How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [58]
Now Charlotte smiles shyly at Miriam.
“Yes,” says the director. She hands Charlotte a one-dollar bill.
Charlotte takes the money, places it in a metal box on the table, and then gives the cookies to Miriam. “Thank you,” she says with a small smile.
“You do that well,” Zack compliments Charlotte.
Charlotte shakes her head, says she’s no good.
Zack tells her only insecure people can’t handle compliments, remember? He must have taught them this when I wasn’t around because this is the first time I’ve heard that line. Insecure people can’t handle compliments? I wonder which one of his psychology books holds that tidbit.
When the doors open for business, I think the whole town must be here. The fellowship hall is filled with crying babies, men, women, and adolescents. I see two men in police uniforms and three firefighters.
I look up from the money box where I’ve just placed ten dollars from a woman who purchased six cups of coffee and five plates of cookies. She told me to keep the change. There stands Marble Gray, wearing pink curlers underneath a violet scarf. She picks up one of my cake brochures, which have been placed at the table where my decorated cake proudly sits. She stuffs another brochure into her large black purse and then heads over to the food tables. She tries to get two chocolate chip cookies for the price of one. Then she picks up a sugar cookie, claiming that it’s for Sinatra. I can tell Charlotte wants to tell her to pay for it, but I shake my head and mouth, “Let it go.”
Marble meanders around the room, smiling at a few people, but no one seems interested in talking with her. Perhaps she’s cheated them all out of something at one time or another.
Jonas enters the fellowship hall; I can hear his shoes even though he is surrounded by groups of people. He shuffles in his style over to the tables covered in the sweet-smelling baked goods. “Hi,” he says to me, and then to Zack he bellows, “Hi, Buddy!” He waves his wrench.
“Hi, Jonas. Working today?” asks Zack, noting the wrench.
“No, not working. Eating.”
Jonas picks up a chocolate pie that Robert’s wife made for the sale. It is carefully wrapped in cellophane with the ingredients listed on a white label. Robert’s wife is allergic to nuts and peanut butter and feels food items should always be marked. Apparently she had a bad reaction to a cake a few years ago and ended up at Swain County Medical Center. Of course, if you can’t read too well, a label indicating that the pie has no nuts does you little good. Jonas says, “Looks yummy,” and turns to me. “Where is your cake, Deirdre?”
“Deirdre?” Rainy snorts. “He calls you that?”
Zack points to the table along the edge of the opposite wall that holds my cake and the pile of brochures next to it.
Jonas says, “I helped with decorating that.” To Zack he asks, “Do you know that putting frosting on top of a cake takes lots of being steady?”
Zack smiles. “I imagine it does.”
Jonas winks at me. “You pipe it,” he says.
“And you love pipes,” Bobby says.
“Yes, I love pipes.”
Zack grins, and Jonas turns back to me and says, “Ah, I haven’t introduced Zack to you, Deirdre. This is my brother.”
He places his arm around Zack’s shoulders. “I want some chocolate pie,” he tells Bubba, who is standing by the pies. “I have money today.” He fishes out a worn ten-dollar bill from his jeans.
Zack and Jonas are brothers? No, they can’t be. This is some sort of prank. Bubba and Dougy are probably behind it.
I look at the boys and see no smirks on their faces. While Zack talks with Jonas, I note the men’s features, and when they both smile, I see it. Something about the laugh lines around their eyes is identical. Other than those lines, Jonas’s mouth is wider, and Zack is not as muscular or broad in the shoulders. Yet, they are about the same height.
After I finish looking them over with all the discretion I can manage,