Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

From the Kitchen of Verbena Fullbright

Always take the extra effort to break your eggs into a separate bowl before adding them to your cake batter. You never want one bad egg to ruin something you've worked hard to create.

Addie

Aunt Bean must have felt my panic, because she put a soothing hand on my arm and said, "Didn't I ever tell you Sawyer works part-time for his daddy?"

No. She certainly had not.

Probably because any time his name had come up in the last twelve years, I excused myself from the conversation.

She knew I didn't want to talk about Sawyer. She just didn't know why. Not the full extent of it anyway. She simply assumed, like the rest of town, that he'd broken my heart by choosing Ree over me.

And he had.

But there was more to it than that.

"Since when?" I managed to say.

She shrugged innocently. "Since Luna started school?"

Luna was in sixth grade now, so what? Five years? Six?

It was just one more thing I hadn't known because I'd moved away.

Squeezing my pendant so tightly my knuckles hurt, I glanced upward, but the scaffolding shielded him from view.

It had been so long since I'd seen him in person.

I wanted to get closer.

I wanted to run.

I took deep breaths and tried to think of everything other than Ree's secret. Silently, I started listing as many colors as I could see. The terra-cotta puddles in the parking lot. The umber wood tone of the porch boards. The streaks of green in the stones stacked on the shop's exterior.

Tessa Jane turned my way, as if sensing my distress. Her pale brows were drawn low and worry floated in her eyes. After a moment, she looked the other way but then abruptly said, "Best we get out of this weather, don't y'all think? We can catch up with Sawyer inside."

Not waiting for anyone to answer, she stepped forward to open the door at the same time Ty reached for the handle. Their hands bumped. They both froze. Then Tessa Jane quickly took a step back and jammed her fists into the deep pockets of her coat.

Ty yanked open the door. Through clenched teeth, he said, "Ladies first."

Aunt Bean's eyebrows were pulled low in consternation as she strode past them, rain droplets sliding off her plastic hood and down her raincoat. Tessa Jane followed, her back ramrod straight.

I hesitated and the starlings trilled. I wasn't sure if they were encouraging me to go inside or urging me to make a run for it.

Aunt Bean gave me a tender smile and there was an understanding glint in her eyes as she said, "Addie?"

Pulled forward by her gentleness, I reluctantly stepped into the bakery.

Once through the door, I was immediately wrapped in a vanilla scent I'd recognize anywhere. It came from Aunt Bean's special extract recipe. My anxiety all but vanished as the air went eerily still. I glanced around in astonishment.

There was nothing left to hint that this space used to be a laundromat. The cement floors had been covered in reclaimed heart pine boards. Cinder block walls had been Sheetrocked and painted a deep blue subtly flecked with gold. Raised panels, about shoulder high, were topped with a rustic wooden shelf. Worn butcher-block countertops gleamed. Light danced along brass-trimmed menu boards. Display cases sparkled, and I could easily see Bean's cakes sitting in them. Like her Gimme Some Sugar cake—a moist brown sugar, cinnamon, and toasted pecan cake filled and topped with cinnamon frosting. Or her Strawberry Stardust cake, which had three layers of strawberry cake, strawberry and cream filling, and was covered in delightful buttercream made with strawberry puree.

From a wooden beam that ran along the vaulted ceiling hung an iridescent glass starling that held a string of three large silvery glass stars, each piece unique, puffed with enchantment.

The room was cozy and inviting, whimsical and charming.

It felt like a hug.

It felt like love.

It was Aunt Bean, pure and simple.

And maybe, I realized, that had been the intention of the renovation all along.

Tears stung my eyes as I watched her studying the glasswork. Light reflected off the pieces, making them seem like they were somehow moving.

"It's my favorite thing about the whole renovation," she said, noticing me looking at her. "Ernie plumb outdid herself."

Tessa Jane had tears in her eyes as well. "It's beyond perfect."

Down the hall came the sound of a power saw and voices. Without tables and chairs in the space, the sounds echoed, bouncing around.

Smiling, Bean waited for the noise to die down before adding, "Ernie knew exactly what it was I wanted and made it happen."

Ty wore a sad-yet-pleased smile as he, too, gazed upward. "She's right proud of them."

"She should be," Tessa Jane said.

His smile vanished. A vein bulged in his neck. He raked a hand through shaggy brown hair, pushing it off his face.

The man knew how to hold a grudge, that was for sure, and honestly, my heart hurt for him, because I understood that his anger was rooted in years of pain. The endless ache that came with loss was one I knew well.

"You should pay Ernie a visit," Aunt Bean said to Tessa Jane. "Tell her yourself. I know she'd love to see you both. She's always had a soft spot for the two of you."

Ty glared for a second at Tessa Jane before looking away again, and then I heard a quiet snort.

I took a step forward, aiming to place myself between her and him, to block the bitterness, but Tessa Jane was already on the move.

"Oh, so sorry," she said, when she stepped on his foot on her way to take a closer look at the bakery case.

Accidentally-on-purpose, I guessed.

He smiled tightly. "Steel-toed boots. Didn't feel a thing."

"Pity," I heard her whisper as she passed by me.

My eyes widened. Where had this sassy side of her come from?

Aunt Bean suddenly banged her walking stick against the floor two times and narrowed her gaze at Ty. "What's got your britches in a wad this morning, Tyler Underwood? Do I need to get your mama on the phone?"

Tessa Jane and I gasped. It didn't matter how old you were, threatening to call someone's mama was the ultimate reprimand.

Ty's cheeks burned red, but he didn't say anything in response.

"I'm guessing you're a mite tired," Bean suggested. "What with taking care of all those animals at your place and looking after your mama. Addie, would you mind rustling us up some coffee? There should be a pot in the kitchen. I'm sure some caffeine will straighten Ty right out. Ain't so, Ty?"

Most people round here would've simply ignored his mood or pulled him aside and told him to quit being ugly. But Aunt Bean wasn't most people. She'd effectively let him know that she'd circled the wagons around Tessa Jane, but cared enough about him to give him a second chance to shape up.

If he had a lick of sense, he'd agree even if he didn't even like coffee.

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled. "Coffee would be great. Thank you."

I started for the kitchen and Tessa Jane fell in step with me. "I'll help."

We walked around the display cases, toward the double swinging doors that led into the kitchen. Behind us, Aunt Bean started talking about the renovation work happening today as if nothing major had just happened.

Once the doors closed behind Tessa Jane and me, we looked at each other, eyes wide in surprise.

After a moment, I said, "He deserved it for being so unkind to you. I've never seen him like that."

"Well, it's nothing new to me."

I thought again about a small boy whose father had been taken away, but knew that if there was ever a time to circle my wagons, too, this was it. "When we go back out there, I can kick him in the shin if you want."

Her eyes lit, then she shook her head. "Probably best to just let it go." She then glanced around. "Whoa, look at this place."

Whoa was right.

High rectangular windows and overhead fixtures flooded the space with light. There were four long worktables, deep sinks, many racks, shelving galore, a giant dishwasher, bakery-depth ovens, a range top, and two industrial reach-in refrigerators. Large ocean-blue hexagon tiles with a worn, rustic finish covered the floor. The walls had been painted in warm orange tones, and the stainless steel counters reflected it, making it look like the color of a sunrise.

If the front of the bakery represented nighttime, the kitchen was daybreak.

It was a bright room. Happy. I could easily picture the Sugarbirds in here, twittering away while creating magic.

Tessa Jane walked into the middle of the room and spun in a slow circle, taking everything in. "The culinary school I went to had a less impressive kitchen."

I knew she had to be exaggerating, but I got the gist. Aunt Bean had clearly spared no expense.

She said, "Has Aunt Bean talked about expanding the business?"

"Not to me. Why?"

"It's excessive, is all."

The whole renovation had been a bit excessive, in my opinion, but I loved seeing Aunt Bean reflected in the space. Even in the commercial kitchen, her love of color shined through. "You know Aunt Bean. If she's in, she's all in."

It felt so strange to be talking with Tessa Jane. Strange and not wholly comfortable, if I was being honest.

I sidestepped to a counter near the swinging doors where the coffee maker sat, its pot full. Stacks of paper cups sat alongside it, along with lids, sleeves, stirrer sticks, pods of half-and-half, and sugar packets. I filled four cups nearly to the top and glanced over my shoulder at Tessa Jane.

She was running her palm back and forth across a worktable, a thoughtful look on her face.

Because of the growing silence, I forced myself to say something. "Do the renovations inspire you to bake a cake?" After all, she was a pastry chef. This kitchen had to look like a dream come true to her.

"I think I'll leave the cake making to the Sugarbirds," she said tightly.

Before I could dissect her response, I heard Aunt Bean greet Sawyer with a loud, hearty hello.

He'd finally come inside.

My hand stilled, mid-stir of the sugar I'd added to my coffee.

Tessa Jane stepped up next to me. She added hazelnut half-and-half to one of the cups I'd filled, and her voice held a note of apprehension as she said, "Do you not want to see Sawyer? You two were close once, weren't you?"

Because she was trying to make conversation even though she clearly wasn't comfortable either, part of me wanted to tell her what had happened between Sawyer and me. To share something of myself with her. To see if I could open up just the tiniest bit.

And also to get it off my chest. Out of my heart.

But I couldn't.

" Once was a long time ago." I set the stir stick aside and put a lid on my cup.

"Have you seen him at all since you moved away?"

I shook my head.

The power saw whirred again, then quieted.

"How do you think Ty likes his coffee?" I asked, needing to change the subject.

"With a little salt?" Then she gave a small shake of her head. "I meant sugar."

I smiled as I pictured an angel sitting on one of her shoulders, a devil on the other. I dumped four packets of sugar into his cup. "The more sweetness he can get, the better."

She handed me another packet. "One to grow on."

"Good thinking." I poured it in.

She said, "I know why he acts the way he does. I do. But I wish he'd realize that what happened wasn't my fault."

I swallowed hard, knowing, feeling , that I'd hurt her much the same way he had. Before I could talk myself out of it, I said, "Sometimes it's easier to hide from the truth instead of facing the pain that comes with it."

Our gazes met. This was the longest conversation we'd ever had. My skin prickled. My heart rate skyrocketed. I finally had to look away because I felt stripped bare in that moment, completely exposed.

Which was why I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door swung open. Aunt Bean filled the doorway as she stared at us, an eyebrow raised. "Just checkin' to see if you two had gotten lost back here."

Tessa Jane snapped a lid on a cup. "We've been admiring the renovation."

"It's something, isn't it? Now finish up and come on out and say hello to Sawyer."

"Yes, ma'am," we answered in unison.

The door swung shut behind her, and we quickly finished making the coffees in silence.

Tessa Jane picked up two cups, placed a shoulder against the door and pushed it open—but only an inch or so. She looked directly at me. "If you want to sneak out the back, I'll cover for you."

In her eyes, compassion swam in a sea of blue. Sudden emotion twisted my heart, wringing it out. Her offer might have been the kindest one I'd ever been given.

And it was tempting. So tempting.

"Thanks," I finally said, picking up two cups, "but I should probably get it over with. Seeing him, I mean. And it might be easier with people around."

"Girls!" Aunt Bean said. "I swannee ."

"Coming." Tessa Jane took another step, fully opening the door. Holding it open for me.

Pulling my shoulders back, I stepped forward.

The last time I'd seen Sawyer had been a sunny summer day a lifetime ago in a cemetery not too far from here.

I'd left town the very next day.

I tried to avoid looking at him now, but I couldn't tear my gaze away. He'd always been a big guy—the kind that should play football, but he'd never been interested in the sport. Shy and quiet, he'd preferred books and music and long walks in the woods. He was a gentle kind of giant.

Old wounds ripped open as I studied his face, which had hardened a bit with age. Copper shot through the stubble covering his cheeks, his jaw. Long russet eyelashes framed his hazel eyes, a beautiful mix of pale green with a touch of gold and brown. Freckles dotted his nose, his cheeks. His broad shoulders sagged just a bit, as if he carried the weight of the world, and his soulful eyes reflected it. He'd always felt things deeply, as if life itself depended on him. Seemed that hadn't changed.

"Hi, Sawyer," Tessa Jane said as she handed Bean a cup. "Good to see you again."

I couldn't speak, so I only nodded, hoping it conveyed that I was glad, too.

Though I wasn't. I'd been dreading this day for years.

I stepped in close to Aunt Bean and handed Ty his extra-sweet coffee. He took a sip, winced. But to his credit, he kept drinking it.

"Would you like some coffee, Sawyer?" Tessa Jane asked. "I'd be happy to fix you a cup."

"That's okay, thank you." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I've got a thermos full around here somewhere."

Ty cleared his throat. "Is this a good time for you to look at the suggested changes to the restroom plans, Miss Verbena?"

Aunt Bean looked between me and Sawyer, then said, "All right, but let's make it quick. I'll be right back, girls. Y'all carry on."

I knew I should've made a run for it when I'd had the chance.

A hazelnut scent wafted from Tessa Jane's cup as she took a sip of coffee, then said to Sawyer, "How's Luna doing?"

Luna . Oh my heart.

The last time I'd seen her in person, she'd been wrapped like a burrito in a white knit blanket, sleeping peacefully. Her newborn cheeks had been rosy red, her tiny lips pursed, and she had a tiny pink bow clipped to her dark fluffy hair.

She'd be twelve in July.

"Good. Great, even," Sawyer said, rocking on the heels of his work boots. "She's currently with my folks up in Mentone."

"Aunt Bean mentioned Annabelle had her baby," Tessa Jane said. "Congratulations."

"Thanks. She's a tiny thing with big ol' lungs. Luna's in love, and I'm not sure how I'll convince her to come home without the baby in tow." He pulled out his phone, swiped a few times, and showed us a picture of a young girl with curly dark hair and blue eyes peeking over the edge of a bassinet that held a tiny baby.

"She's beautiful," I forced myself to say, pretending that Aunt Bean hadn't been sending me pictures of Luna all these years. Every time I'd receive one, I'd enlarge the photo to study her. To soak her in, to look for resemblance to her mama, to simply get to know who she'd become.

Tessa Jane smiled. "Is she still on winter break?"

I listened to every word like they were cookies and I was starving. It'd been a long time since I'd heard about Luna without it being filtered through Aunt Bean first.

"Technically," Sawyer said as he tucked his phone into his pocket, "she started back last week, but she's able to do her work online. School's come a long way since we were kids."

He held his damp ball cap in his hands. It looked like as soon as he'd taken it off, he'd run a hand through his gingery-brown hair. It stuck out every which way, reminding me of long-ago summers when we'd splash around in Sassafras Creek, which twined through the woods that bordered the starlight field.

We'd spent a lot of time together as kids, as his family's farmhouse wasn't too far from ours. We went on adventures through the woods, played on his swing set and trampoline, caught lightning bugs. As we got older, we'd go for long hikes, taking lunch with us. We built a treehouse in the woods. We read old comic books, played board games, found shapes in the clouds, wished on shooting stars. When I joined the theater program, so did he. When we met Ree, it felt natural to fold her into our friendship. And for a while it had been the three of us against the world.

Fighting tears, fighting longing for what used to be, I bit the inside of my cheek. I shifted my gaze to look out the front windows.

"Sure has," Tessa Jane said with a laugh. "Did she get the part in the play?"

Play? What play?

"Yeah. She did," Sawyer said, smiling.

My god, his smile. It made my knees weak.

Tessa Jane's eyes were filled with empathy as she said to me, "At Thanksgiving dinner Luna was talking up a storm about trying out for a children's theater production of Alice in Wonderland . She was practicing her Frog voice on us. I had no doubt she'd get the role. Best ribbitting I've ever heard."

Thanksgiving. Right. I'd bowed out the minute I knew Tessa Jane was going to be there. Another regret to add to the growing pile.

"If you're still in town in March, I know Luna would love for you to see the performance. Both of you," Sawyer added.

Learning that Luna was a theater kid filled my heart to the tippy top. Ree would be beyond proud. She loved acting more than anything. Well, almost.

Sawyer tucked his hat into his back pocket and added, "But I suspect you'll see her far before then. Once she's back from Mentone I'm afraid she's of a mind to camp out on Miss Verbena's doorstep. So if you open the door and see a tent, don't be alarmed."

Tessa Jane laughed. The sound was light and sparkly. "Why's that?"

"She wants to talk to Addie."

My heart dropped clear to the floor. I shifted my gaze to meet his and it was easy to see his inner light shining in the hazel depths.

"She wants to know more about Ree."

I swallowed hard, thinking of my best friend. Of her quick laugh, her dark eyes, her devilish personality, her determination to be someone , do something , to get far away from Starlight. Her secret perched on the tip of my tongue, ready to take flight, and the stabbing pain returned to my chest.

I gripped my star pendant for dear life and eyed the front door. Four long strides, maybe five, and I could be out of here. And free of the pain. At least temporarily.

It always came back.

Sawyer's gaze cut toward the hallway, then found its way back to me. "Luna knows why you're here in Starlight. Knows Miss Verbena is feeling poorly. And I told her you might not be in the mood to take a walk down memory lane, but she's stubborn and persistent. What she wants, she goes after until she gets it."

In my head, I could hear Ree's determined voice saying, "Just watch me."

My throat ached as I said, "Sounds a lot like her mama."

He didn't agree or disagree. Only said, "I didn't want Luna to blindside you by showing up out of the blue. Don't feel obligated to talk with her. Just send her on home to me." He glanced toward the hallway again. "I best be getting to work on that electric panel." He started walking off toward the back of the shop. Then he stopped, turned. "It was real good seeing y'all again."

With that, he was gone.

I blew out a breath. I'd done it. I'd kept the secret. But I felt torn to pieces from keeping quiet.

As soon as his footsteps faded, Tessa Jane asked, her voice low, "You okay?"

I wasn't, not really. I gave a halfhearted shrug and walked over to the window and looked out. The starlings, I noticed, were gone.

I took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm the turmoil within me by focusing on the scents around me.

I was amazed that after all its renovations the bakery still held on to the scent of vanilla.

And that after all this time, Sawyer still smelled of pine.

Later that night, I stood inside a room on the second floor of the big red barn, a space no bigger than a decent walk-in closet. It was packed with cleaning supplies, and had a stained ceiling with a single low-wattage lightbulb that cast the room in spooky shadows, a thick wooden door, creaky floorboards, and a small window that was painted shut.

It was going to take a lot of effort to make the room work as a recording studio, but it was doable.

I began a mental checklist of things to be done, starting first with a full cleanout since the shelving and supplies would cause unwanted echoes. I'd also need to add acoustic tiles to the walls, a thick rug, and hang a heavy drape over the window.

I pulled out my phone to start a shopping list when it rang, the ringtone, "Too Good at Goodbyes" by Sam Smith, revealing exactly who was calling.

My mama, Cecelia.

It was almost eleven, and I sighed, debating whether to answer.

She'd been calling multiple times a day since Friday evening, and I'd been ignoring each and every call. Because she didn't leave a voicemail, I knew it wasn't an emergency. Like the time I'd had to bail her out of jail after she was arrested for indecent exposure for bathing nude on what wasn't a nude beach.

My mama, I'd come to discover as I aged, was a lot .

She was loud, overdramatic, and often acted inappropriately for attention. Even if it got her in legal trouble. Hand in hand with that, however, she could be extremely charming and flirtatious. I suspected that's what my father had been drawn to initially—but knew I was the reason he'd stayed.

I'd been in my early twenties when my mama admitted to me that they'd only married because I was on the way. She'd told me how he begged her to say yes to his proposal. How he wore her down. How she'd felt trapped.

When I asked if she'd meant trapped by marrying him—or having me—she'd said it didn't much matter now.

But it had explained a lot.

She'd never really wanted to be a mother.

But my daddy had always loved being a father.

The phone kept singing and I took a deep breath and answered. "Hello?"

"Finally!" Mama exclaimed. "You've been harder to catch than a greased-up hog."

"I've been busy."

"I heard tell. Moving in again with Verbena."

I didn't ask how she knew. It didn't matter.

"Feels like a step backward to me," she said, her voice sweet but sharp. "You're twenty-eight now. Too old to be moving back home."

I clenched my teeth. "Twenty-nine."

"I think I would know, Addison."

I breathed in for five counts. I knew better than to try and correct her. In her mind, she was never wrong.

Suddenly feeling like I was suffocating in the small space, I stepped into the hallway, then strode into the large storage room at the rear of the barn. I scooted around sacks of flour and headed straight to a large window that overlooked the backyard.

I put the phone on speaker so I could use both hands to shove the window upward, using more force than necessary.

"It's been a long day. Why're you calling, Mama?" I asked, gulping in the cool breeze and wishing I hadn't answered her call.

It had taken me years and a truckload of therapy to understand the emotional damage she had done to me as a child.

She rarely visited. She didn't call on my birthday, let alone send a present. She hadn't even sent a card when I'd been hospitalized with appendicitis when I was fourteen.

Yet, I couldn't bring myself to fully cut her out of my life. Somewhere in me still was the little girl who hoped her mama would come back. The little girl who never understood why her mama had left her behind.

And… I'd seen with my own eyes that she had some good in her. Not a whole lot, but enough to give me hope that one day she'd change.

"You know why," Mama said.

It was impossible not to notice the glow of the starlight aurora in the distance, dimmer than usual because it had been a cloudy day. Some of the scientists who visited at least once a year to study the phenomenon speculated the light was some sort of bioluminescent event, which sort of made sense, since it seemed to be powered by sunlight. Others thought it had to do with mineral deposits left behind by the meteorite. No one knew for sure. However, everyone in Starlight was more than happy to believe it came from bits of broken star.

No matter how cloudy the day, at night the land still glowed weakly, offering a hint of what could be. A gas stove burner on low versus high. Even faint, the light was take-your-breath- away lovely. And finding clarity, certainty, was still possible.

While I wasn't necessarily a fan of the gift the starlight offered, I'd always been able to appreciate its stunning beauty. Ribbons of blue, silver, green, and gold light swayed in the darkness. As it always did, the sight brought tears to my eyes and made my chest expand with an emotion that was hard to identify. There was just something so powerful about the light, a reminder, really, that there was still so much about this world that was mysteriously beautiful.

"Are you wondering about Aunt Bean's health?" I asked, knowing full well that wasn't why she called. She rarely asked after Bean. Heck, she rarely asked after me . "Because we don't know much at this point."

She called only when she wanted something from me. Usually money. Or, like today, a renewal of my promise to always pretend I was an only child—using me to nurture her hatred in her absence.

Her voice was calm, even, but it was coated in ice. "I hear she's there, too."

By she , she meant Tessa Jane. Mama never said her name. Not hers or Henrietta's, whom she only called that woman .

By all accounts, my parents had never had a happy marriage. According to Aunt Bean, they'd tried their hardest to make it work in deference to me and had sheltered me from the worst of it. Knowing what I knew now, it was likely my daddy who'd done the sheltering. I was beyond glad I didn't remember the separations, the arguments. My earliest memory had been when my mama left.

"You know how I feel about her ," Mama said, still talking about Tessa Jane.

I did know.

Because she had always told me that if I loved her I had to feel the same.

I studied the shimmery starlight, captivated and oddly comforted by its familiarity. Soon, though, my gaze drifted to the small cabin near the edge of the woods. Lights glowed in the windows, and I couldn't help picturing Sawyer's face, those hazel eyes. My attention was drawn away from the cabin by the sound of quacking. I shifted a bit to get a better view of the farmhouse's backyard. In the shine of a floodlight, I saw Tessa Jane running around, chasing after the ducks, trying to herd them into the shed that was their temporary home. They were outwitting her at every turn.

I smiled at the antics.

"You know what I expect of you," Mama said.

I knew.

But I wasn't a little girl anymore who believed her mother's empty promises.

Back then I didn't really think I had a choice in the matter. Not if I wanted her back.

Now I knew better.

Now I knew she never should've asked such a thing of me in the first place.

Outside, the ducks kept quacking. In the light, I could see Tessa Jane's smile, and could hear the humorous, cajoling tone she was using to convince them to go to bed.

"I have to go now, Mama," I said abruptly.

"But—"

"Bye!"

I hung up, quickly closed the window, and hurried next door to help my sister rustle up some ducks.