How to Bake a Perfect Life - Barbara O'Neal [128]
He grins, plucking a tortilla chip from the ceramic bowl. “What makes you think it’s classical?”
“That’s what you guys listen to all the time.”
“Hardly!” I protest, and launch into the story of Jonah and the record store and the music we shared.
“And when was that, 1980-something?” Katie asks.
Jonah laughs. “Old school, right?” He uses the tongs to serve himself salad, wipes a little vinegar from his hands with his napkin, and says, “Just give it a try. If you don’t like it, no problem.”
After dinner, Katie, who has been very meticulous about doing chores since yesterday, clears the table, leaving the wine. “See you lovebirds laaa-ter,” she says, and dances upstairs to read in the living room.
“Finally,” Jonah says, and scoots closer to kiss me. His hand slides under my shirt at the back and moves in a circle that sends a shiver through my middle. Again I think, How can I be both so happy and so worried? So content and so frantic?
But maybe that’s what life is—a mix. As we swing on the glider, I tell Jonah about Katie’s trek to the flower show, and he tells me about the composition he has been working on. “Have you baked me a loaf of bread yet?”
“Is that what you’re working on? Something that sounds like a summer evening?”
“With Ramona at the center.”
“I suppose I should get busy, then.”
“Time enough,” he says. “Time enough.”
Katie
When she finishes cleaning up the kitchen, Katie signs on to the Internet to play around a little. She has two new emails. One is from her mother, the same one she saw yesterday. The other is a new one, also from her mother. In the subject line is SORRY! Katie’s heart does this weird thing, a double bump.
She opens the email.
TO: katiewilson09872@nomecast.com
FROM: laceymomsoldier@prt.com
SUBJECT: SORRY!
OH HONEY, I JUST HERED THE NEWS BOUT YOUR DADDY SO SORRY. YOU’RE PRACTICALLY AN ORPHAN NOW ARENT YOU? I WISH I COULD CALL YOU AND MAKE SURE YOUR ALLRIGHT BUT YOU NOW I CAN’ T AND THAT I AM THINKING ABOUT YOU. COME SEE ME AS SOON AS YOU CAN AND ILL HUG YOU AND HUG YOU ALL BETTER. YOU KNOW YOUR MOMMA IS THE ONE YOU CAN DEPEND ON YOU CAN JUST RIDE THE BUS, RIGHT TO THE OLD PLACE, WHERE I WAS B4 AND THEN WE COULD GO WALKING IN THE PARK OR SOMETHING MAYBE GET ICE CREAM, WHICH I KNOW YOU LIKE.
LOVE MOM
Katie’s hands are shaking as she reads through the note a second time. What does that mean, practically an orphan? It feels like her throat is closing up, maybe so she won’t scream. She opens the first email to see if it says anything else, but it’s only the usual thing. Nothing.
She closes her eyes. Something black buzzes right beneath her skin, at the back of her neck and down her arms.
Don’t let him be dead.
But of course he wouldn’t be. Ramona had promised to tell Katie the truth about her dad at all times.
But what if …?
A pain tears across the top of her stomach, and she can’t even breathe right. Merlin comes over and urgently puts his head in her lap, as if he has heard some sound she didn’t even know she made. He looks at her with whiskey eyes. For a second, Katie can’t even move enough to pet him.
What would happen to her if her dad was dead? Where would she live?
After a long minute, she puts her hand on Merlin’s head and threads his gold ear through her fingers, like the satin on a blanket. He licks her wrist. Slowly, patiently.
Go down and ask Ramona, a little voice in her head says, all reasonable.
But what if they’re making out or something? They are so lovey-dovey it’s embarrassing, and although she knows they’re trying not to do anything in front of her, Katie had once accidentally seen Jonah slide his hands under Ramona’s skirt. Barf.
She’ll just make a lot of noise going down the stairs. Standing up before she can change her mind, she says, “Come on, Merlin.”
Ramona
Jonah and I are swinging lazily back and forth on the glider, hardly even talking, when Katie comes crashing down the stairs and yells out, “Ramona!”
There’s something in her voice. I straighten, taking Jonah’s hand for