Page 103 of Against All Odds

Somehow almost half of the first row undoes itself and comes off, causing her to have to fix it. “It’s okay, Violet. You’re doing great.”

I snort a laugh. “I am terrible.”

“Well, you’re not awful,” she says with a smile.

“I’m a much better baker.”

“Your grandmother used to make me the best carrot cake each Thanksgiving.”

That was one of the first things she taught me to make. She said a carrot cake was the best cake for any occasion. If I could master it, I would be well on my way to being a good baker. I never understood it, but she said most people would justify eating a piece since it was a vegetable. Also, because she prepped every ingredient by hand, it gave us quality time in the kitchen.

I reach over, resting my hand on Mrs. Finnegan’s. “Would you like to make one with me?”

“You know how to make her cake?”

I nod. “I do, and I have all the ingredients at my house.”

I have enough baking items to make pretty much anything anyone can think of.

“That would be lovely,” Mrs. Finnegan says. “But we’ll have to do it in Everett’s house, since my oven doesn’t work.”

“Okay, we can do that.”

We both put the knitting supplies away, and I leave a note on the board for Everett, just in case he gets back before we do. I help her with her coat, and we head to my house to gather all the supplies we need.

Mrs. Finnegan walks around the first level, a wide smile across her face. “This place hasn’t changed a bit.”

“I didn’t want to take my grandmother out of this home.”

“Oh, honey, I don’t think you could even if you knocked it to the ground.”

I let a soft laugh out. “I bet she’d still find a way to be here.”

“This home was as much a part of her as she was of it. Is that why you are here now?”

“Yes, I needed to be somewhere that felt like home.”

She walks closer, her hand resting on my cheek. “Home is where you feel like yourself.”

“It’s why I’m here.”

Her grin widens and then drops, her eyes looking out across the field. “It’s why I can’t be in Everett’s house. I miss the other half of myself. When I’m there for too long, I get sad.”

My chest grows tight as I think about the pain she must’ve felt returning to her home, only for it to no longer be that. I guess in some ways I know that it’s why I had to leave California. It was too hard to see places where I thought my home was becoming a prison in so many ways.

The pain of seeing a bed I shared with someone who betrayed me.

The living room where we laughed, watching a movie before we’d end up in each other’s arms.

Even if the last three or more years have been hard, it was my dream and it was taken from me.

“Do you like the barn apartment?” I ask her.

“Oh, yes, very much.” She looks around and then her eyes widen. “Do you know where my phone is? I need my phone.”

“I have it right here,” I say, holding it up. She exhales and then reaches for it. “Are you ready to bake a cake?”

Mrs. Finnegan nods. “Yes, you know I used to love your grandmother’s carrot cake.”

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