Miracle Pie

by Edie Ramer

  As the mother-son duo neared Gabe, he saw that where there was no cap there was no hair.

  Gabe’s body reacted before his thoughts. He jerked the key out and hopped out of the car then strode toward the boy and the woman.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Gabe Robbins.”

  “I’m Scott,” the boy said. He was about eight, Gabe guessed. The mother clutched her son’s hand, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “Do you have a moment to talk?” Gabe asked the mother. “I can go inside with you, if you like.” He pointed at the hospital and looked down at Scott. “As a kid, I was a patient, so I know how long you have to wait to get anything to happen.”

  “Forever,” Scott said, with feeling in his voice.

  Gabe looked at the mother again, as a person this time instead of the boy’s mother. He got a quick impression: dark hair, short, chunky, a small nose, no ring, her only jewelry a thin silver necklace with a heart-shaped locket. Gabe would bet money it showed a picture of Scott. She made him think of a teacher or a librarian, though she could’ve been anything.

  “I can give you the name of my doctor.” Gabe focused his attention on the mother. “He seemed old to me back then, though he was probably in his late twenties. Last I heard, he was still practicing here.”

  “What did you have?” the mother asked.

  “Leukemia.”

  “And you lived?” Scott looked at him with wide eyes.

  Gabe glanced down. “It’s not my ghost you’re talking to. Do you have leu—”

  Scott shook his head, stopping Gabe.

  “Brain tumor,” the mother said, the words slow, as if they were dragged out of her.

  “My last roommate had leukemia,” Scott said.

  “I make movies and videos.” Gabe took out his wallet and drew out a card. “You can look up my website. Or I can get my laptop out if you have time. I can show it to you.”

  The mother took the card, glanced at it then back at him, still radiating distrust. “What do you want from us?”

  “I want to film Scott and ask him a few questions. There’s a video I put on YouTube. It’s about pies, but you can see what I’m talking about. You have a few minutes? I can show it to you.”

  “We’re early.” The boy tugged his mom’s coat. “Say yes. I want to look at it.”

  The mother’s indecision last for only seconds before she pointed to the bench by the bus stop. “We can look at it there. I’ll give you fifteen minutes, then we have to go inside.”

  Gabe picked up his laptop. When he turned back, the mother was holding Scott’s hand and standing slightly in front of him. Gabe didn’t blame her for being wary. That was the kind of world it was.

  The three of them crossed to the bus stop bench. Once there, Gabe fired up the computer and typed in his website URL. He could’ve gone straight to YouTube, but he wanted the mother to see he was legit. Only then did he play Katie’s video.

  The two watched almost in silence, but their expressions changed, a wide smile for the boy, a small one for the mother. A laugh from the boy, a chuckle from the mother. When it was over, Scott looked at his mom. “I want a piece of pie.”

  His mom curved her hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Me, too.” She turned her gaze to Gabe. “We have ten more minutes. What do you want?”

  “Just to film Scott answering questions. Something similar to the pie baker’s video. It might help other kids.” He gestured. “We can do it here right now. You can sit next to him. I’ll send you a release form and until you sign it, I won’t post the video anywhere.”

  “I want to do that,” Scott said. “Please, Mom. I’d like that.”

  His mom looked at Gabe for what seemed like minutes but was probably only seconds. Then her tight shoulders loosened, and Gabe relaxed, ready to hurry to his car before she said yes.

  It took Gabe seven of the ten minutes setting up the camera and the lighting and fixing the boom. A kid about seventeen stopped and said he did that for a band. Gabe asked if he’d handle the boom, saying he’d put him down as the sound guy when it went live, and the kid said sure.

  Another small miracle, Gabe thought, though not really a miracle because he could’ve done it without the kid. He could’ve done it without a boom, too, using the sound on the camera. But it wouldn’t have been as good, and Gabe didn’t like to skimp on quality.

  Finally they were ready to film. While they were setting up, the mother had adjusted her son’s cap and her own and put on lipstick. They sat on the edge of the bench, the mom with a worried expression, the kid with a smile. Living in the moment. Reminding Gabe when he’d done that.

  Not like now. Now he seemed to be always looking at the next moment.

  He asked their first names and why they were at the hospital across the street. He’d pan that in later, he thought, as he listened to their answers, finding out the mother’s name was Jen. She told him the basics of Scott’s disease. He had a brain tumor in a place impossible to operate on. He’d had radiation to shrink most of it, then his oncologist had put him on chemo to get rid of the rest.

  By the time she finished, Gabe was clenching his teeth. Things like this shouldn’t happen to kids.

  “I hope you’ll pay attention.” He forced himself to relax as he talked to Scott. “This is important. What’s your favorite pie?”

  Scott laughed and Jen smiled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

  “Chocolate with whipped cream,” Scott said. “I like pecan and apple, too.”

  “And banana,” Jen said.

  “I don’t know how I forgot that. I like banana a lot.”

  “Me, too,” Gabe said. “Now, what’s the worst part about being sick?”

  “Being sick.”

  Jen nudged his shoulder. “Smart ass.”

  Scott pointed at the video. “Mom, you swore on camera.”

  She rolled her eyes, and Scott laughed. Gabe felt his heart squeeze. That’s how he’d been as a kid. Laughing even as he knew he was going to die. It was either that or tears that would’ve made his mom feel bad.

  “What else don’t you like about being sick?” Gabe asked.

  Scott’s mouth turned down. “Lots of things. Not feeling good enough to play with my friends. Sometimes not even feeling good enough to talk to them. Seeing my—”

  “Seeing what?” Gabe asked.

  “Seeing what?” his mom asked.

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  Her face tensed, as if she were getting ready for a blow. “Then you need to tell me.”

  Looking down at his skinny legs, Scott whispered, “Seeing my mom cry.”

  Tears welled in Jen’s eyes. “Oh, Scott.” She looked away from him, blinking hard.

  There was silence on the camera, which wasn’t a good thing, and the minutes were ticking by, but Gabe didn’t try to hurry. With only the sounds of traffic and a barking dog in the distance, the pause gave the moment more importance.

  When Jen turned back, her eyes were glittering. She bent and kissed her son’s thin cheek. “I love you, Scott.”

  “I love you, too, Mom.”

  They both looked at Gabe. “What will you do when you’re healed?” he asked.

  “I’ll be nicer to my big sister,” Scott said. “And I won’t make fun of the other kids that look different.”

  Jen made a soft exclamation, a mix of surprise, pride and sadness.

  “That’s laudable,” Gabe said, his voice neutral. “What brought that on? Did someone make fun of you?”

  “No, but they look at me like I’m an alien.” Scott stared into Gabe’s eyes. “A lot of them don’t want to come too close to me, like they’re afraid they’ll catch my tumor. And I think it makes them feel bad because they’re healthy. They think if it happened to me, maybe it could happen to them. And it scares them.”

  Jen made another sound, this one mournful.

  “What else will you do different?” Gabe asked.

  “I don’t know what I can do
, ’cause I’m just a kid. But when I’m old, I want to be president.”

  “What will you do as president?”

  “I can stop all wars. Wars kill people and cost money. Lots of money. I think instead of spending all the money on a war, we should give the money to the other countries, and maybe they can use it to fix what’s wrong. We could make them promise they won’t fight anyone or we’ll take our money back.”

  “Brilliant idea.”

  “I know.” Scott nodded his head like a sage.

  “We have to go now,” Jen said.

  “Email me and I’ll send you the video,” he said. “And the release form.”

  Jen nodded and stood. “Come on, Scott, we’ve got to go.”

  Scott slid off the bench onto his feet. “Will it be on YouTube?”

  “Once I get the release form from your mom.”

  “His older sister would like to see the video,” Jen said. “And my mom and dad.”

  “My teacher would probably show it in class.” Scott grinned. “And I thought of something else.”

  His mom shot him one of the Mom Looks. “Scott, we’ve got to go.”

  “Just one minute, Mom.” He gazed up at Gabe. “I changed my mind about the pie. I think I’ll have peach.”

  “I’ll ask the pie lady to send you a whole peach pie.”

  “Maybe later,” Jen said.

  “I can’t eat a lot of stuff now. I puke too much. That’s another thing I don’t like.” He waved at Gabe, and the mom and kid hurried away.

  Gabe turned to the kid who was helping with the boom to thank him. But the kid was frowning. “I’d like to see that, too,” he said.

  “Sure. Give me your email.”

  They put the equipment in his SUV. While the kid wrote his number on the back of one of Gabe’s cards, Gabe got out his wallet and handed him a twenty. “Thanks for your help.”

  The kid looked from the bill to Gabe’s face then grinned. “If you need more help, give me a call.” He nodded and hurried away, sticking the bill into his back pocket.

  Gabe got into his car and looked at the hospital. All the windows with all the patients. And the passion that had been missing inside him for so long dripped back like medicine into a dying person’s veins.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Rosa’s oldest son greeted Katie with a kiss on each cheek. His fingers still cupping her upper arms, Matt pulled back, grinned, then leaned forward to plant a kiss on her lips. When Matt released her, Katie laughed. Nothing like a kiss from a good looking young man to brighten a mood.

  “You are like sunshine to my morning,” he said.

  “Have you been practicing that line?”

  “I saved it just for you.” He glanced down at the box in her hand that had prevented him from full-body contact. “And you brought pie. My day keeps getting better.”

  “Pie?” Tony, Rosa’s second oldest, wandered into the front hall, barefoot with a hunk of hair falling over his left eye, looking as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He was dangerously sexy, or so Katie heard.

  She nodded at him, a little cool, disappointed because he continued to work for his dad, though it was none of her business. She turned back to Matt. “I didn’t know you were home.”

  His face darkened, as if a cloud had passed over the house, but the sunny hallway was as bright as a moment ago. “I wanted to talk to my dad.”

  From the brooding tension in his face, Katie surmised the talk didn’t go well. She could have told Matt it was hard to argue with a rectum, but she nodded sympathetically. Pies were much easier than people.

  “If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve made a Welcome Home Pie for you.”

  “You didn’t know?” His left eyebrow rose. “Your spidey-pie sense let you down?”

  She smiled. It was good to see Matt again. He’d matured during his time away at the famed culinary school in New York. He looked handsomer, and he seemed more sure of himself, a man who knew where he was going in life.

  “I had a Welcome Home Pie, but I already gave it away.”

  “Trish and Gunner.”

  “You heard?”

  “I stopped off at Wegner’s for flowers for Mom. I know all about their return and the quads and Gunner’s new job with Earl.”

  “Taxidermy and upholstery.” Tony sneered. “Remember how Gunner acted when he got his journalism degree? He couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

  “They need the money.” Matt’s tone was decisive, as if that said it all. “They’re lucky they can live with Trish’s mom until they can afford to move.”

  Katie sucked her lips in. No mention of Mrs. Brauer’s cancer. Linda Wegner didn’t know everything.

  Rosa hurried into the living room. “Katie! Why are you all standing in the hall?” She lowered her eyebrows and speared each son with her stare. “And why didn’t anyone call me?” She switched her gaze to Katie and her pie. “I thought it was one of Matt’s friends. What pie did you bring?”

  “Blueberry.”

  “Ah, your thinking pie. You need advice.” She stepped forward and grabbed Katie’s elbow. “Come into the kitchen. We’ll have pie, and we can brainstorm before I go to work.”

  Though she kept her tone light, her sons’ faces clenched with disapproval at the reminder of her job. Too bad, Katie thought. They were sending disapproval to the wrong parent. The injustice made her so mad, she wanted to tell them they didn’t deserve pie and couldn’t have any.

  But if she said that, the one she’d hurt the most would be Rosa, so she turned her back on the two men and followed Rosa through the living room to the rustic dining room next to the open kitchen.

  “You can still market the cooking show pilot,” Matt said to his mother.

  Rosa shrugged, her lips tight. Katie pressed hers together, too. Clearly Rosa hadn’t told her sons that she’d sent the pilot to every place she could think of. It was only a little more than two weeks, and maybe months from now, someone might finally look at it and say, “Yes, that’s just what I want!” But in the meantime, Rosa wasn’t the type to sit at home and fume. Katie doubted she could afford to lounge around the house, either.

  “Hey, Katie, your video is cool,” Tony said, changing the subject, a middle child thing that made Katie think there’d be hope for him to be a good guy someday despite his father’s bad role modeling.

  Ducking her head a little, Katie rounded the dining room table. People had been coming up to her with smiles for the last couple weeks, telling her how much they loved her video. It felt odd to be praised for something other than her pies.

  “I thought so, too,” Matt said. “I showed it to my friends at school. Even a couple of the chefs. They all went a little nuts over what you said about pies. One of the chefs said he was going to show it to all his beginning classes. Tell them if that’s not how they felt about cooking, they should pack up their knives and not waste his time.”

  “So that’s why I’ve been getting so many views.” Katie’s face was warm. If she weren’t carrying the pie, she’d have put her hands to her cheeks.

  They reached the kitchen, and Katie put the box on the counter. Tony beat his mother to the box, pulling out the pie while Matt got plates and forks. Rosa, who had trained her boys well, smiled wanly at Katie.

  “Gabe was right after all,” Rosa said. “People like your short video. It’s popular.”

  Katie shrugged. “The last I checked, the views were about three thousand. That seems a lot to me, but it’s really not much.”

  “I showed it to the woman next to me on the plane,” Matt said. “It said your views were at 6900.”

  “Really?” Katie heard the squeak in her voice. She glanced down at her feet in the sensible sneakers that wanted to do a little happy dance.

  “I wonder that I haven’t heard from Gabe, crowing about it.” Rosa frowned.

  Matt narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s the videographer, right? Was he bothering you?”

  “Not me.” Rosa lo
oked at Katie, her eyebrows raised.

  Katie gave Matt what she knew must be a weak imitation of Rosa’s stare. “I have a father. If I have any problems, I don’t need you to help me.”

  “I hope Sam keeps his shotgun ready.”

  Tony laughed.

  “It’s not necessary. Gabe’s in Chicago, and I’m here.” Katie shrugged, as if it didn’t matter.

  Matt’s expression softened, and Rosa put her hand on Katie’s shoulder. Katie gazed down at her shoes again. Apparently her shrug hadn’t fooled them. Who needed a lie detector when you had friends?

  “Enough chatter,” Rosa said. “Let’s eat the thinking pie and brainstorm. I’ll get coffee.”

  “I’ll help,” Tony said.

  “Katie didn’t come here for your help, she came for mine,” Rosa said.

  Matt and Tony looked at Katie. She gestured to include them. “I’m trying to think of a way to help Trish and Gunner.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. Tony shoved a plate across the counter at her, a piece of pie and fork on it. “I’m thinking of auctioning off a pie a week. I thought maybe other people in the village will join in to help Trish and Gunner, too.”

  “Does that pie a week include deliveries?” Rosa asked. “I could do a meal a week, but if the highest bidder is too far from Miracle, I might not be able to deliver.”

  “Tell Nick to do it,” Tony said about Rosa’s youngest son.

  “Or you could,” Matt said.

  Tony gave his older brother a look that should’ve made him explode like a cartoon character. “I’m busier than Nick.”

  “Yeah, I know what you’re busy doing.”

  “Boys!” Rosa’s voice rang out sharply. “This is a thinking pie, not a fighting pie.”

  “Fighting?” Tony waggled his eyebrows at Rosa. “You see any fists?”