Be Sweet (2 page)

The floorboards creak beneath my heels when I step onto the sagging porch. Those extra twenty pounds are mocking me—I can feel it. Warped wood ripples here and there, making my steps unsteady. They need to fix that too.

The late February wind whips past me, and I pull my jacket closer to my neck. After several knocks on the door with no answer, I turn the knob and the door cracks open.

I poke my head through the opening. “Janni?”

“Sure, Carla, I'd be glad to make dinner for them. I'll have the meal to their house by seven.”

Saint Janni lives on. Still doing for others while Mom would say I do for myself. One glance around the living room, I see things haven't changed. Same old furniture. One thing about Janni that makes me crazy is she never moves anything. If I moved one thing in this room, she'd notice.

After slipping off my shoes—a custom I started once I bought new carpet for my own house—I follow my sister's voice to the kitchen, feeling the thin, spotted carpet beneath my feet. It's hard to figure out whether my sister and brother-in-law are poor, frugal, or just plain set in their ways. Passing a stand, I reach out and turn a Precious Moments figurine from facing north to slightly southeast.

Rounding the corner, I peek over at my sister. In her red apron, she looks every inch the image of Betty Crocker. Her no-fuss, chin-length bob suits her. Cradling the cordless phone between her shoulder and chin, she washes her hands at the sink. It looks as though I'm not the only one hefting around extra pounds, but then I'm not one to point fingers.

Janni has been a domestic diva from the start. Everything she creates is a success, from her delicious home-cooked meals to her hand-sewn, quilted place mats.

With my cooking phobias, I'm just happy to find a plastic fork for my Chinese takeout.

Right when I open my mouth to say Janni's name, something sharp whacks at my nylons, causing a stinging sensation on the backs of my feet. I turn and see a full-grown brown squirrel that has evidently followed me into the kitchen. It is sitting on its hind legs, little arms extended, taking wild swipes at my heels. A scream starts from my toenails and works its way up and out of my throat with such force that it causes the windows to rattle. The creature's bushy tail thrashes the air with razor-sharp snaps, while his pointed barks shoot at me machine-gun style. My legs flail wildly around the room—carrying the rest of me with them—which only fuels the squirrel's attack.

My sister charges into the room with a large broom. Suddenly, I'm not sure who scares me more, the squirrel or Janni. Her eyes are wild and popped open wide. The veins on her neck are ballooned and purple. She's gonna blow. That squirrel had better hightail it up the nearest tree.

“Get out of here,” Janni screams, broom waving madly. She thumps a nearby stand and wallops the sofa—which to her horror shoots dust to the four corners of the room. Fueled by anger, Janni goes after the squirrel, who's going after me, who's making a beeline for the hallway closet. Once I get there, I yank open the door and cram myself inside as fast as I can. Evil squirrel takes one final swipe at me before the door closes completely, and I hear his nails scrape the door. For the blip of a heartbeat, I feel sorry for him. But with the sting in my heels, I get over it.

Standing in the dark, I hold my breath and listen to the sounds of whacking, feet scampering, pictures falling off walls, and loud wails coming from Janni, the squirrel, and the house.

When everything but the hall clock is finally silent, I click the knob on the closet door, shove it slightly open, then carefully stick my lips through the crack. “Janni?”

She doesn't answer. My feet stumble on something beneath me. I'm not sure if it's safer in this closet or out there with the wild animal—the squirrel, that is, not my sister.

With my heart thumping against my chest, I push open the door and peek out. “Janni?”

“In here.”

Stepping out of the closet, I glance back at the floor to see an assortment of boots and shoes smushed to smithereens, compliments of my extra twenty pounds.

When I walk into the living room, I find Janni sprawled across the sofa.

“Did you get him outside?” I ask, slumping into the chair across from her.

“I got him in his cage,” she says, lifting her index finger as though she barely has the strength and pointing to a large gold cage perched in the corner of the living room.

My mouth sags open.

“Sorry about all that. Wiggles is normally very sweet, but he doesn't like strangers. He'll warm up to you.”

“Let me get this straight. That squirrel lives
inside
this house? As your pet?”

Smile back in place. “Last spring, right after you went home, we had a storm. Lightning struck a couple of our trees. Wiggles was only a day or two old when we found the nest. His eyes were still closed. Mama had abandoned him, poor thing.”

I glance at my shredded nylons and don't feel sorry for him in the least.

“So I fed him milk with a pinch of maple syrup in it through an eye dropper.” She smiles. “He survived.”

Please. She even rescues squirrels? I've tried to feed birds in the winter. Even I have my moments of charity. They repay my kindness with droppings on my car. “And you're glad, why?”

She chuckles. “Well, like I said, he's only that way with strangers.”

“All that running after the squirrel stoked up my furnace,” I say, tak-ing off my sweater.

Janni climbs out of the sofa, which appears to be a struggle for her. “So how are you, sis?” she asks in an animated voice, all excited and happy.

We stand and share a hug.

“I'm good. Though my heels hurt.”

She pulls away and looks me in the eyes. “I've missed you.”

“You too.” Guilt washes over me in that familiar way it does when I come to Tappery, but I have my reasons for staying away. “I have to know one thing before we go any further.”

“Yeah.”

“Does that squirrel make messes around your house?” Okay, so I just can't get past that wild-animal-staying-in-her-house deal.

Janni laughs. “No. He's paper-trained. When he has to take care of business, he goes back to his cage.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“Nope. You think I'd keep him in the house if he wasn't trained? No way.”

I toss another glance at the hairy rodent and shake my head.

“Why don't I show you to your room? You can settle in, then we'll come down to the kitchen and get something to eat.” My sister's answer to life's problems is food. Proof positive that we're blood relatives.

“Sounds good.”

“Wonder who moved this?” Janni asks, turning the Precious Moments figurine back to face north. Do I know my sister or what?

Tossing a quick glance at Wiggles, I heave my luggage up the stairs behind Janni. “Just so you know, if Thumper and Bambi show up, I'm outta here.”

“Oh, once you get settled in, you'll see it's not so bad to come home for a visit.” Janni's words come out in short puffs of air. “Harvesting syrup, working on the scrapbook, hanging out with family. The fun is just beginning.”

Something about the way she says that causes dread to crawl all over me. But that's silly. It's only for a few weeks.

What can happen?

two

“I brought you a treat,” I say, as I join Janni
in the kitchen. The heady scent of sweet maple hits me the moment I enter. “I'd recognize that smell anywhere.” The aroma that fills the kitchen whisks me backwards in time. “Did I ever tell you that Ariel's Bakery in Maine makes an apple-and-maple cheesecake to die for?”

“That's nice.” Janni turns away from the oven and stares at what I've brought.

“It's a pizza cookie,” I say with pride as I open the box, and we stare at the pizza-sized chocolate chip cookie, sprinkled with M&Ms and a drizzle of chocolate. “Ariel's Bakery.” I smile, take it over to the counter, grab a knife from the drawer, and start cutting it.

Janni's eyebrows arch and her chin lifts. “Guess your taste buds aren't used to home-baked goodies anymore, huh?” She gathers a warm batch of maple cookies from the cooling rack and adds them to a plate.

“No offense, Janni, but you know I rarely cook and never bake, so I've just gotten used to the gourmet stuff.”

“You won't try my cookies?”

“I'm sure they're delicious, but right now I'm in the mood for chocolate. Maybe later.” Grabbing a plate, I place a wedge of cookie on it, grab a napkin, and join her at the table.

Janni's watching me.

“What?”

“Are you always this hyper?” she asks in a slow, deliberate manner.

“If you think this is hyper, you should see me after three shots of espresso.” With a chuckle, I slip into my seat.

Janni grabs a mug, throws in a teaspoon of instant coffee and creamer, then shuffles her way to the table. “I don't know what people see in those fancy coffees. They're so expensive.”

“It's more than coffee. It's an experience.”

She stares at me. “You sound like a Hallmark commercial.”

I shrug. After a quick prayer over my cookie, I dig into my treat. Wonder if God will answer the part about making it a blessing to my body.

Janni reaches for a maple cookie.

“Did you make those with last year's maple syrup stash?”

Janni laughs like a hyena. Literally. It scared the pajeebers out of me as a kid. Here I am edging fifty, and to this very day it causes chills to climb up my back.

“Still the same old Charlene. And to answer your question, yes. This is from last year's supply. We're not addicted to sugar like you are, so it lasts awhile around here.” Janni takes a bite from her cookie. The fact that my sweet sister looks like a roly-poly doll? Well, it just makes me question the truth of her statement, that's all.

Janni walks over to the refrigerator and grabs a pitcher of milk. Real milk. As in five-hundred-grams-of-fat milk. Okay, I'm starting to under-stand this roly-poly thing.

“You get your luggage unpacked?” she asks, pouring milk into a glass, then turning to me.

“Yeah, I'm unpacked. No milk for me, thanks. I save my calories for what's important.” I wave my slice of cookie.

She returns to her seat at the oak table. “Look at you, pretty as ever.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, and about twenty pounds over my ideal weight,” I say, munching my cookie.

“So you have a little meat on your bones. It makes you look healthy.”

“Now you're beginning to sound like Mom.”

“Well, it's true. You've always been too skinny. Just like both of our parents.”

“Which would explain why I have the chest of Shirley Temple—when she was two.”

Janni chuckles. “Wonder where I got my weight problem?”

Since I'm president of Cookie Eaters Anonymous, I won't mention her eating habits.

“You know, I've always marveled that despite the fact that all of Tappery envies your looks, you've never fussed that much over yourself. 'Course, with your kind of beauty, you can get by with a swipe of lip-stick and mascara. It takes the rest of us hours to fix ourselves up so we won't scare little children.”

We both know Janni doesn't spend over five minutes on her makeup, but I wisely keep silent. “Oh, stop.” I pause to give her time to say more. She doesn't. “Besides, you can cook. I can't boil water.”

Janni laughs. “You could if you wanted to.”

“I want to, believe me. Do you know how hard it is to make spaghetti without boiled water? I love spaghetti.”

Janni shakes her head. “Mom and Dad offered to give you cooking classes.”

“I didn't want the pressure of having to measure up to you,” I say, surprising myself with the confession.

“It's only fair. I couldn't compete with your beauty.”

We lock eyes. “Are we having a ‘clearing the air' type moment?” I ask.

“I think so. You know, you could watch one of those cooking shows on TV.” Janni puts her drink down.

“I tried once. The cook was preparing a seven-minute meal. By the time she finished, I was ready for a nap.”

“You're pathetic.”

“I know.”

“Hey, I ran into Gail Campbell at the store.”

Janni looks up at me. “What did she say this time?”

“Nothing much, really.” I pluck a chocolate chip from my cookie and eat it. “You know, that woman should carry around a crowbar the way she's always trying to pry information out of people.”

Janni laughs.

“Did you know she has a granddaughter? Poor kid looks just like her.”

“I feel sorry for her.”

“I do, too. Even makeup can't fix those beady eyes.”

Janni turns a wry look my way. “I meant Gail.”

“Why on earth do you feel sorry for her?”

“Think about it. If she had a life, she wouldn't care so much about what's going on in everybody else's.”

“I guess. There's still no excuse for it, though. She just wants to stir up trouble.”

“You have to let it go, you know.”

“Why should I care if she and Linda talked about me in high school and caused me to have zero friends? There's nothing to let go.” I sink my teeth into another bite of cookie. A big one.

She stares at me too long, and I try not to squirm. “She shouldn't have spread gossip, but you have to let it go, Char. It happened a long time ago.”

“Exactly. It's a thing of the past. Let's leave it there, okay?” Hello? It's not as though I haven't gotten over it. I have a life, thank you very much.

“Okay,” she says with reluctance.

“So how are the boys?” I ask, referring to her two sons—my nephews —whom I love as though they were my own.

Smoothing down her apron she says, “Ethan is in love.” Her eyes shine here. “He stays on campus most of the time or goes home with Candy.”