Four Weddings and a Break Up (7 page)

N
o one would think
anything out of the ordinary. They’d just see him running on the side of the road, earplugs in his ears, an iPod strapped to his shorts. People stopped him along his run to say hello and talk about what was going on. He even scratched a few dogs’ ears and made appropriate comments about the couple of babies who were being pushed in strollers. He gave them an easy smile, joked, laughed . . . all the while hiding the rage boiling inside.

He spotted her car near the lighthouse. And then he saw her. Laughing. Smiling. His mouth curled in disgust.

Kneeling, he tied his sneakers as he kept an eye on Ginny Michaels talking to a dark-haired man he didn’t know. He’d find out soon enough who the man was. He’d make sure of it. She embraced the man, and the rage threatened to erupt.

Bitch
.

He jerked his shoelaces tight, picturing his hands around her neck. Her eyes widening in fright, her struggling for air, her desperate attempts to save herself. Her body going limp and lifeless.

Soon, he reminded himself. She might laugh and smile, but it wouldn’t last.

He had a plan to make Ginny Michaels suffer.

That bitch destroyed Kyle. She made Kyle bring that gun into class. She was the one who killed Kyle. She broke up his family. It wasn’t Kyle’s fault for what happened.

It was
hers
.

And he was going to make sure Ginny Michaels paid.

I
nside Just Dessert
, heat blasted from the ovens, which matched the high 90s temperature; the forecasted heat wave had begun.

Just Desserts, a medium baby pink building with white gingerbread trim that fell over the edges like a lace veil, was about fifteen minutes away from the beach. The early morning crowd had lessened, until only a handful of people remained in the front area of the shop. The aroma of fresh blueberry muffins, buttery croissants, and rich coffee filled the air. Usually Ginny remained in the back, helping out with the baking, taking down phone orders, and organizing everything.

Inside, the walls were painted a soft eggshell white and had a few framed items: the local newspaper article on Just Desserts’ opening, Julie’s Culinary Arts degree, the building permit, and photographs showing the stages of the bakery from the grand opening to some recent candids taken of the workers. There was one photo of her, Julie, their mom, and their dad when Just Desserts had opened on New Year’s Day last year, right before the shooting and before all their lives had changed.

Julie was in the center and Ginny had been on her right side; their parents flanked them. Ginny had worn an emerald sheath that had an early 1950s vibe to it, her hair hung loose. A cake with sparklers to celebrate the grand opening was in front of them. They all held glasses of pink champagne (Julie’s favorite) and had huge smiles on their faces. Ginny had been so different then. Happier. Confident. Stronger.

She frowned as she kneaded the dough. That couldn’t be that true. Because if it were, she wouldn’t be broken, like pieces of some pottery scattered about to the four corners of the earth. Ginny stared at the misshapen ball of dough. She needed to stop thinking about the past and start concentrating on the here and now. And the first thing that needed to happen was to prepare for this Saturday’s food festival. The plan was to have mini cupcakes.

After placing the cookies into the oven, she swiped her hands on her apron as she poked her head out into the front area of Just Desserts. Julie was wrapping up a box for a customer.

Display cases lined the walls; there was enough space for a worker to stand comfortably behind them. Each case had been organized—one held cookies pastries, the other cupcakes, and the last stored different cakes where a customer could buy up to six different slices as a sampler. A long counter, with a cash register at one end and a ticket dispenser at the other, was near the back area.

Julie came into the back periodically throughout the day, but it wasn’t until lunch that she could stop in and chat.

“Did you see all the surfboards today?” Julie asked.

“No. Were there a lot?”

“Yeah. I wondered how many of them were going to be disappointed when they leaned surfing is only allowed at certain times of the days, and at specific parts of the beach.”

“Guess vacation season has officially begun,” Ginny remarked. “Mom should be happy; she’s booked solid.”

Julie took out ingredients to make vanilla cupcakes and started to mix. Ginny was always amazed at how fast Julie moved in a kitchen; before Ginny knew it, Julie started pouring batter into cupcake tins. “I think something’s going on between Mom and Grant.”

“Mom? Grant?” Ginny quickly dismissed the idea. “Definitely not.”

“He calls her lass.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“He looks at her, you know, in that way. And what’s more”—Julie placed the cupcakes in the lower oven—“Mom looks at him in that way, too.”

“You’re reading too much into things.”

“C’mon, Gin.” Julie snorted. “You haven’t noticed it?”

Ginny frowned. She had seen that exchange of looks last night, and her mom’s voice had hitched and gone all breathy when she’d said Grant’s name. But that didn’t mean squat.

“Please. Get real.”

“I’m telling you right now that he’s definitely found the key to her secret garden.” Julie laughed.

Ginny didn’t join in. She wasn’t sure exactly how she felt about the idea of her mom dating. Their dad had died over a year ago, but her parents had known each other since they’d been kids. It had always been Faith and Chris, Chris and Faith. She didn’t expect her mom to keep a shrine to their dad, but if what Julie said was true, it was just another person who had laid the ghosts to their pasts to rest and was moving on.

“I guess so,” Ginny hedged. She glanced down at her hands. Once again, flour coated them. “I mean, it’s not like we know for sure. And even if they are together, who says it’ll last?”

“Wow.” Julie pursed her lips, tendrils of her curly blonde hair escaping from the clip. “When did you become so cynical?”

Ginny winced at the censure in Julie’s voice. “I’m not cynical. I’m a realist. Big difference.”

“There doesn’t seem to be much of a difference to me.”

She ignored Julie’s comment. “We have more important things to concentrate on. Deb’s wedding. The other weddings we have lined up. The Glorious Food festival. What new cupcake did you come up with? We shouldn’t be talking about Mom.”

“Why?” Julie blew out a breath. “She certainly talks enough about us. It’s fun to gossip about her. Plus, she’s been on your back for the last six months about settling down.”

“Oh, your time is coming. Trust me on that.”

Julie rolled her eyes. “Mom doesn’t need to set me up because I’ve got that all covered.”

“Yeah. You’re just a regular female version of Hugh Hefner with your parade of men.” Ginny ducked as Julie threw an eggshell at her. “Don’t you need to go back out front?”

“Nah. It’s slowed down. Matt and Pete can handle any orders. As to your earlier question, about the new cupcake, I’ve come up with an idea for a sea-salted caramel cupcake, but instead of a vanilla bottom, it’ll be chocolate.”

“That sounds devilish.”

Julie smiled. “That is a perfect name for it. ‘Devilish.’”

“So why are you making vanilla cupcakes then?”

“That’s going to be a secret cupcake. When you bite into it, there’ll be a crème brûlée filling. I think for the frosting I’ll go for a whipped cream. Got any names for that one?”

Ginny thought about it. “If you colored the frosting red, you could call it ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel.’”

“Ohhh.” Julie clapped her hands together. “Love.”

“I was thinking . . .” Ginny paused. “What if we made some carrot cake cupcakes?”

“You and your carrot cake.”

“I know, but the carrot cake is one of our bigger sellers. As is the tiramisu and wedding cakes, of course.”

“We could do miniature cupcakes of carrot cake and tiramisu. I do like the idea of it.” Julie gave her a look. “You could do those.”

“Me?”

Julie nodded. “Why not? You’ve been baking alongside me for as long as the bakery’s been open. You know the recipes like the back of your hand.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I still need to check the recipe cards.”

“It’s like dipping your toe into a pool, Gin. This is stuff you know. It’ll be easy peasy. You can definitely make the carrot cake cupcakes for Saturday.”

“Okay. I’ll do it.” Ginny wondered what she’d just gotten herself into. She stretched. Her arms were tired from the kneading, the pulling, the lifting of crates and pots and pans, which she’d been doing from way before the crack of dawn to twelve. “What do you have planned next?”

“Cream puffs. We have to make a batch for out front.” Julie took out fresh ingredients and laid them out on the counter. “Deb wants the groom’s cake to be a penguin.”

“A penguin?” Ginny laughed. “Doesn’t that sort of go against her whole Southern Belle wedding theme?”

“Not Southern Belle. July 4
^th
. Independence Day. It’s a Revolutionary War theme. I have to wear a corset.”

“And pink crinoline.” She watched as her sister brought water and butter to a boil on the stove. “Deb’s never been a history buff. And, as far as I know, neither is her fiancé, Steve.”

“Deb watched some movie and thought the dresses looked pretty. Then she found this big white wedding dress of antique lace—”

“Did they wear white wedding dresses in the late 1700s?”

“I don’t know. Besides, they’re not going for historical accuracy, Gin.” Julie added in flour and salt into the boiling water. “They just wanted something different and fun.”

“Doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

“You’re just jealous because you don’t get to wear the pink crinoline.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Remember that when you’re sweating beneath your costume. So back to the penguin groom’s cake.”

“Oh, it’s all because Deb and Steve went to Sea World last year, right before they got engaged. In the penguin exhibit, they learned penguins mated for life. Right then and there, with everyone watching on, Steve got down on one knee and”—Julie paused for a moment and let out a contented sigh—“asked Deb to marry him.”

It was romantic, if you liked your stories sweetly nauseous.

“Now, see how it’s become a ball? This is when we have to transfer it to the large mixing bowl.” The chime rang from the front of the store, and they could hear a group of people. “I better go out front. Crack these eggs, but only add them one at a time. And then when you’re done with that, drop a tablespoon of the mix onto these baking sheets.”

“I got it.” It was a simple enough task to accomplish, and after she was done, she put the sheets into the oven.

“Ginny,” her sister called. “Come out here for a minute.”

The front of the store had picked up customers, and a line had formed. People grabbed tickets from the ticket counter, glancing up at the digital clock to approximate how long they would have to wait. Julie and the two other workers were fulfilling orders, taking the ticket stubs. When her sister saw her, Julie waved Ginny over.

“You put the cream puffs in the oven?” After Ginny nodded, Julie continued, “I’ll check on them, but I need you to help out Matt and Pete in the front.”

Matt and Pete were identical twin brothers in their early twenties; their older cousin, Daphne, was a good friend of Ginny’s from high school. Matt and Pete had a shock of bright red hair, blue eyes, and long, gangly limbs. Both of them were too busy to do anything but nod.

“Sure. I’ve got it,” Ginny said.

Julie headed into the back, and Ginny turned her attention to the customers. She soon got into a groove. While there were some tourists that came in, most were Cape Hope residents. They asked some questions to see how she was doing, but thankfully no one mentioned the past.

Then Marie DePaul stepped forward, her gaze cold.

Her heart pounded so fiercely that Ginny was sure everyone in the bakery could hear it. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her palms grew clammy in the plastic gloves she’d donned. Her tongue had become glued to the roof of her suddenly dry mouth. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. The fight or flight response had kicked in—and it was telling her to run.

Instead she forced herself to stay where she was and get herself under control. Yet there was no way she was going to wait on Marie DePaul, and she was sure Marie had no desire to have any contact with her. “I’ll get someone else.”

Ginny got Pete to take over the order, and then she took the next customer in line. Murmurs started, as she and Marie had not been in the same room since Cape Hope High’s Open House night. This was going to only add more fuel to the gossip, more scrutiny on her, and if she left now, it would be ten times worse. So she waited, the minutes dragging slowly by, as if being forced to change from one to the next.

Julie came back out with a fierce look on her face. Ginny was shocked to realize it had only been five minutes since Marie had come into Just Desserts—it had felt like so much longer than that. Matt was behind her sister—he must have gone into the back without Ginny noticing.

Julie patted her shoulder as she came to stand beside her. “I’ve got this, Gin. Take off for the day.”

Escaping into the back of Just Desserts, Ginny took off the plastic gloves. People were going to talk about her anyway—about what had happened. And they’d speculate and wonder if, perhaps like Marie and David DePaul said, Ginny could have done something more.

Ginny wondered the same thing.

She headed out the back entrance. The sun had lowered in the sky and clouds had formed in the distance; the temperature had cooled slightly. She didn’t want to head home just yet.

She’d go to the beach.

G
inny decided
to walk in the direction of the lighthouse, about three miles away. She readjusted her ponytail, then took off her sandals, holding them in one hand.

People were still on the beach, soaking up in the late afternoon rays. Striped yellow and white cabanas, along with matching umbrellas, from the Worth Hotel were set up. There were other stations where people could rent an umbrella, if they weren’t staying at the Worth or another fancy hotel. The smell of hot dogs and pretzels wafted toward her, and her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten lunch yet because she’d been so busy baking.

Reaching into the pocket of her capris, Ginny pulled out a ten for the hot dog and Sprite. She finished the food and drink by the time she reached the jetties. Waves crashed upon the black rocks. There were some people walked on them; in the early morning, there would be some fishing. She threw her garbage into the trash-can and veered off to the path to her right.

It was a narrow strip of sand, just enough for two people to walk comfortably side by side. It twisted and turned, and tall reeds grew on either sides, lightly swaying back and forth. Gulls culled overhead. Ginny stopped at the small pond. The lighthouse was straight ahead. Once she reached it, she would turn around and head back. Walking had been good—she’d lost herself and stopped thinking about what had happened at work.

The DePaul family blamed her for everything. They had said she hadn’t done enough that day—that she shouldn’t have shouted that Kyle had a gun, that pushing the other student out of the way had only put her more into the trajectory of the bullet.

Her hands curled into fists, her nails biting into the palms.

Maybe she should have rallied more, to say that she wasn’t at blame. But she hadn’t been able to state that, not when her worst fear was that perhaps it was true. That Kyle shooting her and the other student, Erica, and Kyle’s suicide was all her fault.