Page 4 of Free to Breathe
The Corinna I had come to know was gone, and in her place was a cold shell of a woman. Her once shining eyes became as dark as the earth, like the places I would later visit in my tours around the world. Her face was closed off, desolate, and accusing.
To this day, even as I work for her brothers-in-law, her eyes are still hostile toward me. If I was reading Corinna right, I’d think she felt betrayed somehow. But how could she even think that when I’d once loved her with every fiber of my being?
I wish I knew what the hell I’d done so I could find my way back to the only thing in my life I’d want a chance at returning to.
3
Corinna
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound of the alarm on my cell phone going off jerks me out of the battle I face every night—sleep. I scrub my hands down my face as I swing my legs into a sitting position, my hair falling haphazardly in front of my face.
I can’t swallow due to the dryness in my throat. My memory lingers on the images from my dream of falling into the gravel at UConn. I’ve lived with its repercussions—finding out about my brain tumor—for more years than I care to remember. Still, despite my problems sleeping, I hardly ever dream about the past. I live by a personal mantra that has served me well over the years: Live for today, for tomorrow may never come.
I have to get a move on. The cake I need to finish decorating today won’t get completed any faster, and I have a hard stop at 4:00 p.m. Tonight, one of the connections I’ve made by bringing people joy through my baking will be giving my family a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
I can’t freaking wait. My siblings have no idea what they’re in for.
I push off the couch that I fell asleep on last night in my master bedroom and flick off the lights that I leave on in my bedroom at night to protect me from the darkness. The early-morning sun warming my skin tells me without looking at my weather app that it’s going to be a scorcher today.
I always dress for comfort in a loose tank top and baggy jeans since I wear a chef’s coat on top of my clothes in the kitchen of Amaryllis Events, my family’s wedding- and event-planning business. Other than quickly braiding my hair, there’s no need to bother with anything else. Also, Em, one of my three older sisters who’s a fashion designer, is pulling out all the stops, dressing us before we go out tonight.
Our night out is going to be incredible. I shake my head as I slip into a pair of bright pink Chucks. My sisters and brother have no idea what’s really in store.
* * *
As I makemy way into Collyer, I munch on the banana I grabbed on my way out the door. It’s early on a Friday, and I know my kitchen is going to be utter chaos. I have my standard weekend supply delivery coming in. Hopefully, my assistant got the text I sent her letting her know I need the center island clear to finish up the cake for the Martin wedding. I have about eight hours to brush on the edible rose-gold leaf before Phil decorates the top with greenery and transports it to the family’s home. This will give me just enough time to get ready for tonight with my sisters.
I pull into the parking lot of Amaryllis Events and see Ali’s convertible, Em’s Rover, and Cassidy’s new Porsche Panamera—a birthday gift from her husband, Caleb. I smile remembering how we all taunted him when he handed her the keys to the car that was as much for him as it was for her. Caleb didn’t argue. Instead, he laughed and said their twins would grow up understanding they were a Porsche family.
A Porsche family. The wealth we’ve accumulated is a far cry from the poverty each of us grew up with. That was before we adopted each other and became a family. A family forged from the deepest horrors anyone should ever have to live through. A family that found itself in the dark but lives in the light. A family made of strength and pride.
My fingers glide over my tank top where my amaryllis tattoo rests close to my heart. As I walk around the delivery truck, I see another familiar vehicle. My back, where another tattoo rests, snaps ramrod straight.
What the hell is Colby doing here?
It’s bad enough I suffer the nights Colby haunts my sleep. Ever since he left the Army and accepted a job with Hudson Investigations, he’s made himself right at home with my family again.
He better not make himself at home in my kitchen. Especially not today.
My good mood soured, I stomp around to the back entrance that leads to my sacred domain. Despite Colby’s presence crushing my spirits, I still get breathless every time I walk into the space dominated by spotless stainless steel and top-of-the-line walk-in refrigerators, freezers, and ovens. All told, the equipment in this kitchen cost more than my college tuition. Sometimes, when I’m by myself, I give in to the urge to spin around and dance in the kitchen, unable to hold in my emotions. I forget about the things weighing down my mind and just revel in all that is ours. Mine.
The equipment in this room helps bend things to my will, mold into the shapes I want them to. Every dish meets my critical standards or suffers getting ejected. Typically, into Phil’s stomach.
When I walk into the kitchen, it’s like walking into a farmer’s market. There are crates of eggs covering an entire worktable. Gallons of fresh milk are lined up in crates near my walk-in refrigerator. Sacks of flour are stacked so high, I can barely see over them. Jesus, this must be twice the regular order. I sigh, realizing I don’t have anywhere to decorate the cake.
Tina, the stay-at-home mom of two who comes in to help out twice a week, gapes at me helplessly from where she’s signing a clipboard. “Cori, I had no idea what to do!”
Determined, I rein in my displeasure knowing there was a massive error somewhere. And believe me, I’ll find it. I sigh again. “Then let’s get it put away before I kill whoever made this mistake.” Since we decided to streamline ordering to go through Ali, we’ve cut costs significantly. But I know what I told Ali I needed for cakes earlier in the week. It was half of what’s in my kitchen right now.
That means either the supplier screwed up or someone in the family did.
Every second counts right now, and I’m losing precious time as I help Tina when I should already be delicately brushing sheets of foil onto smooth fondant.
* * *
Thirty minutes later,I’ve left Tina in a better state, but I’m marching up the grand front staircase, murder aforethought. I’ve already talked directly with the food supplier who assures me the order was correct. So that means only one thing. Based on what I just put away, I’ve been overbooked once again after being promised a light week.
