The Secret Ingredient of Wishes (19 page)

“Listen, I'm not looking to jump into anything serious. So, let's just enjoy the fact that we like each other and not put any pressure on ourselves to make it into something else. What do you think?”

“I can try,” she said. “But if things get to be too much for you—”

“I'll run for the hills,” he said, drawing a cross over his heart and smiling.

She rested her forehead against his chest and smiled. How could she say no to that?

 

18

The lamp was on in the den when Rachel got back to Catch's place. She contemplated trying to sneak upstairs, but if she wanted to keep her secrets from getting out—and have the possibility at a normal life—she'd need Catch.

Catch sat in a squat leather chair catty-corner to the fireplace. Despite the muggy heat that poured in through the windows, she had a blanket draped across her lap as she read a cooking magazine.

“I need your help,” Rachel said. She leaned against the doorway, jamming her hands in her back pockets to keep from fidgeting.

“Okay, I'll bite. What do you think I can help you with?”

“A pie. It doesn't matter what kind.”

“Is it for you?”

“Yes.”

Catch stuck her finger between the pages of the magazine and closed it, keeping her narrowed eyes on Rachel as if she could read the secret on Rachel's face. “What have you got to be keeping secret?”

Nerves sparked along Rachel's skin, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. Her heart beat frantically at the thought of admitting everything to Catch. “Will it work if I don't tell you?”

“You know the rules. You want my help, you tell me what's bothering you and who you plan on feeding my pie to.”

“It's not for you or Ashe, if that's what you're worried about.”

“I'm not. I've only known one person stupid enough to try and use my own pies on me. I was married to the bastard. Luckily, he was smart enough to get himself killed and leave me the hell alone,” Catch said, her tone calm, almost amused.

Catch was probably the only person Rachel knew who could get away with joking about someone's death being a good thing.

“But back to you. Whatever it is you're hiding, you know I'll find out so you might as well tell me now and let me help you.”

Rachel bit the inside of her cheek. Catch was right. If Lola started running her mouth to more people about what happened to her at the barbecue festival, Catch would find out anyway. The only way to keep the town from turning against her was to stop Lola before she could convince them Rachel hurt her on purpose.

“I need the pie for Lola,” she said.

“You think I'm gonna help you keep
her
secrets?”

“Of course not. I need her to keep mine.”

“What does Little-Miss-Has-No-Heart have on you?” Catch asked, slapping the magazine onto the side table.

Stepping into the room, Rachel let out a steadying breath. Then the words spilled out. “I can do things like you can. But instead of binding secrets, I make wishes come true. But I don't always have a handle on it, so sometimes things don't go right. And Lola is threatening to tell everyone all about it.”

Catch took the admission in stride, betraying no hint of surprise. “Well, that's an interesting little tidbit you've been keeping all to yourself. You didn't think that maybe I could help you sooner so that it wouldn't be an issue if someone found out?”

“I know. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but it's not something many people know. And the ones that do know never really believed it.” Instead they institutionalized her for a month and then kept her in therapy for years. That wasn't a worry this time around. But being forced to leave Nowhere when she was just finding her place in it—when she was seriously tempted to stay for good—could be just as devastating.

She rocked back on her heels and met Catch's curious look. “I don't know how many people Lola's told, but if I can stop her from telling anyone else, maybe I can do damage control until I can figure out how to keep the wishes under control. Do you think that'll work?”

“Let's find out.” Catch braced her hands on the arms of the chair and pushed herself up. She swayed on shaky legs. After a few seconds, she steadied and slapped at Rachel's arm when she offered it. “The day I can't make it to the damn kitchen on my own is the day you can call Hubert down at the morgue to come collect my body, dead or not.”

There was a defeated edge to her tone that took away some of Catch's usual bite.

To keep from going down a path neither of them wanted to think about, Rachel said, “Huh, I didn't realize the morgue offered retirement home services.” She waited to make sure Catch wasn't going to fall.

“At least the company there wouldn't talk back.” Catch swatted Rachel again as she shuffled past her toward the kitchen.

A ball of dough was already waiting on the counter. A glass pie dish, canister of flour, rolling pin, and paring knife sat next to it, almost as if Catch had been expecting this.

Catch rolled the dough in a circle, testing its malleability. She picked at the plastic wrap covering it. Her swollen knuckles made her small hands look frail. She dumped the ball onto the counter with a loud thump.

“Well, make yourself useful. Grab that stick of butter and rub down the pie dish. Make sure to coat it evenly,” Catch said.

Rachel smeared the softened stick of butter on the side of the glass in long, even strokes and swirled it across the bottom. When she held the dish out for inspection, she received a grunt in return. She set it on the counter and asked, “What do I do next?”

“There's a derby pie filling already in the fridge that I didn't get to earlier. That work for you?”

“That's fine.” Rachel removed the walnut, chocolate, and bourbon mixture from the refrigerator and stirred it when Catch thrust a wooden spoon at her. “So, how does it work?”

“You've got to concentrate on the secret, repeat it in your mind until it's the only thing you can see, feel, smell.”

Rachel thought about Michael, about her parents, about how she'd ruined everyone's lives with a careless wish. She thought about how Ashe and Catch would never again trust her if they knew the truth, what damage she could really do. She held her breath. Five seconds passed, then ten. She blew it out and waited.

After another few rolls, Catch peeled the crust from the table and dusted it with a shake of flour before draping it in the buttered pie dish. She pressed it into the corners with her wide thumbs, smoothing it up the walls and over the lip so the excess hung jagged-edged and thin around the rim.

“Then, when your mind is so full of those words you think it might burst, you dip your brush in some melted butter and write the words across the bottom of the pie.” She handed Rachel a small glass ramekin with a tablespoon or so of butter in it and said, “Put that in the microwave for eighteen seconds.”

Rachel obeyed. She watched the bowl spin in a lazy circle. She started to open the door when the butter bubbled and popped, but Catch's bark of “Leave it!” had her jumping back.

“It's not gonna bite you,” Catch said.

“No, but you might,” Rachel mumbled.

“Only if you mess up my pie.”

Rachel let the microwave beep three times and turn off before she pushed the door release button. She removed the butter. It spit at her, a few drops searing the back of her wrist. Setting it on the counter, she wiped her hand on the towel hanging from a drawer knob.

“So, now I just write it?”

“Now you write,” Catch said, sliding the pie dish toward her.

Holding the hot bowl in one hand, Rachel painted the words
I wish Lola would keep my secrets
. Her hand was steady as she wrote. The butter pooled on the surface until the words were unintelligible.

*   *   *

Rachel had been ignoring the worry niggling at the back of her mind as the pie baked. But when the oven timer wailed, she could no longer put off asking the question.

“How am I going to get Lola to eat this when it's done?”

Catch passed the oven mitts to Rachel, not getting up from her stool. “If she's already talking about you, she's gonna be suspicious when you show up with a pie. You'll be lucky if she doesn't throw it in your face.”

“So no words of wisdom or helpful tips from all your years of doing this?”

“You can't force someone to eat it. But you can trick them, if your conscience can handle it.”

Rachel's conscience already had so much weighing on it she wasn't sure how much more it could take. But there really wasn't another option.

Once she had the pie on the cooling rack, Rachel dropped back onto the seat next to Catch. She tapped her foot on the bottom rung of the stool. “What would I have to do?”

“You'd just have to give her the pie and let her think I've changed my mind about helping her.”

Rachel sat up straight, her foot slipping to dangle a few inches off the floor. “You want to use Ashe as bait?”

“In a broad sense of the word. But as he won't actually be involved, I feel less bad about it,” Catch said. She wrapped one arm around her stomach like she had a stitch in her side and twisted to face Rachel.

Rachel mentally added it to the list of symptoms she'd seen Catch exhibit over the past few weeks. All together, they didn't add up to anything good. But Catch had already released her grip and set her face in an expression that said she wouldn't suffer any more questions about her health. So Rachel refocused on the problem at hand. “Would you really be okay doing that? Do you think she deserves that?”

“Either you want your secrets kept or you don't, Miss-Doesn't-Want-to-Get-Her-Hands-Dirty.”

“I do, it's just—” Rachel started.

Catch hissed out a breath between lips pulled tight over her teeth. “Just nothing. I'm not saying I won't get a little satisfaction out of lying to her, but it will get you the results you need. You've just got to convince her that to bind a secret that big she has to eat some of the pie too.”

It took a few more minutes of convincing before Rachel gave in. She still wasn't comfortable lying to Lola, but as she couldn't come up with an alternative, it was the best option she had. So she sat there while Catch called Lola and told her to come collect her “damn” pie.

When the soft rap of knuckles sounded on the front door less than an hour later, she shot a nervous glance at Catch and picked up the still-warm pie. The scent of rich chocolate and perfectly browned crust lingered in the kitchen. Light spilled from the lamp at the end of the driveway. The little bit that reached the porch made it hard for Rachel to see Lola's face as she paced. Rachel slipped outside, forcing Lola to pull up short.

“I'm here to see Miss Sisson,” Lola said. She gathered her hair in her hands, twisting it into a thick knot like Mary Beth always did when she was nervous. She looked past Rachel into the house, her lips parted as if she couldn't decide if she wanted to say something more.

“She sent me to bring this to you,” Rachel said, her voice shaking slightly. She held out the pie with a steady hand, but Lola didn't take it.

“I'm doing fine, by the way. After you wished that I'd choke.”

“I didn't wish that. I didn't wish anything. And I'm sorry it happened.”

Lola's eyes narrowed. “And I'm supposed to believe you?”

“I don't care if you believe me. I'm just here to give you the pie, which Catch said you wanted.” Rachel stepped back toward the door, gripping the handle with her free hand. “But if not, I'm more than happy to leave you out here with your accusations while I take the pie back inside.”

“No, wait.”

Rachel dropped her hand and met Lola's conflicted stare.

Lowering her eyes, Lola said, “I do want the pie. I know Miss Sisson doesn't want to hear this, but will you please tell her thank you.”

“I'll tell her.”

Lola took the dish, careful to avoid contact with Rachel. “I'm scared Ashe's dad won't eat a pie if I'm the one bringing it to him. Maybe I should find someone else to give it to him to make sure it works?”

Rachel jerked back and bumped into the door. The glass rattled in the quiet that stretched between her and Lola.
No. His own father?
“Please tell me he's not—”

“Oh, my God.” Lola pressed a hand to her lips as if she could pull the words back in. Shame bloomed on her face a bright pink as she dropped her gaze to the porch. “Catch didn't tell you, did she?”

“No, she didn't.” When she thought it was just some random guy, Rachel could justify letting Lola think the secret would never come out. But Ashe's dad? A secret that big was not something she wanted to be responsible for letting out. “And I can't let you eat that.”

“Excuse me?”

“It's not about Ashe,” Rachel said, guilt building hot and thick in her chest.

Lola's eyes narrowed and she shifted the pie out of Rachel's reach. The foil cover crackled as her fingers dug in tighter. “The hell it's not. It's not my fault Catch didn't tell you what the pie was for, but you don't get to take it back just because you don't like that Ashe is involved.”

“I mean the pie won't do what you think it will. It won't help you with Ashe because Catch didn't make it. I did. And I can't let you eat it knowing that you think it's for something else.”

“I should've known that's not what this pie was for. But I thought maybe you'd convinced her to make sure Ashe didn't find out. I saw the way he looked at you the other day. The way you looked at him. I thought maybe you cared enough about him to not want him to get hurt.”

Rachel leaned into the cool glass of the storm door behind her. She thought about how just hours before Ashe had kissed her, and she'd kissed him back. “I do care about him. And I'm sorry for letting you think the pie would help make things better with him.”