Page 72 of Sweet and Salty
“You don’t think that was Chris?”
“That fucker is a piece of work.” Rory yawns and stretches backward. “He started crying when we were loading him into the squad car, and confessed to everything, but said he didn’t start the fire. You know we had to call in additional cars? I’ve never even had to contemplate calling SWAT here. For Cripes’ sake.”
“I could care less.” Behind the window, I swear I hear the sound of feet shuffling. My heart rises somewhere around the back of my soft palate.
Mom steps out from the space between the doors and immediately envelops me in a hug. “Don’t worry, Doc’s working on him right now. We called the Medevac, too. He’s young, he’s strong. He’ll pull through.”
The weight sitting on my shoulders lessens as the tears flow, soaking my mom’s scrub top. She wouldn’t lie to me, or toss around false hope.
“He’s a brave man,” Mom says, kissing the top of my head. “He loves you so much. I’m glad you have each other.”
“We almost lost you.” Saying it aloud unleashes another deeply held, secret fear. All the people who depend on Mom…we were so close to losing her. Davey, Rory, Frannie, Bobby, Dr. Sieber, Daphne, all the people in town who look to her as a surrogate parent. And it’s all my fault. I brought Chris into our lives. I did this. “If we hadn’t–”
Mom tsks. “Don’t think about that. It didn’t happen. I’m here. Right here with you.”
But I can’t shake the feeling that this is my fault. “I’m so sorry.” I hold her closer, drinking in her scent, imagining I smell Ma there, too. Like she’s watching us from up above, stroking my hair, whispering in my ear that everything will be all right. “I’m so sorry, Mom. It’s all my fault. I didn’t think Chris would ever do something like this.”
“Of course you didn’t. This isn’t your fault. You had no idea he would react this way.” Mom’s voice is a soothing susurration in my ear. “You haven’t lost anything, hon. You’re doing everything you need to be doing in this world. You stood up for me and for everyone else in that hallway today. I’m so grateful that nothing worse happened.”
Rory pats my shoulder. “For what it’s worth, Harbor Stryke, the US Marshal? He told me Jesse’s one of the good guys. He literally took a bullet for you. I almost feel comfortable leaving Davey with him. I mean, as long as you’re there, too.”
“Um. Thanks?” I lift my head from Mom’s shoulder and she wipes away the tears from under my eyes. “When will we know if he’s okay?”
“Soon, hon.” Mom joins me at my side and we both stare at the doors to the operating room. “We should know really soon.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Laura—Two Months Later
“Oh, hon, that looks amazing.”Mom’s eyes tear up as she views my neat rows of kringle slices, set out on her old red-checked picnic blanket. “It’s Allison’s recipe, isn’t it? I’m so proud of you.” She wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “What flavor did you pick again?”
I gesture toward the chalk sign I’ve set at the edge of the table. “Chocolate cherry old-fashioned.” And before Rory can open his mouth, I say, “And these ones are kid-friendly.” I gesture to the other half of my table, set with chocolate cherry kringle with a chocolate almond glaze.
Davey shoves his way between me and Mom and hugs me tightly. “Thanks, Auntie Laura. Can I have four slices?”
“One!” Rory says, exasperation evident in his voice. “One, please. Ugh. He tried that with the Good Mood Dairy too. Where’s Frannie? Wasn’t she supposed to be here, helping you set up?”
Frannie had flown into town like a tornado and, given her recent behavior, would probably be jetting right back out again.I shrug, wiping my hands on my apron with the white-and-blue toile pattern. “I’m sure she’ll be around. I’m doing all right.”
“These are definitely going to win,” Davey says, his mouth almost too full of kringle to speak in coherent sentences.
“Thanks, champ.” I hand him a napkin. It’s a beautiful day. Humid, yes, but there’s a breeze coming off the lake in the distance, and the rain from the previous week has left nothing but cloudless skies.
The park behind the Lutheran church has been transformed into a bonanza of cherries. The section nearest the parking lot holds all manner of kiddie rides, to which Davey, his hands sticky with kringle, drags his dad. Along the far side of the park, near the duck pond, is a dunk tank and concession stands, the scents of fresh popcorn, pretzels, and brats hanging in the air. Then, of course, there’s my area. Too many long tables to count piled high with baked goods and jams and jellies, barbecue sauces, beverages, and more. All celebrating cherries.
“I’m going to go try the Foster family’s new red blend.” Mom kisses my cheek. “Want me to get you a glass?”
“Not if I’m going to be standing in four hours,” I reply. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“I know. Love you, hon.”
I watch Mom walk toward the alcohol tents. Perfect. I can scan the crowd again.
Sure, cherries and kringle competitions are all well and good. But for me, the true excitement is that Jesse is due home. Finally. While he recovered from his gunshot wound, Marshal Stryke moved him down to Florida to rehab in a safe house. With Chris and the Mack family now in jail, Jesse can leave witness protection and live his life again.
I want to live it with him.
“Any sign?” Frannie asks, sliding in beside me like she hasn’t been MIA.