Page 34 of The Golden Spoon
“No one is taking advantage of me.” It comes out more shrill sounding than I mean for it to.
This wasn’t what I expected. I thought he’d be broken, begging for answers. It must just not have sunk in all the way yet. I push the knife in a little deeper, just to make sure he is understanding me.
“We never would have worked out anyway, not in the long run.” I don’t know why I am saying what I am. It’s like I’m looking at myself talking from above. Inside the diner I watch as a woman ties an apron around her waist. She takes her place behind a long counter and begins setting out fresh bottles of ketchup and jugs of maple syrup. I could have ended up like that, I remind myself.
“Maybe not,” he agrees. His voice sounds so far away, and I get the feeling that the space between us is growing wider by the second. I have the urge to make it stop, to reach through the phone to take hold of him and grab him by the collar so that I can look into his eyes and see that I still matter to him.
“We have different goals. We’re totally different people, Ben.” I imagine him on the couch petting the dog. Will I miss getting slobbered on? I wouldn’t have thought so. But I have a pang now, somewhere deep in my chest. An ache that grows more and more acute. I hadn’t ever realized how safe I’d felt with Ben. Maybe I took it for granted.Stop, Hannah, I scold myself. Where did staying safe ever get anyone?
“I guess that might be true,” Ben says. “But I don’t think you know my goals. We never really talked about them. We have always been so focused on your baking, there was never much space.” The way he says it is just so matter-of-fact. The lack of meanness in his voice makes it all the more heartbreaking.
That can’t be true. I scroll back through my memories, all the trips to the store so that I could make some recipe I’d just thought of, the daily tastings around the kitchen table. They’re good memories. They must be. But I can’t push back the other, less pleasant ones. The tantrums I’d thrown when something didn’t go according to plan, the dark moods I would get into when I felt overwhelmed,the angry fits that led to broken dishes. But he’d known that wasn’t who I was. That it was just a product of pushing so hard for so long in addition to working long hours. He must have. I would have listened if he had something interesting to say. I would have encouraged it. Wouldn’t I?
“Hannah?” His voice is soft, pleading. I brace myself. This will be him begging me to stay, telling me he never has loved anyone more. I lean back on the side of the booth, close my eyes, wait for it.
“Yeah?”
The distant voice again on the other end. It sounds so much older and more mature than I remember. I swallow the lump in my throat, try to contain it before it escapes into a sob.
“Be careful, okay?”
The phone jingles as I return it to its cradle. It is done. The sky is swirling with heavy black clouds that threaten to explode as I jog back onto the main road, my heart pumping. I run faster and faster past the strip mall, past the gas station and back to the safety of the highway, where no one will see me and ask me what I’m doing. No one saw anything, I remind myself. And anyway, I’d look completely innocent to anyone who might see me now that I’m running again. I’m just a young blond girl in a matching yoga set out for a motivating jog. But I can’t shake the anxiety that has crept up on me, the taut ache that runs through my chest. I try to remember that it’s a good thing it went over so well with Ben. I’m free to be with Archie now. But as I turn onto the narrow road past the sign pointing to Grafton Manor, I feel strange about the whole thing. Be careful? What does that even mean?
I run down the drive, feeling the first few drops of rain on my arms. Suddenly I’m furious with Ben. I was the one calling to break up with him. He doesn’t get to turn around and act like he’s the one worried about me! How dare he act like I need watching over like some pathetic little baby. I was so worried about hurting his feelings before, but now I’m glad I got to see what he has really thought of me all thistime. That I am a spoiled child incapable of making good choices for myself. I’ll show him how wrong he is when I come out of this competition completely transformed. He’ll see that he had no reason to worry about me when I am a successful TV baker, when I’m Archie Morris’s girlfriend.
GERALD
I’ve been sitting against the parapet for nearly nine hours now, and I may have miscalculated the usefulness of this vantage point. I have not uncovered the saboteurs. The day’s bakes are long over, and my plan did not extend this far into the evening. Now I realize this wasn’t the most productive use of time. I should have been looking for evidence. If I’d spent my day trying to find a canister of gasoline stashed in someone’s room or a duplicate set of salt and sugar canisters, I would have something to go on. But now it’s too late. The bakers are back inside now, many likely in their rooms, and the house will be busy for the rest of the evening as dinner is prepared and people come and go. I will have to wait until tonight to search the house. This thought makes me agitated. Absolutely nothing is going the way I’d anticipated. I reach into my pocket for another nutritional bar, which I will eat for dinner, and a tiny flashlight for later. It is comforting being so well prepared, especially when things are not going exactly to plan.
I pull myself up, carefully avoiding the loose bricks, and inch my head up above the edge of the parapet. A figure comes down the main drive, dressed in pink. They come closer and I see that it’s Hannah, back from a run. Rain has already begun to fall, spattering in thickdrops on the edge of the balcony. I sit back down, lowering myself against the wall to avoid getting wet.
A man’s voice drifts up from below. “I couldn’t do it. There was never a good time.”
“There was plenty of time. I even had them distracted for you,” a woman’s voice replies impatiently.
“Don’t you think there’s been enough drama this week?”
“Thanks to me. This season is already so much better.”
“What was going on with Betsy today? Sending Lottie home was a bit of a curveball!”
I perk up, surprised that it should be Lottie who is leaving next when she has such a good grasp of the basics. The probability was much higher for Stella or Pradyumna to go home.
“God, though, nothing can really top Gerald’s meltdown.”
“Thatwas good TV.”
I tense up at the sound of my name. I pull myself up and lean forward just a bit, trying to get a look at who is speaking, but all I can see is a puff of white vapor.
“Come on, it’s starting to rain.”
“Let’s go back to the hotel.”
“I’ve just got to check on something in the tent.”
“I’ll meet you at the car.”
I’m going to miss my chance to catch them. If I run now, I can cut through the house and intercept them as they go down the drive. I try the door behind me, the one that the blueprint showed led to the parlor on the second floor, and am surprised to find it locked.
