The Sweetest Thing (30 page)

A look passes over his face. I don’t think Ethan’s ever had a girl friend. And I don’t think he’s about to start now.

Our hands feel so perfect together. I remember the first time he held mine, the day we tried to skip school, and the 317

thrill I felt.

“If you ever change your mind, let me know.” He leans down and kisses my forehead, then walks away, his hands in his pockets and his golden hair glinting under the fluores-cent lights.

I see Jack down the hall by his locker. He slams it shut and smiles when he sees me coming. We walk toward each other. I can read his mind right now, and I’m hoping he can read mine. We are face-to-face and then his arms are around me and our lips are touching and I feel myself floating free.

Yes, this is exactly what I was thinking.

It hits me. That’s the difference—why I always felt so clumsy and awkward kissing Ethan. He could have been kissing any girl. But Jack and I, we just fit together right.

Not that I’ve forgotten about the possibility of temple defacement. In fact, I think of it even more now, and I know this isn’t going to be easy. But at least I know Jack will be patient. Because if he isn’t, I’ll smack him.

Jack drives me home. When he swings the Corolla into the restaurant parking lot, we both gasp. There’s a black limo in front of the house. Oh no. They’re back.

“Jack.” I look at him as he helps me out of the car. “This could be bad.”

“Yeah, maybe. But it could be good, too. You never know.”

He holds my schoolbag and helps me with my crutches. I look up at him. Jack. Tal and dark and handsome. And I kiss him 318

again, because I can.

I push open the front door. The house is dark and quiet.

“Maybe they’re at the restaurant?” I say to Jack.

“Sheridan?” Dad sticks his head out the kitchen door.

“Join us, please.”

I’m scared. The last time I saw these people, I was just about to ruin their big show.

“You want me to come in?” Jack asks.

“Yes, but you better not. I’ll call you after,” I say.

“Okay. Well, break a leg.”

“Ha ha.”

He walks backward slowly, smiling the whole way to the front door.

Dad stands waiting. I limp in on the crutches, ready for the firing squad.

“Hello, Sheridan.” It’s Gray Hair, sitting across from Amazon. They’ve got coffee cups in front of them.

“Hi,” I say.

“It’s good to see you again, Sheridan.” Amazon stands and walks over to me. “Can you maneuver yourself over here to sit down?”

“Uh. Sure.” I look at Dad, who seems uneasy.

When I sit, they all sit. I am overwhelmed with guilt and begin to confess. “Look, I’m sorry. I know I ruined the show.

I didn’t mean to.”

Gray Hair smiles. “You know something, Sheridan—in 319

television you learn pretty quickly that you can’t plan for everything. And yours certainly was an extraordinary cir-cumstance.”

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Amazon chimes in. “Can-celling the shoot was quite a blow. That was the crucial scene for the pilot episode; the rest of it didn’t make much sense without the party. When we left here, we talked about cutting our losses and scrapping the show altogether.”

“I am really sorry.” I look at Dad.

“Sheridan, don’t apologize.” Gray Hair takes a sip of coffee. “There’s no need. The reason we’re back, in fact, is that once we reviewed all the footage, we realized that we’d be foolish to let your father go.”

“Oh.”

“We’re offering him another chance. But this time, our offer has a condition,” Gray Hair says, looking directly at me.

“Actually, the condition is that you will be part of the show with your father. We like your personalities so well that we want to put you on together. It’ll be a mix of cooking, cake decorating; we even love the idea of sending you on a few trips a year, to try out new restaurants and find interesting things to do together. So there would be some travel. Lots of fun,” he says.

“Are you serious?” I say.

“Completely,” Amazon replies.

“Just for the summer?”

“No,” she says. “This would be a series. We’d need you 320

based in New York year-round.”

“New York? What about school? What about the bakery?” I look at Dad, wondering how I could possibly leave Jack, Lori, my cakes, Mr. Roz, Nanny. I even think of art camp, after all this, how could I miss art camp?

“There are great schools in New York, and when you travel, we’ll provide a tutor,” Gray Hair says.

I can’t believe this.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, take some time to think about it,” Gray Hair says.

“Discuss it with your father. It’s a big decision.”

He stands up and Amazon follows.

“I hate to run, but we’ve got a plane to catch,” Gray Hair says, holding his hand out to my father. “Don’t get up, Sheridan.” He shakes my hand from across the table.

Amazon gives Dad a hug and looks at me. “Sheridan, this
is
a big decision, but I’ve been watching you the last few weeks. You are smart and talented. This is a wonderful opportunity for a girl like you.”

She holds out her hand and gives mine a firm shake.

I am speechless.

Dad walks them to the door and comes back into the kitchen. I am still in the same place, reeling. He sits quietly back down, folds his hands in front of him.

“This is entirely your decision. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll stay here, run the restaurant. I’ll make it work. Something like this
wil
change our lives completely.”

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I watch him as he gets up, gathers the coffee cups, and takes them to the sink. I touch the bird charm on my wrist.

How can I leave my home?

That night, Dad and I have dinner with Nanny. She’s still not getting around easily, but a steady stream of her friends have been spending the night at her place, making sure she’s not overdoing it. Because if anyone is going to overdo it, it’s Nanny.

Dad comes over from the restaurant to eat with us. He brings grilled salmon and a wild field salad. Delicious.

We discuss the deal. Dad wants this to be my choice.

That doesn’t help me at all. I text Jack to come over later. I’m hoping he’ll make it easier to decide. Or maybe he’ll make it harder.

At the end of dinner, Dad stands up. He has to get back to work. “Come on, Sheridan, I’ll help you get home.”

“Wait,” Nanny says. “Don’t ya’ll get to goin’ so fast.”

Dad puts his keys on the table. “What is it? You okay, Mom?”

“I’m fine, just fine. But I have something to say.”

Dad sits down. “Go on.”

“Well, I will, thank you.” Nanny rolls her eyes at Dad.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this. “I have decided to sell the bakery and go live in New York City.” She says this matter-of-factly, like she’s telling us the weather.

“Mom?”

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“What?”
I say.

“What are you talking about?” Dad says, staring in shock.

“Yes. I asked Jakup if he was in any position to buy the place. And of course, that man never spends a dime. He’s gonna buy it. No better candidate.”

“Nanny.” I stand up, angry. “Why would you sell the bakery? Why would you want to go to New York? You’ve lived here forever.”

“Well, I’m thinkin’ it’s time for a change. Always wanted to live in the big city. Course, I won’t lie to you, I’m nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs. But as recent events have proven, I am not getting any younger.

And then if you decide to go, Sheridan, you can keep an eye on me. Wouldn’t that be the cherry on top?”

I sink back down into my chair. This is so weird.

“All right. I’ve dropped my bomb. Now I need my beauty rest.” Dad helps her into bed and we walk home, shell-shocked.

Once Dad’s back at the restaurant, I sit on the sofa with my laptop and wait for Jack to show up after his shift at Geronimo’s. For the last hour, I’ve been researching New York City. There are bakeries there; lots of world-class bakeries. Their Web sites are gorgeous; their cakes are stunning. And art? I could take classes in painting, pottery, filmmaking—anything I wanted.

Then I look up the St. Mary town Web site. The lake-shore, the town square. Sweetie’s, Sheridan & Irving’s. How 323

can I desert this place that I love? I feel like a big traitor just thinking about it. And then there’s Jack. How can I leave him now?

I see him walking across the parking lot and hobble over to the door, opening it before he can knock. “Hey,” he says, closing the door behind him. “Hey.” I raise my eyebrows.

Then he grabs me around the waist and kisses me. And that’s it. Fireworks. Electricity. Thunder and lightning. Every time. Guaranteed. I don’t want to stop.

But we need to talk.

“So . . .” I back away.

“So? What’s the story?”

He takes my hand and helps me into the front room. We sit down side by side on the sofa and rest our feet on the big ottoman.

“What a week,” I say, leaning against his chest as he throws his arm around my shoulder.

“What did they want?” Jack asks, warily. “The Suits.”

“You sure you want to know?”

“Yes. I want to know.”

Before he showed up, I rehearsed what I was going to say.

I’d declare my love and tell him I could never leave. Something like that. But in the end I just spit it out as fast as I can.

“They want me and Dad to do a show together. In New York City.” He sits up and I turn to look at him. “And Nanny says she’s coming with us. But they are leaving it up to me. So I’m saying no.”

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Jack is quiet, thoughtful. He sits back, and I lean into his chest again. The room is so still and cozy, and I know that I will remember this moment forever; that’s how perfect it is.

For a long time, neither of us says a word. The clock ticks, the house settles. And then Jack speaks. “No. You shouldn’t say no, Sheridan.”

I don’t move. “Why not?” I say quietly.

He reaches down, grabs my wrist, holds it up, and touches the bird charm. He’s the one who thought I would want more, who thought I would fly away. “Because,” he says,

“we’ve only got two more years of school. Then we’ll be in college anyway. Who knows—maybe I’ll go to college in New York City. Maybe you’ll come back here. It doesn’t matter; no matter what happens, you’re not going to lose me.”

“I’m not?”

“You’re not.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

After a while, the phone rings. It’s the warden.

“Hi, Nan.”

“Sheridan, I think it’s time for Jack to be gettin’ home.”

She pauses.

“Fine.” I think of what will happen if she does go to New York. I might as well become a nun.

I hang up the phone. “Nanny doesn’t trust us.”

Jack looks into my eyes. “Smart woman.”

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He kisses me, then sits back, holding on to a lock of my hair. “I don’t know about this, Jack.”

“You’re going.”

“But . . . how can I leave you? It’s too much like . . .” I glance at him, not wanting to finish that sentence.

He shakes his head. “No, Sheridan. It’s nothing like her.

You’re
nothing like her. You have to know that.”

I nod, hoping that he’s right.

“I better go before your grandmother ends up back in the hospital.” He stands but still holds my hand.

“I wish you could stay.”

“Me too.”

We kiss once more and after he leaves, and I hop up the stairs and get ready for bed. I lie in the dark for a long time, wondering what to do. I am silent, waiting for the voice in my heart to speak to me. To tell me what to do. But I have a feeling that this time the answer won’t come out of the blue.

This time I might just have to close my eyes and jump.

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I head out the door first thing in the morning. It’s a swel-tering July day, and I’m not sure I’m prepared for what’s about to happen. I hope I made the right decision.

Tomorrow is my Sweet Sixteen, the real one this time, and the day after that I leave for art camp. Today, I need to finish the portfolio I’m supposed to bring for critique.

I’ve got my messenger bag, filled with supplies, and the sketchbook where I’ve drawn a series of my favorite spots in St. Mary. Sweetie’s in one, Sheridan & Irving’s in another.

Geronimo’s, too, and Father Crowley’s garden, of course.

For my last piece, I walk toward the harbor, and I end up on our dock. I pull a flimsy piece of onion paper out of my bag and place it on top of the initials my parents carved into the wooden board. With a charcoal pencil, I make a rubbing of the letters, and the heart that surrounds them.

The black charcoal stains my fingers, and when I’m done, I put everything away and lean back on my hands.

There are tons of people out on the water today, enjoying the weather, enjoying St. Mary. I will always love this place. It will always be my home.

When I get back to the house, I cut out the onion paper rubbing and reach for a painting I’ve already finished.

Swirls, hearts, curls, teardrops, all the shapes I use on my cakes, only this time in watercolor.

In the center of the piece I’ve glued a red paper heart. It’s the lunchbox note, from my mother. I run my fingers along its surface, nearly worn through after all those years of wishing. Then I attach the rubbing of their initials on top of it. I can see her writing through the crude DW + MT.
Love you,
Cupcake
.

I don’t hate her. I can’t. But I find myself hoping that even if for only a split second, these hearts meant something to her once, something real.

I might never know for sure.

When I am finished, I close my portfolio and stick it in my bookbag. I answer a text from Lori, who is mourning her breakup with Tuba Dude Jim. Then I text Jack.

You ready for 2night?

Within seconds he texts back.

See you at 7
.