by Sosie Frost
Marius shouted from the couch. “I don’t need your help.”
Not the time to piss with Cassi. “So help me God, Marius, you take one step without your cane, and I’ll take your other leg.”
My pie was lopsided. Didn’t matter. “Cas, you know how I’m supposed to lettuce the top of this pie?”
“You mean lattice?” Cassi poked the dough. “Jules, this isn’t even going to bake. Why are you destroying my kitchen like this?”
The backdoor opened. Heavy boots stomped hard against the wood. Cakes supposedly fell if someone made a loud noise. What happened to pies? Did it matter? I glanced at the mess bubbling in the oven. The top had collapsed when the sides overflowed. Apples dripped onto the heating element below. Wouldn’t be the first fire I’d started today.
My brothers joined the chaos. Quint, Varius, and Tidus approached the kitchen, perplexed by the ripped open bags of flour, discarded fruit, and heaps of butter blocking their path to our only form of conflict resolution—the beer in the fridge.
I threatened Tidus with a rolling pin as he reached two fingers towards the only pie that had survived the oven. “You ruin that crust, and the pie’s going up your ass.”
Tidus surrendered, arms in the air. “What? No foreplay?”
“Any of you know how to bake?” I glanced at Quint. “Mom teach you anything?”
My youngest brother laughed. “You kidding? Mom did all she could to keep the sugar out of my mouth when I was a kid. She thought I’d coma standing near an ice cream parlor.”
I kicked the diabetic out of the kitchen.
“Varius,” I said. “What about you?”
Varius had a bad habit of observing and listening. He surveyed the kitchen, recognized my frustration, and probably realized I was sleeping with the woman frantically ordering the pies. At least he had the class to keep his mouth shut and his judgement to himself.
“The church ladies always baked for me at the parish events. I do know this crust is burnt though.”
“How?”
“I can smell it, Chef,” he said.
Great. I eyed the pie tin. “But can you see it?”
Cassi stared only at the coffee maker as it dripped liquid energy into the pot. “Doesn’t matter if you can see it, Jules. You gotta eat it.”
“Not these pies,” I said. “They only have to look good.”
“Why?”
Christ only knew. “I got a call this morning from Micah.”
Tidus grabbed a spoon and helped himself to a can of half-empty pumpkin. “Is that the zoning brat?”
“She’s not…” I paused. He wasn’t wrong. “Yeah, that’s her. The fair opens this afternoon. Right after the opening ceremonies are the pie events—first Best Pie In The County, then the pie-eating contest.”
“Food…or something more fun?” Tidus asked. Cassi slapped his shoulder.
“There’s nothing that fun at the fair,” I said. “And now there are no pies to judge for the contest.”
My sister frowned. “What happened?”
“The goats happened.” I didn’t have time to explain or enough filling for the blueberry pie. I chucked what I had into the pan, slammed it into the oven, and cranked the heat. “The goats ate the pies.”
Varius laughed. “How the hell did the goats eat the pies?”
“Technically…my goat at the pies.”
Tidus found his way to the fridge and managed to crack open a beer before the sobriety hit him too hard. “Wait…you have a goat?”
“We have a goat. His name is Clyde.”
“Shit.” Tidus’s eyes widened. “I heard something the other night. Thought it was a dying raccoon or something.”
“No.” Cassi crossed her arms. “That was Clyde—eating the left front tire off my car.”
“Three legs and all stomach,” Varius said. “Why is he at the fair?”
“He’s competing.”
“For what?”
Cassi smirked. “The three-legged race.”
Just the sort of joke that would spiral Micah into tears.
I sighed. “Micah said to have him compete so the Zoning Hearing Board sees that we have an animal waiting for the barn. It’ll get us approved easier or something.”
I neglected to mention that Micah had also wept for a solid hour because the little shit was missing a leg, and the only way I could console her was to enter the bastard into the goat show to improve his self-esteem. Whatever. Got me laid.
“Problem is, Clyde ate most of the entries,” I said. “We can’t tell the bakers, so, I’m making pies to replace the ones we lost.”
Finally, my siblings agreed on something.
“That is never going to work,” Cassi said.
Didn’t have to tell me. Micah was the one flipping shit and demanding pastries. “Mrs. Cruthers wins every year, without fail. Mrs. Mills comes in second. And Mr. Antolini curses the judges for the yellow ribbon. All we gotta do it throw is the pies on a table, make sure people stay far away during the ribbon ceremony, and pitch the imposters before the contestants see.”
Tidus stole a bite from the cooling pie though he swore as he swallowed. “Holy fuck, dude. Did you put any sugar in this?”
“Probably not.” The dough rolled a bit easier now. I sprinkled it with what I thought was flour—turned out to be baking soda—and hoped that wouldn’t cause a problem. “Like I said, it just has to look right.”
Tidus rinsed his mouth with a swig of beer. “Why are you doing all this?”
The steady thunk of a cane heralded Marius’s arrival. He limped into the kitchen without a grimace though we all knew how badly the leg must have hurt.
“Because this zoning lady has Jules by the balls,” Marius said. “And if he does what she asks, she’ll play real nice with them.”
“I bake a couple pies, we get a barn.” I rubbed the flour from my face and accidentally replaced it with butter. “You guys got your schedules?”
Cassi nodded. “I’m in the concession stand tomorrow and Friday.”
“Suck-up.” Tidus nudged her.
She stuck out her tongue. “I’m doing my part.”
I was also paying her fifty bucks. I pointed to Tidus. “You still driving in the derby?”
He wasn’t happy about it. “Like I have a choice.”
“You crashed Dad’s truck twice. Think you’d be used to it.”
“Yeah, but I try to repair them now.”
“Think of all the business for your shop after the derby.”
“Right.”
I didn’t expect Marius to volunteer. “You want in?”
“Lost a leg for the country,” he said. “I think that excuses me from working the lemonade stand.”
Cassi shrugged at me. “Quint’s still hoping if he hangs around the carnies, they’ll kidnap him. He’ll be helping with the rides.”
Last but not least. I had one Hail Mary request, but I didn’t expect miracles from Varius anymore.
“They’re still looking for someone to do the benediction,” I said.
Cassi and Tidus quieted, sharing a concerned glance. Marius snorted.
Varius ignored them. “I’m sure Pastor Miley will do a great job.”
“No one likes Pastor Miley.” Cassi softened her voice. “They want you back.”
Varius double-checked his phone before heading to his room in the basement. “I signed up for the concession stand—Wednesday and Thursday. I’ll see you there.”
More than I’d thought my brother would do. At least it got Varius out of his room. Better for him to be out in public and mingling with the townsfolk than the alternative. I let him go.
“What about Rem?” I asked Cassi.
She smirked. “Oh, I get it. You like Rem now that you can abuse him for manual labor.”
Rem and I had made our peace, but he was still the bastard sleeping with my little sister. “I’ll like him as much as any guy you date.”
“We’re not just dating.” She dared m
e to protest. “He’s the one. Get used to it.”
Marius grumbled. “Shit.”
“God help us,” Tidus agreed.
“He’s your best friend.” Cassi poked Tidus. “And it’s your fault he’s gotta work the set-up because the town doesn’t trust him with the money.”
“Yeah, but that trouble was always his idea.”
“Doesn’t matter what happened in the past,” I said. “All we gotta do is survive the fair, and we’ll get the barn. Then we can forget the whole thing.”
Tidus didn’t believe me. He chugged most of the beer before he garnered the courage to get in my face. “No we. You. You get the barn.”
I shrugged. “It’s for the family.”
“Is it?”
Tidus eyed Marius. “How much of your money are you putting up for the barn?”
Marius laughed. “I got my leg blown off for that cash. Think I’m pissing it away on some barn?”
“Good thing I didn’t ask you.” I slammed the crust on top of the pie. It was about half an inch too thick and would never bake through, but if I cracked enough eggs over the top and doused it in sugar, it’d brown enough. “Forget the money. I’ll handle the money.”
Cassi was the only one in the family who could survive asking the question. “How?”
Hell if I knew. “Rem’s helping with the construction.”
“But what about the materials?”
I’d figure it out. Just like I’d figure out how to pay next year’s taxes, how to settle Dad’s old medical bills, how to scrape up enough money for seed and equipment. Wasn’t I always the one who managed the estate? Kept the farm solvent? Took care of a family who refused to take care of themselves?
I was done talking about it. “The only thing that matters is building the barn.”
And Tidus had to twist the knife. “Are you kidding? What about that developer? What did he offer?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I flung the pie into the oven. “The decision to sell had to be unanimous, and it wasn’t. So don’t worry about what that jackass said.”
“How much money did he offer, Jules?”
“Doesn’t fucking matter.”
“It does to me,” Tidus said.
“It was a shitty deal.” Wasn’t a lie. “We’d make more if we worked together and got the farm operational again.”
“Bullshit.” Tidus pitched his beer into the trash. It shattered on impact. “That is such bullshit. You know damn well it’ll take years before the farm makes a decent profit.”
And it didn’t matter. Any of it. “I’m looking out for our best interests. The deal was bad, and I wasn’t agreeing to sell for that price.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Then blame Dad’s will. We’re either all in or all out.”
“Well, I want out.”
“And I don’t.” It was hard to fight with an apron on. “Look, it’s going to be tough around here—”
Tidus swore. “Tough? That’s your excuse? We’re forced to come home, share this damn space, take care of the fucking farm—”
“And what exactly have you done?” My temper flared, a quick spike of frustration. “What have any of you done?”
Cassi shrugged. “Don’t you take that tone with me. I was the one who stayed here. I was the one who took care of Dad during those last months—without any of you.”
Exactly my point. “And you want to see the farm running again, don’t you? You won’t sell.”
She hesitated, biting her lip. “There’s no harm in talking about it. That’s a lot of money, Jules.”
“But this is our farm,” I said. “Our home.”
“No. This was my home, and all you of left me to take care of it and Dad by myself. You can’t just waltz back here and pick up where we left off. The farm is more than some crops and a barn and a three-legged goat…” Her voice broke. “Don’t you get it? Dad left us the farm, but he wasn’t trying to keep it together…he wanted us together. And now? I don’t think it’ll ever happen.”
I sighed. “Cas—”
“I gotta go get Rem’s nieces,” she said. “I’m staying at his cabin tonight.”
“Cassi, wait.”
She ignored me, shooing Marius back to the living room and his exercises before slamming her way out the door.
Fucking great.
Tidus stayed behind, entirely too sober for this conversation. “It’s not worth the hassle, Jules. You can’t force us all to hold hands and forgive the past and get along.”
Bullshit. “This farm is worth it. I think it’s worth it.”
“And why is that?” Tidus had a bad habit of saying the first shit that popped into his head and hoping it hurt. “Do you really think you make this farm a success, or are you looking for a way to sleep at night, and you think growing an ear of corn will shed the guilt?”
I took a breath. It didn’t help. “I’m doing this for the family.”
“You’re doing it for yourself. Because you fucked it all up. Because you weren’t here when everything fell apart. Because you got hurt and had to quit the game. It’s not about the fucking farm, Jules. It’s about shame.”
He was lucky he was my brother, and luckier that my fists were buried in dough and not aiming for his nose.
Tidus was lucky that he was right, and the only person I really wanted to punish was myself.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I said.
“Your pies are burning, chef.” Tidus tossed an oven mitt at me. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your only chance at a barn.”
Tidus grabbed another beer and headed to the door. I took only a little pleasure as it swung open and smacked him in the head before he could dodge. Tidus stumbled backwards while Micah tumbled inside.
“Cowboy!” Micah took one look at the pies, made a face, and nearly bolted outside. She regained her composure and stared only at the ceiling. “We have a problem.”
Tidus scowled. “More than one.”
The door slammed behind him. Micah flinched.
“What’s wrong now?” I asked.
“Clyde got another. We didn’t notice.”
I was out of pie pans, sugar, and patience. “Jesus Christ.”
“It was strawberry rhubarb. Can you make it?”
“I don’t have rhubarb.”
Micah panicked, but she was good in a crisis. A little problem solver who wielded duct tape and the Park Fund checkbook like a pro.
“Celery!” She clapped her hands. “Do you have celery?”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“I promise, no one will know the difference.”
I smirked. “Corruption, thy name is Micah Robinson.”
“Jules, please.”
“So, all that bullshit about rules and regulations and ordinances was all for show?”
Her voice darkened, her expression hardened, but the hormones swung from her from anger to despair in the time it took me to dig the celery out of the crisper drawer.
“You think I like promoting anarchy? I’m defrauding the tax payers!” Micah groaned. “At least Marie Antoinette let her citizens eat cake—I’m tearing apart the fabric of society with fraudulent pie!”
“It’s not that bad,” I said.
“No?” Micah covered her face. “You might as well fill that pan with strawberry sham.”
“Okay, I really need to get you away from this fair.”
Micah kept wad of rubber bands, a schedule of events, and now a packet of tissues in her pocket. She raged and wept at the same time, dabbing at the tears.
“It’s only day one and everything is falling apart,” she said.
The Sawyer County Princess was also the Butterpond Municipal Drama Queen. I snapped off two ribs of celery and gave her a smile.
“It’ll be okay,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
She thumbed through her cellphone and checked off items on the list. “Once I get the pies, I can head back to the fairgrounds
and take care of the tables for the elementary art exhibit.”
“What’s wrong with the tables?”
“There are none.” She scrolled through the rest of the list. “Then I’ll head to the printer and get the new programs.”
“What happened to the old ones?”
“Big Brit’s Salon.”
“What?”
“Was printed as Big Tits Salon, and the town considers it false advertising.” Micah rattled off the rest of the list. “I need to get the checks printed and signed for the bands.”
“Easy enough.”
“Buy condiments for the concession stand.” She glanced up. “Poor Alice is so hard of hearing.”
“Optimistic in her old age, isn’t she?”
“And I need to pitch a few more tents.”
I smirked. “I do that every day with you—”
“Save it, cowboy. You’re already sleeping with me,” she said. “I need chairs for the hall, hay for the horses, first-aid kits for the bees, and extra help setting up the food vendors.”
I batted the flour off my jeans. “Are you sure you can handle all this?”
“Yeah.” Micah checked her watch. “It’s only…ten thirty. I can do all of that in…four hours. I’ll see you later.”
“Wait.” I tugged her back, amazed at how easily she fell into my arms. Wasn’t expecting the hug, but I wouldn’t miss the chance. “This is too much stress for you.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Like hell. You’re pregnant. You’re going to the fairground, but you’re going to sit in the shade, and you’re only going to deal with the vendors.”
“But—”
“I’ll go get the tables and chairs and condoms.”
She wagged a finger at me. “Condiments. We’re doing fine without the other things.”
“That an invitation?” I asked.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
She glanced at the pies and sighed. “On how convincing those are.”
“Don’t worry about the dessert.” I kissed her, somehow suppressing that animalistic need to slam her on the counter, force her legs apart, and take my fill of something far sweeter than the pies. “You want a successful fair. I want my barn. I made a promise, and I’m gonna see it through.”
Micah stroked my chest with soft hands. “I know. It’s important to you.”