Page 104 of Against All Odds

I smile, grab the basket of supplies, and link my arm with hers. “Well, we should make that.”

We head to Everett’s house, which he left unlocked, and I shoot him a quick text.

Hey, we’re going to bake a cake at your house.

Everett

My house?

Yes, your mother and I want to do something nice and she said her oven doesn’t work.

Everett

Okay, have fun . . . I think . . .

I put the phone away, and we set up our workspace and then get to work on the cake. Together, Mrs. Finnegan and I prep all the ingredients. Throughout the entire process, we laugh and do a pretty good job. We have a few hiccups, like when she can’t remember what ingredient we were looking for or what the measurements we need are. Regardless, we have a lot of fun.

She is still the sweet woman with a heart of gold I grew up with, and even though she seems frustrated at times, she pushes through.

“You want to actually crush the pineapple by hand?” she asks, almost horrified.

I chuckle. “We have to. Granny would never buy it from a can.”

“Okay, then.”

Pineapple juice sprays us in the face and pretty much the entire area around us. Once we get it assembled, we put the cake in the oven, and she gives me a high five.

“And what are you two doing other than making a mess?” Everett’s voice breaks in as we laugh.

I turn my head to see him and instantly smile. “We’re making a cake.”

“Are you?” Everett looks around at the absolute mess of the kitchen and shakes his head. “I think the cake made you.”

“Well, carrot cake is very labor intensive.”

He shakes his head again. “Mom? You let her destroy the house?”

Mrs. Finnegan laughs. “I guess I did. Come and help us clean up.”

He pulls off his coat, tosses it over the back of the chair, and enters the kitchen. “I leave for two hours and come back to a complete disaster,” he says in mock affront.

“Do you want to eat some cake?” I ask.

“What kind of a question is that?”

“Then you have to help clean. The cook isn’t supposed to be the one doing all the work,” I inform him.

He laughs. “Then I guess I better get to work, since this mess will take hours to finish.”

The three of us work together, and about halfway through, Mrs. Finnegan slows down and clutches her head.

“Mom, are you getting a headache?” Everett asks, clearly noticing it as well.

She nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Here, sit.” I pull a chair out for her.

Everett walks over and grabs a lockbox from the top of the refrigerator. He opens it and gives her some medication.

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