Losing Penny (25 page)

Both Blair and Missy jumped when he returned.
He read the distress in Blair’s face: fear mixed with
self-recrimination. Of course, she’d blame herself for Missy’s near
abduction. She’d take the event, shape it into a giant stick, and
use it to beat herself.

“Did anyone see anything?” she asked him,
panic sitting on the edge of her voice.

He shook his head, watching her, wondering
what he could say to help her down from her ledge of self-imposed
responsibility. She shouldered everything that came her way. It
startled him to realize that he still loved her, but in a big
brotherly sort of way. He wanted to protect her from others, but he
mostly wanted to protect her from herself.

“We need to call the police,” Blair said. She
didn’t have a phone or a purse, so she looked at Drake, and he
unclipped his phone from his belt.

“No cell service.” Drake turned to the man
and studied him. He was sure that the old man was the Native
American who was rumored to live in these woods. “Are you
Nisqually?”

“His name is Squally,” Missy told Drake.

Drake asked, “Have you ever seen this man
before?”

Blair shivered again and Drake placed his
hand on her shoulder to steady her.

The man nodded his head. “He’s a crazy one,”
he said in a slow husky voice. “Likes to run around naked, scaring
the crows.”

“I’m going to take Missy back to the
library,” Blair said in a tight voice. “Cheryl should be returning
soon.”

“No she won’t,” Missy said. “She won’t be
back until five, and it’s not even lunch time yet.”

“We need to call the police,” Blair said.

“You will come to my house,” Squally
announced.

“Maybe if we get out of the woods we can find
service,” Blair said.

“You use my phone,” Squally said. “I live
right through there.” He pointed to a thicket of trees. “I live
over that hill. Close. I have a rabbit stew.”

“I would love that,” Drake said.

“Not you,” said the man to Drake. “Not unless
the girl comes with you.”

“I can take Missy if you like,” Drake said to
Blair.

Blair rounded on him, her hands on her hips
and her face flushed. “I’m not going to leave her with
you
.”

Her words hurt almost as much as Penny’s
punch. He wondered where Penny was and what she was doing. It
surprised him that he missed her, and he wondered how long he would
miss her. He wanted to see her again, but he was too angry and
confused to see her yet. Instinctively he touched his swollen lip.
“Then come with us, Blair,” Drake said. “This is going to be much
better than sitting in the library.”

Blair raised her hand to her eyes, and Drake
knew she was shutting out a visual image of the naked man with
Missy.

“Nothing happened, Blair,” Drake said. “Missy
is fine. She’s young and innocent and has no idea what Squally may
have prevented. She probably won’t think about that man after
today. Please don’t obsess.”

But she would obsess, and looking at her
face, he knew that he was powerless to stop her.

“I can’t believe I was so careless,” she
said.

“It was as much my fault.”

“Thank you for saying that, but you know it’s
not true.” Blair glanced over at Missy. Squally was showing her how
to use the mirror to throw rays of light. “
I
was supposed to
watch her. I don’t know what Alec will say.”

Drake thought for a moment. “I’ll tell him it
was my fault.”

“No,” Blair said quickly.

Drake tried to shrug nonchalantly, then he
wrapped an arm around Blair’s waist. “Let’s go find a phone!” Drake
called to Missy and Squally who were busy making birds flutter
around shooting light rays.

Blair reached out and held tightly onto
Missy’s hand as they followed Squally deeper into the woods. Drake
dropped his arm and trailed behind.

***

Squally lived in a tiny, wood-framed house at
the end of a dirt road. The trees had been cleared in a circular
shape, and his house sat in the middle of a small sunlight valley.
A rowboat with an outboard motor dominated a slanted carport that
leaned against one side of the house. A vegetable garden flourished
on the other side. A table stood between two bent willow rockers on
the porch, and Squally motioned for them to sit. Blair sank into a
chair while Missy made friends with a large tabby that was rubbing
itself against her legs.

Drake studied the vegetable garden, wishing
he could show it to Penny. She would love it.

Squally disappeared behind a banging screen
door, and Drake whispered to Blair, “The garden is planted in some
sort of design or pattern. I think it might be a hex.”

“Or the arrangement makes weeding
significantly easier. We’re not here to discuss gardening, hexes,
or folklore. We need to use the phone and then leave.”

Disappointed with her, Drake shook his
head.

She visibly softened and said, “Some
vegetables grow better when they are placed next to other
like-minded vegetables.”

“Blair—”

“I’m serious. It’s called companion
planting.”

“That is a wagon wheel,” Drake began, but he
stopped speaking when Squally pushed open the screen door. He
carried a tray bearing glasses filled with homemade lemonade,
plates of steaming stew, and a phone.

Drake stared at the shiny piece of modern
technology that seemed out of place in the time-warp woods.

“My son bought me that,” Squally told him.
“He’s a big shot with Boeing. Always trying to get me to move into
some fancy apartment in Seattle. I tell him I like it here, I’ve
always lived here, and I plan to die here.”

Drake handed Blair the phone, but she shook
her head, reminding him that she had issues with the local police.
Not long ago the chief of police’s mother had tried to kill Blair,
putting Blair in the hospital for a number of weeks.

Drake pressed “talk” on the receiver, and the
phone blew static at him.

“Take it inside,” Squally said. “It likes to
be near its mother ship.”

Missy and Blair thanked him and accepted the
bowls of stew while Drake went into the house. Missy sat
cross-legged on the porch, and Blair and Squally sat in the
rockers. Drake watched them through the window as he called the
police.

***

“That couldn’t have been the real Nisqually,”
Drake said as they walked back to Paulson’s Pond. “Even if he were
only fifteen in 1915, that would still make him a hundred and
twelve, and he can’t be that old. Still, you should ask him to
write the Rose Arbor History. If he is who he says he is then he
has lived here all of his life. Just think of everything he would
have seen: both of the world wars, the depression, the influenza
epidemic, and the birth of the space program.”

“Sweetie, are your legs tired?”

Which seemed like a really odd response,
until she followed it up with, “Would you like a piggyback ride?”
And Drake realized she was talking to the child.

Missy nodded and was going to climb on
Blair’s back, but Drake said, “Here, I’ll take her.” He swung her
up onto his shoulders, and Missy held onto his head for
balance.

Cave people were ahead of their time when it
came to healthy eating. Their diet consisted of locally grown fresh
fruits and vegetables and the occasional wild animal. Think of your
ancestors the next time you visit the grocery store, and be
grateful that you didn’t have to catch your dinner.

From
Losing Penny and Pounds

“The secret to
amazing chili is time,” Penny told Andrea as they chopped up
peppers and onions. “The difference between a two-hour chili and an
eighteen-hour chili is like the difference between swimming in the
Caribbean Sea and taking a plunge at the local YMCA pool: you might
get wet doing both, but the experiences are half a world apart.”
She paused and waved her knife at Andrea’s diced peppers. “You want
those smaller, like mine.”

“You know, I didn’t think so at first, but
now that I know you better, you really are perfect for Drake.”

Penny’s knife stopped midair. “I don’t think
Drake thinks that I’m perfect for him.” She resumed chopping, her
knife thwacking the cutting board a little harder.

Andrea smiled. “Maybe he’s not seeing things
clearly right now, but he’ll change his mind. At first I thought
you were too sweet for him, kind of a pushover that he would walk
all over.”

“Huh. Thanks?”

“What I mean is, look at these vegetables.
You want them cut just right. And in the chili there’s a pinch of
cardamom and an
eighth
of a teaspoon of nutmeg. I mean, come
on, an eighth of a teaspoon? Who cares?”

“The judges will care. That eighth of a
teaspoon makes—”

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.
That whole eighth of a teaspoon obsession is what makes you perfect
for Drake.”

“I don’t think I’m obsessive,” Penny said,
her voice stiff.

“Maybe I’m not saying this very well, but my
point is that you and Drake match, but it isn’t obvious. It’s like
he’s the perfect amount of chili pepper and you’re the hint of
sugar, and each flavor balances the other.”

Penny lifted her spoon from the pot and
pointed it at Andrea. “You can’t tell anyone that I put sugar in my
chili.”

Andrea laughed. “What made you decide to stay
here with Drake?”

Penny launched into the interfering Aunt Mae
and the creeping Lurk story, and finished with, “But the sad thing
is, just like a really great pot of chili needs time, so do
relationships. And Drake and I…well…at the end of the summer he
goes back to his life, and I go back to mine.”

“Couldn’t you stay? You can blog from
anywhere.”

“I have a cooking show,” Penny said slowly.
Even though she didn’t say it out loud, the truth was she didn’t
want to be the girl that turned her life upside down for some guy.
“Besides, I just met Drake, and maybe you think we’re perfect
together, but like I said, Drake doesn’t think so.”

“Yes, he does. And if he doesn’t, then he’s
stupid.”

Penny chuckled. “He really is stupid if he
can’t see how great his story is
with
sea monsters in it. It
was beautiful before, but after awhile I got tired of everything
being so poetic with no action.
Something
had to
happen.”

Andrea stood and frowned into the chili
pot.

“Is something wrong?” Penny asked.

“Maybe that was my problem with Graham.”

“Graham, the hateful cracker? I thought you
were going to forget him.”

“How can I forget someone I’ve known my whole
life? He was my whole life.”

“Then what was the problem?”

“I couldn’t figure it out. I think that’s why
it hurt so badly. I couldn’t see why or where we went wrong, but
then maybe I was like Drake and his story. I couldn’t see that we
needed
something
to happen. We were boring.
I
was
boring. I was humming along, being pretty much the same person as I
had always been, content with my hamburger and milkshake life.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself,”
Penny said.

“No. I was just like the Bluebird café’s
menu: predictable and boring.” Andrea set down her knife and moved
away from the chili. “I mean, look at you. You wanted to change and
you did. You had accomplished so much before with a popular blog, a
cooking show, and as co-creator of the Watchdog, but then you
totally made over your appearance too.”

“I didn’t co-create the Watchdog, I just
turned it from being ugly to cute.”

“Exactly. You took something ho-hum and
turned it into every little girl’s must-have. And you do that every
time you cook too.” Andrea sat down at the table. “If you can
change, I can change.”

Penny crossed her arms and frowned at Andrea.
“What do you want to change? I like you the way you are.”

Andrea gave her a hard, level stare.

“Okay, that whole crying over crackers thing
was annoying, and your menu at the café is blah, but other than
that, what do you want to change?”

“A new menu, definitely.”

“And?” Penny urged.

“A new man?”

Penny smiled. “That’s exactly what I was
thinking.”

“But how can I get him to notice me?”

Penny thought for a moment. “He likes baked
goods.”

“Seriously? Food?”

“Don’t underestimate the power of food. It’s
going to win us a chili contest, and it’s going to win you Trevor
Marx’s heart.”

His mother wept in his arms as his father’s
funeral pyre floated out to sea. He tried to comfort her, tried to
tell her of the green valleys and blue skies of Ingrid’s homeland,
but she remained inconsolable. He let her dampen his shirt with her
tears.

From
Hans and the Sunstone

Drake sat in
Blair’s cottage in an overstuffed chair with his feet propped up on
an ottoman. While Charlotte had been alive, he had rarely been
invited inside her cottage, so sitting in her favorite chair felt
like a forbidden pleasure. He turned the page of Blair’s
Romantic History of Rose Arbor
. He was so engrossed in her
story that he didn’t hear the car in the drive.

Rawlings didn’t bother knocking, and Drake
stood as Alec strode in. The history fell next to Drake’s feet, and
he picked it up and hid it behind his back.

Rawlings’s jaw clenched when he saw the
kitchen table set for two. Drake glanced quickly at the spaghetti
and garlic bread warming in the oven and the large green salad on
the table and guessed that Rawlings would misread the
situation.

“What are you doing here?” Drake asked,
although he had a pretty good idea. He didn’t like Rawlings, but he
did like Blair, and he didn’t want to hurt her anymore than she was
already hurting.