Will you marry me? question.
And if he asked so early, she would have to say no.
Then she might tell him to ask her later, when they knew each other better.
She turned and led the way inside, holding the door wide for Happy to scamper in. Katie’s laptop was in the office that her grandmother had used as a bedroom in her later years, after her knees got too bad for her to make it to the bigger bedroom upstairs.
Katie powered up her laptop then moved back to let Gabe take over.
All this time, neither of them talked. Anticipation built inside Katie.
When he brought up the video, she sat in her chair and watched the credits while cheery music opened in the background with a familiar voice saying pie names to a happy tune.
“Is that you?” she asked.
One side of his mouth quirked up, one dimple indented. “You notice I’m not really singing. I’ve got to save money where I can.” He nodded at the screen. “It’s on.”
She shifted her gaze to the screen. As she stared at her face, she covered her mouth with her cupped hands, feeling her eyes open wide, laughing into her palms a couple times.
She looked and sounded...different. Pretty. Interesting. Funny.
The video stopped and she turned to look at Gabe, her hands away from her face. Her mouth still in an O shape.
“You liked it,” he said.
She laughed shakily and nodded. As soon as he left, she would run to her dad’s house and show him.
“And look.” He pointed at the number on the left side, just below the video. “It’s got eleven views already.”
She shook her head. “Is that from you and me?”
“Only the one from you counts. The rest are other people.”
“By this evening everyone in the village will have seen it.”
“The entire 629 population?”
“I don’t think the babies will watch it.” She laughed and heard the notes of exhilaration. “Maybe the toddlers.”
She stood, feeling euphoric, as if balloons were attached to her heels. Another laugh bubbled out of her mouth, and she launched herself at Gabe, her body meeting his, her arms sweeping around him. He stumbled back, stopping against the wall. She laughed, a different note in her voice now. Low and sultry. One she’d never heard before.
His blue eyes darkened. The color of the sky just before nightfall.
Her laughter stopped, the breath stuck in her throat. She tilted her face and leaned forward, her lips parted.
It was like coming home, and that’s when she knew. Her Welcome Home Pie was for him.
Exultation filled her again. She would remember this day always.
Then his hands curved around her upper arms and tugged her away from his chest. His face...there was a blank look on his face, his emotions shut down.
Her heart drummed inside her. Shock hit her. She’d been so...
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Well...” She stepped back yet she still felt the imprint of his hands on her arms as he’d pushed her away. Rejected her. “I suppose you want to get back to Chicago.”
He frowned and looked down then up, his shoulders squaring. She turned away from him. Whatever he had to say, she didn’t want to hear.
He didn’t want her? Fine. Then he could get out of her life. Without him, she would not wither and die. In fact, she might even call a friend and go to Tomahawk on Saturday night. Hit a bar or two.
“Don’t go.” His voice was low. Serious.
She snapped around. Did he think she was going to fall apart just because he wanted her for only one night? He was thinking of the wrong woman.
“This is my house,” she said. “I’m not the one who needs to go anywhere. You are.”
“I’m doing this all wrong. It’s not what you’re thinking.”
She crossed her arms. He didn’t have a clue what she was thinking. Like wishing Happy were younger and would sense her anger and hurt and bite him.
Though even when Happy was younger, that wasn’t going to happen. She was too...happy.
“Then tell me what it is,” she said.
“When you were young, did you live in Chicago?”
Her eyebrows contracted. “Have you been talking to Linda Wegner? That was many years ago. I hardly remember Chicago.”
“We might have known each other.”
Katie froze. The drumming of her heart started again. Oh no. Oh no. It couldn’t be.
“Right after my parents were divorced, when I was five, I got pretty sick. Turned out I had leukemia. My mom was working as a receptionist in a lawyer’s office. My dad’s insurance paid most of the medical bills.”
He paused and looked at her, as if expecting her to pick it up. She shook her head. No, no, no.
“My babysitter was in the building,” he continued. “She took care of a half dozen or so neighborhood kids. The only one I remember was a thin little girl who used to sit and talk to me. Who used to call me...” He stopped. Staring at her. Compelling her to answer.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she would not cry in front of him. Would. Not. Cry.
“Angel Gabriel,” she whispered, and the moisture in her eyes welled up over her bottom lid.
She turned her head. Not wanting him to see.
He pulled her to him. Holding her close, as if she were precious to him.
Chapter Seventeen
“I’m alive.” Gabe heard the huskiness his voice even as he tried to sound casual. But nothing about this was casual. Not now, and not then. “In perfect health. No need to cry.”
Katie jerked out of his hold, and her chin swept up an inch. The picture of a woman more inclined to punch him in his stomach—or lower—than one who would cry.
He felt a twist in his chest. “We both went through a bad time.”
“And we both made it.” She reached her hand up as if to touch his cheek then pulled back.
His own right hand itched. He imagined brushing her cheeks with his fingertips. Imagined cupping her face with his fingers and palm. Imagined her leaning into his hand and gazing into his eyes.
But his hand remained at his side, and he curled his fingers. “I have to go to Chicago.”
The corners of her lips curved up, and her eyes looked at him with such compassion and understanding that his gut hurt. She stepped back. “You don’t have to go. You’re choosing to go.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up her hand. “No explanations needed.”
“I just want to tell you—”
“Don’t.” She walked backward, shaking her head. “Just don’t. I’m good with it.” She shrugged. “You’re not my first merry-go-round ride.”
She turned and headed into the kitchen, walking fast. He had the sense she was running from him. Running from her feelings.
He wished to hell he could run from his.
Leaving Miracle was the right thing to do. He could never stay and be happy. She could never leave and be happy.
Yet he followed her, not ready to hop in his car yet, as if he were leaving something undone.
When he entered the kitchen, she was putting a box on the counter. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I have a pie for you. Don’t worry about traveling with it. It will be okay without refrigeration.”
“What kind of pie?”
“Peach and apple.” She slid it in and he watched her back, the tilt of her head, the way her hair brushed the top of her shoulder blades and her jeans curved over her hips and her ass.
He wiped his hand across his forehead. He felt like he was fifteen again, staring at the derrière of Miss Bernard, the French teacher who was a former Indianapolis Colts cheerleader, as she wrote on the whiteboard. He and all the other boys, the classroom thick with the ache of young male appreciation.