began. The hum of human activity, machinery, and steam filled the air, along with the familiar smell of her childhood—candy cooking. Nathan led the way to the first archway. “The mixing room. Where we put it all together.” He led her farther into the room.
“I remember,” she said. “When I was a kid, everything in here seemed so huge.” She’d loved to watch her daddy work with the gigantic mixing bowls with their huge mechanical stirrers.
“Almost all of our products—the jelly, jellied candies, taffy and lollipops—come from the juice of the prickly pear cactus fruit,” he said, sounding like a tour guide. “Summer is prickly pear harvest time. Over just six weeks each summer, we process all the juice we’ll use for a year’s product. We had an exceptional harvest this year. In fact, we’ll be freezing a substantial amount for next year. Here’s where it starts.” He indicated a huge vat where red bulbs of cactus fruit bobbed and bubbled in boiling water.
“Once the fruit is softened, we crush it with this.” He indicated a wooden device.
“The wine press from Italy,” she said. “Dad was always so proud of that.”
“Yep. He got it straight from a vineyard. Anyway, after that, the juice is strained, then sent through these pipes,” he indicated shiny brass tubes overhead, “to the separate areas to create each kind of candy.”
He moved to a stainless-steel tub. “Here is where we make our most popular item—jellied candy squares. Here we add lemon, corn syrup and eventually gelatin,” he said.
The juice bubbled in the drum, cranberry red, giving off a tart steam that filled her nose. She paused to identify the elements. “Lemon, lime, cranberries and cotton candy all rolled into one great smell.”
Nathan took a quick, short sniff. “It’s nice, I guess.”
He walked over to a man who reached up with a pole to switch off a valve, then scooped out some of the red jelly, which he allowed to fall slowly back into the bowl.
“How’s the consistency, Jed?” Nathan asked the man.
“Better. That new coil evened the heat like you said it would.”
“Great,” Nathan said, his eyes alight with satisfaction.
He was proud of his work here, she could tell, but she wouldn’t mention it. Not yet. He’d just deny it.
“When I was little, Dad would let me add ingredients sometimes.” She’d loved watching the corn syrup cascade into the mixture, a river of sweetness. “It was like Willy Wonka and his chocolate factory, only for real.”
“Sounds like you loved it here.”
Whoops. She didn’t want him to think she missed the place. “It got old, though. Imagine every day as the day after Halloween. Pretty soon if you see one more piece of candy you want to throw up.”
“Exactly. Imagine eight solid years of Halloween. That’s why I need to move on.”
This was backfiring. She had to point out the good things about the place to encourage Nathan to stay, but not give him the idea she’d ever consider staying herself.
“The problem was me, not the factory, Nathan,” she said. “When I started getting into trouble, Mom grounded me here while she did the bookkeeping and reception work.”
“What did you do that was trouble? When I met you, Nikki and you were doing a lot of ditching.”
“I straightened out once I met you. Nikki and I used to hitch to Tucson or Phoenix, go to art shows and underground dances. Some drinking and carousing. Meredith thought she needed to crack down.”
Chained to the factory, she’d grown to hate the place and the way its false promise of sweet fun hid the sticky grip of duty and routine.
“You were a kid. Kids rebel. I’m sure your mother was just doing what she thought was best.”
“She pay you to say that?”
“I just know Abe and Meredith love you.”
“Yeah. They do. Too much. That’s what makes it hard. I’ve always disappointed them.” Just being who she was seemed to hurt them. Sometimes her uniqueness felt like a badge of honor. Other times, it felt like a scarlet W of weirdness.
“Maybe if you talked to them you’d find out they feel differently.”
“I’m fine, Nathan. My parents are fine. You’re the one on the self-improvement kick, remember?”
“Right,” he said, but he held her gaze, cupped gently, the way you’d hold a fuzzy dandelion. I’m here for you. You’re okay just as you are. There it was—that look of acceptance that had made her say yes to him when he’d proposed. She’d just melted into that look, heart and all.
But she’d grown up and accepted herself now. She didn’t need Nathan or that look. She broke the gaze. “How about the rest of the tour?” she said and shot ahead of him so that he had to gallop to catch up with her.
He showed her where they squirted the jelly into jars, where they stretched the saguaro blossom taffy—its pale orange and green strands looped by the industrial-sized stretcher as if it were skeins of thick, silky yarn—and where they extruded the mesquite-honey meringue buttons, and slow-cooked the syrup that went into the hard candy and novelty lollipops shaped like saguaro cactus, coyotes and cowboy boots.
In the processing room, she watched the sheets of cooled jelly get cut into shapes. As a kid, she’d loved the magical way the designs appeared and the unused jelly paste peeled away to be remolded again. She loved the assembly line with its jerky machinery and geared conveyor belt that had seemed almost alive. “This place looks exactly like when I left.”
“Unfortunately, it is the same as when you left. We need new equipment, but your father doesn’t think the capital investment’s worth it. Luckily, Benny Lopez, our mechanic, has a way with a steam valve you wouldn’t believe. I think he puts a spell on the boilers. They practically purr when he goes by.”
They glanced into the formulation and tasting kitchen, where her father experimented with new creations or brought clients to impress them. It was empty. “Abe hasn’t tried anything new in a while,” Nathan said.
That fact struck her as sad. On the other hand, he was about to retire, so maybe it made sense. Who would come up with new formulas after her father was gone?
“I think there was a jalapeño jelly he was working on, though,” Nathan said and went to the refrigerator. He pulled out a sample jar. “Want to try it?”
“Why not?”
Nathan spread a bit of the bright jelly on a tasting biscuit. Mariah opened her mouth and he held the cracker for her to taste. The air grew tense with the intimacy of the moment. She extended her tongue to accept the cracker. Her lips closed, brushing his finger and he made a sound.
She could almost see the electricity pass through him. Then it hit her, jolting her to her toes. The jelly’s tartness and the chili’s burn seeped into her mouth, which filled with saliva. She wanted to taste Nathan, too.
She could see he wanted to
