cackle follows me out of the door as I go to write on the chalkboard.
The wind has picked up. I shrug into my jacket, and fumble for the chalk in my pocket.
“You can’t let up, can you?” I spin to look up at Damon, a mite scary, leaning over me while I’m squatting at the board.
“Not all of us have family money to fall back on, you know.”
“That right?”
“Sure is.”
“You don’t hardly know a thing about me.”
“I can say the same for you.” I stand and gaze into his eyes. I try to look fierce, but it reminds me of staring competitions we had back in high school. We stared at each other until someone blinked, and they lost the game. I purse my lips, trying to keep my laughter in check but it barrels out of me, in a very unladylike way.
His eyes crinkle. “This funny to you?”
“A little. It’s just, it reminded me…”
Damon’s phone rings, a loud, startling tone. He checks the screen, and rushes off, head hunched as he answers it.
“Well, I’ll be. Can’t miss a phone call. Typical city slicker,” I grumble.
By the time I finish the sign, complete with whorls of tinsel colored in chalk, CeeCee has cleaned the kitchen from the day’s labors and has started making pastry. “So much for warming those old bones. You don’t trust me to make the pies, I see.”
“Sugar plum, you got enough going on, lest someone say, your pies ain’t made with love.”
I sidle up and hug her. I’d be lost without CeeCee in my life. “You’re tired. We can leave the pies until tomorrow.”
“It’s OK, sugar. I’d rather be here with you than at home on my lonesome.”
“You’re too good to me.” With CeeCee being so sweet, and me being reminded of all the things we’ve both lost, I well up again. I turn away from her and try and dry my eyes with the back of my hand but she knows me better than that.
“Don’t you go getting all sentimental on me.” I lose it completely when I see tears pool in her eyes. Again, I curse myself for being such a dramatic crier. I’m so sensitive sometimes it kills me.
CeeCee and her husband, Curtis, moved from Alabama to Ashford when their kids were just babies. Curtis worked on the railroads for most of his life, and that’s how they wound up here. He spent his time to-ing and fro-ing on the train lines, with Ashford as their base. Train lines that the Guthries used to own. They swapped one small town for another. And then their kids, all grown up, moved out of town, like so many, gone to find better jobs in big cities. CeeCee lost Curtis to cancer, one winter, not three years back. When I think of her all alone in that old house of hers, I crumble.
“I know what you’re thinking, but I’m fine, truly I am. I’ve got my church, and my friends. The kids are coming up for Christmas Day, and I’ll see my grandbabies. That’s all I want. I’m happy on my own. What about you? You wanna come over and spend the day with us? You know you part of the family.”
I wipe my eyes, and take a deep breath. “Aw, no. I don’t want to intrude, and I know what you’re going to say, so don’t bother. You cuddle those grandbabies of yours. I’m going to sloth on the couch all day, and watch a bunch of soppy Christmas movies. I won’t even get out of my PJs. It’ll be nice not to have to get up and rush in here.”
CeeCee clucks her tongue. “What about dinner? You can at least come over and let me feed you.”
“We’ll see.” As much as I love CeeCee, I don’t want her thinking she has to entertain me. She’ll have her own kids there, and her grandbabies who she loves more than anything. A day by myself doesn’t sound so awful. I plan on crying along to cheesy flicks on TV and eating ice cream straight from the tub.
“Would you look at that?” CeeCee says, pointing to across the road.
Damon’s back on the stool by the shop window looking dejected. He’s bent over, cradling his head in his hands.
“That poor man,” CeeCee says. “Breaks your heart just looking at him.”
I bite my lip, and ponder. Is he just playing a game here, or what?
CeeCee’s rolling out big balls of pastry without even looking; it’s second nature to her. “Go on over there, Lil. Looks like he could use a friend.”
“What? Are you falling for this? He’s angling for sympathy, that’s all.”
“And why not, pray tell? He’s like a movie star, those fine chiseled cheekbones and that curly hair—don’t you just want to run your hands through it?”
Like an expert chef, CeeCee’s flinging the pastry all over the place, while her eyes don’t move from Damon.
“No, I don’t want to run my hands through his hair. I’m sure it’s all tangled. That only happens in books, Cee. Sounds like you’ve been reading one too many bodice rippers, if you ask me.” I was all talk. He truly did look sad, sitting there as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Get on over there, and make that boy smile. Go on, get.”
I’m one of those people who always feel guilty. If someone bangs into me, I apologize. If someone drives up the footpath and runs over my shoe, I say sorry I was in the way. And here I am, feeling guilty robbing this man of his customers, yet it’s going to cost me too, this whole competition. I sigh; I’m not made for war.
“Fine. I’ll go. And what should I say, do you think?”
A huge smile lights up CeeCee’s face, and I wonder if those two are in cahoots together. It sure wouldn’t surprise me. She pretends to be really interested in her pastry all of a sudden. “Take him a pecan pie. I’m going make another batch tomorrow, anyways.”
It’s all well and good joking about it, but what am I going to say to the man? I begin to wonder if it was the phone call that’s made him so morose.
While I’m wrapping the pie, CeeCee mutters to herself. I know she’s fixing to tell me something, so I take my time, and wait for her to mull it over.
“You know, this might sound crazy, but why don’t you two join forces?”
“Are you on about the matchmaking thing again?”
“No, no.” She shakes her head. “I mean, why not join forces with the Christmas rush? Instead of competing against each other — work together. You never know what might happen. You’ve been trying to find someone to help you cater for as long as I can remember. And lookie here, that fine thing might just be the man for the job.”
“And how’s that going to work? Have you been drinking the sherry when you’re baking those cakes?”
“Just a nip to fortify me,” she says, and laughs. “But I don’t see why you can’t work together. You know, you could run some cooking classes for him — there’s not much you don’t know about baking.
