shoes? Sing the alphabet in two languages? Apply Band-Aids?”
“Make a birthday cake!” Virginia exclaimed. She smiled broadly and clapped her hands together once, leaving them joined.
“Oh,” Gus said. “That was my next guess.”
“Every parent should be able to bake and decorate a birthday cake for their child.”
“I think so, too. But they can also get one from a bakery,” Gus suggested, grinning. “I could recommend a good one for anyone looking.”
“But not every year, dear. Moms and dads should bake a cake, frost it, make it look pretty and be able to write their child’s name on it. And their age.”
“I think most people figure it out,” Gus said. “I learned how to make a birthday cake from my aunt.”
“Unfair advantage. Not everyone has an aunt Augusta,” Virginia said. “Some people never figure it out and they disappoint their kids every year.” She dropped her large purse onto the counter and dug through it, finally pulling out a packet of wallet-sized photos in a yellowed cellophane holder.
“See this picture? This is Jack’s fifth birthday.”
Gus took the photo, which showed an adorable dark-haired and dark-eyed boy at a kitchen table. Disgracing the table in front of him was the ugliest birthday cake in the world. It was an uneven round shape, covered in lumpy chocolate frosting. Canned frosting. A squiggly red line—probably from the dreadful white tubes sold in grocery stores—made a crooked border. In the center, uncertain writing appeared to spell out Happy Birthday, Jack above a disproportionate and crooked number five. The only things that pulled the scene together were the five flaming candles and the happy family behind him.
His father, looking much like Jack did right now, held a girl who appeared to be about three. Virginia, much younger, had a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“That’s our middle daughter, June,” Virginia said. “She’s in New York City working as a dancer in a Broadway production. Our younger daughter hadn’t come along yet when that picture was taken.”
“It’s a beautiful picture,” Gus said.
Virginia looked at her, both eyebrows raised.
Gus laughed. “Okay. All except for the cake.”
They both laughed, and the sound echoed under the steel awning. Betty climbed out of the wagon. She licked her owner’s hand and wagged her tail. Maybe she knew the word cake or she just liked a good party.
“See my point?” Virginia asked. “With your talent, you could improve the birthdays of hundreds, even thousands of children.”
“That many? That’s a lot of birthdays.”
“We have two thousand employees here this summer.”
Gus’s shoulders sank. “You want me to teach two thousand people to make a fancy birthday cake?” Right now, all she could think of was baking enough cookies for one day—opening day, only seventy-two hours away.
Virginia took a long, slow breath. “Not all two thousand. Always made it a requirement in the past—didn’t want people to miss out on a good thing. But this season is different. Life’s too short to make people do things they don’t want to do. Or have time for. So I’m making it voluntary this summer. My STRIPE program is getting soft in its old age—that’ll shock some of our longtime employees, I know. People who want to learn to make a cake can do it.” She shrugged. “The rest of them will miss out.”
“I understand that the STRIPE clause is in the contracts,” Gus said.
Virginia shrugged. “I’ll take it out. My son, Jack, is officially taking over, but I’m still his mother and have some influence. Besides—” she paused and smiled “—I don’t think anyone’s going to fight me on making it voluntary.”
“I still don’t know,” Gus said. She wasn’t sure she could handle the STRIPE program, but her thoughts swung to Virginia’s influence. Could she be an ally in contract negotiations?
Doubtful. Blood was thicker than water.
“You’ll probably have only a couple hundred students at the most. And you’ll have help. I always get volunteers.”
“I’m just worried about spreading myself too thin, running these three bakeries while my aunt handles the downtown one.”
In answer, Virginia held up the picture, raised her eyebrows and pointed to the ugly cake in front of her adorable son.
“Oh, all right,” Gus said.
Birthdays tugged at her heart. They represented permanence, family and tradition. No matter what part of the country or world her father’s job took their little family to, birthdays were celebrated the same. How could she pass up the chance to make hundreds or thousands of birthdays brighter?
Virginia squeezed Gus’s arm. “I’ll be your first student. Jack turns twenty-seven on June first, which is also my birthday. Best present I ever got. Maybe you could help me surprise him with a cake. My daughter June will be here that weekend and of course so will Evie. Think you could give her the day off?”
“Sure. She’s going to be my account manager and supervise the Lake Breeze bakery, but family birthdays are more important. I’ll help you learn to make a perfect cake, but only because I love a challenge.”
Virginia laughed. “I need people like you and your aunt to cheer me up. This is my first summer without Ford in more than thirty years.” She tried to cover her tears by leaning down to scratch under Betty’s chin. “I wonder sometimes how all this can go on...but my Jack has a will of iron.”
“I’ve heard that,” Gus commented.
“But a soft heart,” Virginia added. She picked up Betty, plunked her in the wagon and rolled away.
Gus wondered just how soft Jack’s heart was.
* * *
TOSHA, BERNIE AND several other vendors came by as Gus finished stocking and cleaning the Midway Bakery. The sign crew had already been there and a large electric cookie with the name Aunt Augusta’s Midway Bakery hung over the shop.
“I should get a new sign,” Bernie said. “Had the same hand-painted French-fry sign for fifteen years.”
“Can’t afford it this year,” Tosha commented.
Gus propped her elbows on her counter. “I’m sorry. I tried to see him before the deadline. Three times. I should’ve fought harder for all of you.”
“Nonsense,” Tosha said. “It’s business. And you’re not responsible for all of us. You’ve got enough on your plate. I plan to see how this summer goes and then reevaluate for next year. Gonna take it one ice-cream cone at a time.”
“Summer hasn’t even started and we’re already in too deep to change anything,” one of the souvenir vendors said. Ricardo sold Starlight Point hats, shirts, key chains and plastic snow globes featuring the roller coasters
