The Secret Ingredient of Wishes (13 page)

Ashe stared across the room at nothing, as if the scent had muddled his mind. Shaking his head, he asked, “Are you sick of pie yet?”

“I think I've eaten more pie in the past few weeks than I have in my entire life,” she said.

He pulled the pan away from her.

“Not that I'm complaining,” Rachel said, leaning over him for another forkful. Her elbow brushed his stomach and she braced a hand on his knee to keep from falling off the bucket. The heat from his leg seeped through his jeans and warmed her hand. She took a deep breath and pulled away. When she held her fork in the air, triumphant, a glob of strawberry glaze dripped to the dusty floor. “Damn it.”

Ashe suppressed a smile. “You do realize the punishment for wasting perfectly good pie is death, don't you?” he asked, in as serious a voice as he could muster. He looked down at the floor again, shaking his head. With no napkin to clean up the mess, he left it there to seep into the concrete.

“At least I'll die with a happy stomach.”

“Since it's your first offense, I guess I can let it slide.” He held the dish out to her. They'd already eaten more than half of it.

“I should really stop eating.” She reached for another bite, hesitated, and then dropped her fork into the pan. “I'm done. The rest is yours.”

“If you think I won't eat it all, you are sadly mistaken. I've got to prepare for the pie-eating contest in a couple weeks. This is my year. I can feel it.”

His crooked smile removed all traces of his earlier heartache and frustration. Rachel couldn't help but laugh at his enthusiasm. When he smiled at her like that, something inside her wanted to make it last as long as possible. “Is there really a pie-eating contest?” she asked.

“At the barbecue festival. Catch's grandmother started it, then her mom took over, then Catch. She never had any kids, though, so I'm not sure who her successor will be. A few other ladies have their eye on it, but it just won't be the same if the pies aren't made with Sisson recipes. And Catch isn't about to give those up.”

“I'm sure she'd give them to you.”

“Only as a last resort. Even then I'd have to promise never to use them, which would defeat the purpose altogether.” His smile turned sheepish when she raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “I kinda blew up a mud pie in her oven when I was a kid. Don't think she's completely forgiven me yet. So, she'd be better off giving them to you,” he said.

Yeah, maybe after I've been here twenty years.
The idea that she could put down roots in Nowhere was too overwhelming—too permanent—to even consider yet. “So not very likely, then, huh? And anyway, her trees don't seem to like me much.” Rachel shook her head, then regretted bringing it up. How could she explain that Catch's trees tried to poison her? It sounded crazy, which was something she tried hard to avoid. But Ashe seemed to bring that out in her—an inability to keep her guard up around him.

He didn't seem fazed. “They're finicky. The trees. But once you get to know them, you'll figure out what they want.”

She swallowed hard. “What do you mean?” She leaned closer to him, her nerves buzzing along her skin.

“Well, the peach trees like to caress people as they walk by; the pear can be stingy with its fruit if the other trees get picked more often than it does; and the plum produces sweet, tart, bland, or sour fruit to match its mood.” He grinned and took another bite of pie. “But since I planted the plum tree after accidentally running over its predecessor with my bike, it's only fitting that it's imbued with some of my personality to balance out the other trees.”

Rachel searched his face for any sign that he was mocking her. All she found was the familiar confidence that made his eyes sparkle. “You're serious? You actually think they have personalities, like people?”

Ashe nodded. “And whatever is going on with the plum tree seems to be affecting the others. Catch'll find a way to fix them, though. Most of them have been around for generations, so she won't let them go without a fight.”

“I get the sense she usually gets her way,” Rachel said.

“She got you to stay.”

She was surprised to find that made her happy. And a little nervous. With the number of wishes following her around, it was only a matter of time before someone discovered what she could do. And even in a place that accepted Catch's ability so easily, there was no guarantee that they would accept her. “I should go.”

Ashe stood when she did. He set the flimsy metal dish on the seat she'd vacated. His fingers wrapped lightly around her forearm, holding her in place. “What are you doing later?” he asked.

She paused at the door. “Besides trying to fight off a sugar coma? Probably just being antisocial as usual.”

“Maybe I'll see you at dinner, then.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Thanks for sharing your pie.”

She pushed through the sheet of plastic covering the doorway without looking back. The more attached she became to people in Nowhere, the harder it would be for her to leave them if the wishes continued to plague her. But the way her heart hammered at even the thought of going anywhere else told her she was already in trouble.

 

13

Rachel spent her day off playing phone tag with Mary Beth and thumbing through recipe books. She'd scoured the library for a novel but concluded that Catch didn't know what fiction was. Nothing she tried took her mind off her conversation with Ashe for very long.

By mid-afternoon, she had almost convinced herself to ask Catch if it was possible to bind her ability. But that would require admitting to Catch what she could do. Rachel wasn't sure she was ready for that. When she walked into the kitchen and found Catch dozing over a cookbook, she tried to sneak back out. The back door was open, the screen door unlatched. It screeched as the wind caught it and threw it open wide.

Catch's head jerked up, the knife slipping from her grasp to clatter against the floor. Dried chocolate pie filling flaked off the blade. Rachel was across the room before Catch seemed to register what had happened. Her eyes were glazed, distant, when they followed Rachel to the door.

After pulling both doors closed, Rachel retrieved the knife and set it on the counter out of Catch's reach. She mentally traced the deep lines in the woman's face and the almost-purple hollows of her cheeks. She and Catch came out of their respective dazes at the same time. “You okay?” Rachel asked.

“Fine. I'm fine,” Catch said, her voice betraying her irritation at the question.

Rachel held up her hands in surrender. “It was just a question. No need to bite my head off.”

Catch muttered something that almost sounded like “Sorry” and took a long drink of water, the glass shaking in her hand. Her face regained a bit of color. Rachel wondered if she should let Ashe know Catch seemed sick, knowing Catch would never admit it even if she were unwell.

They both turned at the light rapping on the door. Whoever was on the other side was standing far enough to the side that Rachel couldn't see more than a shoulder. It was bare except for the purse strap the woman clutched with manicured nails.

“Get on outta here, now,” Catch said, turning to Rachel and shooing her away with a wave of her wrinkly hand. “This one doesn't concern you.”

Lola shifted into view, biting her lip and looking through the yard toward Ashe's house. Her hair was pinned up in loose curls.

“You know what she wants?” Rachel asked. She stood, but didn't head out of the kitchen.

“I've got a pretty good idea. And since I don't plan on helping her, I can't have you around to hear what she has to say.” She flapped a dish towel at Rachel, smacking her thighs three times in rapid succession.

Rachel rubbed at the red streaks blooming on her skin. “Make her beg a little first.”

“You are bad.”

“Yeah. But I'm not the one that broke Ashe's heart.”

“You've got a point there. Now get,” Catch said.

Rachel slipped out of the kitchen and tiptoed up the stairs. She made it halfway up before curiosity got the better of her. Sitting quietly on the step, she hugged the rail post and listened.

Lola's heels tapped across the kitchen tile. “Good afternoon, Miss Sisson. Do you have a minute?”

“You came to the side door, so I know this ain't a social call. Just say what you've gotta say, Lola.”

“All right. I didn't want to have to come to you about this, but I honestly don't know what else to do.”

“Confession,” Catch grunted. “Pie won't do you much good, but God might.”

“I'm not trying to put the cat back in the bag, I just—”

“Good thing. It can't be done. The best you can hope for is to keep things from getting any worse.”

“So, you'll help?” Lola asked.

Rachel held her breath.
If she says yes, I'm going down there and tossing Lola out myself.
She scooted down one step, then another to hear better.

“I didn't say that,” Catch said. Her tone was sharp, biting. “You got yourself into this mess. I'm sure you can find a way out of it that doesn't involve me.”

“Everyone already knows what I did. But I don't want Ashe finding out who it was. That would kill him.”

“You're the one that's done it to him, not me. So don't stand there and pretend like you care about him. That's my job now. And I ain't lying to the boy. He deserves better than that.”

“I know you don't like me, Miss Sisson. You never did. But if you don't help me, Ashe is the one who's gonna get hurt even more.”

“Too late for that, girlie. Now, get outta my kitchen,” Catch said, her tone even but firm.

The door slammed a few seconds later. The windows in the dining room rattled with the force of it. Rachel slipped off her shoes and tiptoed up the stairs. She made it less than five steps when Catch yelled to her.

“I know you're hovering out there.” The sharpness of her gravelly voice cut through the silence.

Rachel contemplated continuing up without responding. She paused in mid-step, foot frozen in indecision.

“You may as well come back in here so we can have ourselves a little chat about what you overheard,” Catch called.

Shoes in hand, Rachel slunk back to the kitchen. “I'm sorry, Catch.” She kept her eyes trained on the floor.

“Well, she didn't say anything you didn't already know.” Catch thrust the side door's lock into position as if that would keep all the town's depraved secrets out. “Ooh, that girl really burns my butt. She's got some nerve coming here asking me to cover up something like that. What's worse, she thought I'd actually do it. What kinda woman would that make me? I'd tell Ashe everything just to spite her if it wouldn't wreck him.”

“You know who she slept with?” Rachel asked.

“I had the misfortune of catching them at it. Right in my own damn backyard too.”

Rachel looked out the back window. She could see why someone would think it might be a good place for a tryst. The trees at the back of the small orchard were shapeless blobs. Bodies could be swallowed whole in their shadows. Specks of light from Ashe's house filtered through the indistinguishable leaves, making the yard look alive.

“What did you do?”

“Threw the biggest rock I could find. Caught him just above his right ear. I was aiming for her, but when I saw him the next day with a lump the size of Alabama on his head and realized he'd been the one with her, I was damn glad I'd missed her. Good thing Little-Miss-Cheater-Pants was smart enough not to come over to my house and ask for my help then. I might've beaten her senseless with my rolling pin.” She rapped the flour-dusted rolling pin against her other hand with a few loud smacks.

“If Lola could do that to someone like Ashe, she didn't have any sense to begin with,” Rachel said. “And I don't think anyone would've held it against you for mangling her pretty face once they found out what she'd done.”

A smile tugged at Catch's lips. “And to add insult to injury, every plum growing on the tree closest to where they'd been with each other rotted on the branch the next day. Not even the birds would touch 'em.”

Rachel paused, considered Catch might not like the next question, then asked anyway. “Don't you think Ashe deserves to know?”

Catch turned on the sink faucet and took a sponge to the rolling pin in quick, jerky movements. “He's still got a better heart than most, despite having it trampled on by a harpy. Knowing the truth would only hurt him more. And I'm not going to be the one to do it. I just wish he—”

Rachel grabbed Catch's arm, her fingers pressing harder than she intended into the soft flesh. “Don't.”

“What? I'm not allowed to want him to move on, to be happy?” Catch demanded, yanking her arm free and fisting her hand on the counter. She dropped the rolling pin into the sink with a heavy thud and pinned Rachel to her seat with a watery stare.

“No, you are. Of course you are,” Rachel said. Her face burned with embarrassment. “I want that for him too.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“I just don't want you wishing for things that might not make him happy.”

Catch stared at her, one gray eyebrow stretching toward her hairline, and asked, “And after a month you think you know what makes him happy?”

“No. But I do know that no good's ever come from wishing,” Rachel said.

“Well, Little-Miss-Doom-and-Gloom, too damn bad for you, 'cause I'm gonna do it anyway. And you're gonna sit there with your mouth shut until I do.”

She could sit there. Just hearing the wish wouldn't make it come true. But she couldn't let it happen without one last caution. “Just don't wish for anything you might regret. Please.”

Catch hesitated, as if she understood how much power her words held and needed to get the phrasing exactly right. “I wish Ashe would find someone to love him like he deserves to be loved and who makes him laugh, 'cause that boy has a good laugh, and the world would be a better place if it happened more often.”