Page 24 of Free to Breathe
Nodding, I toss her a semblance of a smile before pointing back to the phone. Hearing the swoosh of the door, I take Bryan off hold. “I’m sorry. I know you’re busy, but my sister was in here.”
“That’s fine.” His tone is flat.
I begin to pace back and forth. If I was wearing a heart monitor like Ali does when she runs, I guarantee it would be sounding off with my racing pulse. “Bryan, what is it?” When there’s nothing but silence on the other end, something in me just snaps. “Tell me, damnit.”
He sighs. “I’d like you to come in and meet with Dr. Braddock.”
“Shit.” I don’t even realize the word is out of my mouth until I hear Bryan reply.
“What does your schedule look like tomorrow?” And then he starts making plans for me to meet the interim head of Greenwich neurology.
* * *
Hours later,I don’t know how I managed to decorate the second cake. Fortunately for me, the couple wanted a simple yellow buttercream with a seashell piping. It was beautiful in its elegance but required very little thought.
I only hope I didn’t use salt instead of sugar for the icing.
For the first time in more than ten years, I reach for a spoon to taste the thin orange liquid that resembles Delsym cough syrup more than frosting. The sweet candy flavor coats my tongue. Infuriated I can’t trust myself with a simple recipe, I hurl the spoon into the sink. My chest heaves as I think,Too soon. I know I was gifted with years, but it’s too soon.
This is sheer agony. My head bows. I succumb for just a moment to the helplessness of my situation.
Maybe I should just go to the pasture behind my house where the cows used to graze and find my burial plot now, I think bitterly. At least I’ll be among my relatives. Well, the relatives that don’t want to sell me for drugs. The raw laugh that escapes me is cut off by Phil’s voice coming down the hall.
“I swear, Em, Cori’s wasting away. Soon, her ass is just going to fade away.”
“Keep scheduling her for extra work, then. That gives her so much time to relax and recuperate, you jackass.” Em is furious. “If Cass knew, she’d have you pinned against the wall and all your hair cut off for sure.”
“I figured Cori would be more pissed at me if I didn’t schedule this particular cake than if I had,” Phil replies, trying to defend himself. “Now hush; I just want to peek in and see how pissed she is at me.”
Taking a deep breath, I pick up the large bowl of orange I’d been stirring and check its consistency, wondering if it’s ready to fly. Using the whisk in my hand, I fling a little back and forth, admiring its texture and consistency. If I wasn’t planning on using it on a cake very shortly, I think it would make a terrific addition to Phil’s hair.
The door cracks open a bit, and I see Phil’s hand reach in tentatively waving the American flag he keeps on his desk. I can’t help it. I put the bowl on the counter, which I grab to hold myself up from the giggling. “Jesus, Phil.”
“I didn’t have time to run out and buy a white flag.” He and Em step into the kitchen.
If there were ever two people not dressed to be in my workspace, it’s these two particular siblings. Em, our family fashion plate, is wearing a sheer black knee-length dress with flowers etched onto the sheer fabric. With elbow-length sleeves, a wide V-neck, and a nude underlay, it plays off her blonde hair and blue eyes encased in red-rimmed glasses perfectly. This particular dress is one of Em’s own designs that can be made in any color. It’s a showstopper and a huge attention grabber in the summer for garden weddings. Having a version in chocolate brown, I can also attest that it looks terrific on many different figures.
Phil looks like he stepped out of the pages ofGQ: trim charcoal slacks, deep plum slim-fit shirt, with his blond mane swept back from his forehead. Lighter blue eyes crinkle at the corners before he looks in the bowl. “Holy hell, Corinna. Are you making a potion in there? What the hell is going on that kid’s cake? Cough syrup?”
I grin. His thoughts mirror my own from earlier. “Here, taste.” I grab one of the spoons I keep on hand and dip just the tip in.
Phil looks like I’m about to slip him arsenic. Em, always the braver of the two, gamely leans forward. Opening her mouth, she allows me to slide the spoon inside before closing her deep red lips over it. “Oh God, that’s delicious. It tastes like…like…”
“Melted Creamsicles,” I finish for her. I nod over at the cake, three imperfectly smooth mounds covered in gray fondant, just like the rocks at Lake Mamanasco in Ridgefield. Inside, the cake is a deep, dark chocolate with a chocolate-orange creme filling.
“Yes!” Em exclaims. Her navy blue eyes tip at the corners as if she is predicting Phil’s reaction.
We don’t have long to wait.
Phil casually begins to stroll around my workspace, and I hold on to the bowl with all my might. There’s no way he’s catching me with my back turned. It took me almost a damn hour to get the icing to a consistency that will fly when I throw it. If I have to spend an extra hour making him a batch, I may hold him down so Cass can do her magic with the scissors she’s been threatening him with for years. “No, Phil. Not a chance.”
“Just a little taste,” he pleads. Sweet Christ, the man has a sweet tooth that rivals a three-year-old. You’d think he’d like salty more than sweet with the way he talks about sucking off his husband, but no. Every damn day, he’s down in my kitchen begging me for scraps like a lost puppy.
“I’m about to make you work for your treats,” I warn him.
He pauses. “That’s not a no. What’re your terms?”
“I need to tell the family something. I figure the family dinner Thursday works.”
