While I was busy getting a little lost in my head, the meeting broke up. I stacked my folding chair with the others and followed everyone up the stairs. Maybe Sophie wouldn’t even be in the kitchen tonight if she had birthday plans.
At the top of the stairs I headed down the hall toward the kitchen door. I peeked through the oblong window and saw her in there, spatula in hand, standing over the stove.
The sight of her flooded me with inappropriate relief. It was stupid of me to care where Sophie spent her birthday. In fact, I ought to be rooting for her to have a night out somewhere with friends. But the sight of her made me happy. I lived for Wednesdays and Thursdays. Pathetic as that was, a weekly glimpse of Sophie (along with some quality time with the Shipleys) kept me sane.
Instead of pushing open the kitchen door, I turned around and walked out of the church. It was five minutes after five. Where could a guy find a birthday cake at this hour?
I didn’t have my car with me, so a trip to Foodway wasn’t going to work. And since Colebury, Vermont was postage-stamp sized, there was really only one option.
Trotting the two blocks toward Main Street, I found the storefront I was looking for. Crumbs looked like an expensive little bakery. It hadn’t been here before I went to prison. And I was pretty sure I was on a fool’s errand. Indeed, when I reached the door, the little front seating area was dark. The sign in the window indicated they’d closed at five. But I still saw lights on in back. So I knocked on the front door. When nobody came, I knocked again. Harder.
Finally, a harried-looking woman in an apron emerged, squinting at the front to try to figure out who was pounding. She walked over to the glass door but did not open it. “We’re closed,” she mouthed.
“I really need a birthday cake,” I yelled. “Please?” I gave her my best harmless smile, but that wasn’t easy for me. I’ve never looked harmless.
The woman wavered. I saw the indecision flicker in her eyes. “Come around back,” she said finally.
She didn’t have to ask me twice. I jogged around the building, finding a metal door in the alleyway. She opened it, still looking worried.
“I’m sorry,” I said immediately. “I forgot someone’s birthday, and she’s really important to me.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “If this is some kind of trick, it’s pretty much the lowest thing I’ve ever heard. And karma is my middle name.”
“Karma and I are well acquainted,” I assured her.
She smiled. “When I said karma was my middle name, I meant it literally.”
“What?”
She tapped the nametag on her apron, which read K.K. “This stands for Katy Karma. Look.” She grabbed her pocketbook from under the counter and flipped it open.
I peered at her driver’s license. Sure enough, it read Kathryn Karma White. “Shut the front door,” I teased.
“Weird right? So which cake do you want?” She beckoned me over to a refrigerator with a glass door. “There’s a Black Forest cake—that has cherries in the middle. Or German chocolate. Both are twenty-five dollars. You got cash?”
Shit. “I have ten bucks cash and a credit card.”
She sighed. “Cash register is shut down already.”
This was never going to work. Sophie, I failed you again. Story of my life. “Okay—I’ll leave my card here, and you can charge it tomorrow. And I’ll leave my ten bucks too.”
She heaved a big sigh. “If you get me fired…”
“I know. Karma.”
“Which one do you want?”
“Black Forest,” I said quickly. “She likes cherries.”
“Lemme get a box.”
Ten minutes later I was walking back into the church, feeling kind of stupid. Sophie probably had an entire birthday party planned. But hey, nobody could have too much cake. The other people in the kitchen would probably like it.
“Please tell me that’s a pie and that Ruthie Shipley made it.” Father Peters came toward me in the hallway, his grin wide.
“Sorry to disappoint.” His smile was contagious. “This is second best.” I glanced toward the kitchen. “It’s Sophie’s birthday. During cleanup, would you mind…” I held out the box. “It should be, um, from all of us.”
Father Peters took the box from me, looking thoughtful. “I didn’t know it was Sophie’s birthday. I was with her mother a couple of hours ago, and she didn’t mention it.”
“December second,” I said. “I’m positive.”
The old man nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll dig up a candle.”
Candles? Fuck! “Thank you, sir.”
I washed my hands in the men’s room and then ducked into the kitchen. Sophie didn’t even notice. And that’s as it should be.
Chapter Fourteen
Sophie
Internal DJ tuned to: Ingrid Michaelson’s “Be OK”
It hadn’t been easy for me to walk into the church kitchen tonight. My face was burning before I even preheated the oven.
I’d gone to Jude’s place and begged him for sex. Then I’d burst into tears.
Who does that?