Page 56 of Ripple Effect
“Improvised? With what?” Libby practically screeches before a soft moan makes her remember her head.
I don’t hold back. “Our wedding mug. I figured it was an eighteen-ounce mug. I estimated.”
“Heaven help me, I have to see this cake.” Libby tilts her head back. I can’t tell if her head’s hurting or if she’s praying. I figure if it’s the first she’ll tell me. Certainly, she’s let me know that more than once in the last few days.
“Well, if you’re sure.” I wait for her to lift her head before sending her a smile, one she cautiously returns. I place the box in her lap. I vaguely hear her “Umph!” as the weight of the disaster I baked weighs down her thighs.
“Cal, what on earth is in that box?” Libby demands. “It weighs a ton!”
Leaning over her, I absorb the light floral scent she wears. It’s obvious someone’s helped her clean up, but up close, I can still see the bruises that go well into her hairline. “God, I’m so sorry, baby. So, so sorry.”
Hesitantly, she raises a hand to touch my cheek. “Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay?” What does that mean? I pull back so I can see her face.
“It means we have my recovery to figure out where we go from here, Cal. Because I need you to remember you made a choice when you married me. We planned to be together forever. We did, Cal, not you and your job. I won’t go through something like this alone again.”
“You won’t.” It’s a vow.
Searching my eyes, Libby finally nods. And it’s like benediction has been granted. “Now, how do I open this?”
“Are you sure you want to?”
She pauses. “Is it really that bad?”
“Probably worse,” I admit.
“Then I definitely want to see it. I want to be able to bask in glory when I make you one in the future.”
“I just don’t want you going into a coma at the sight,” I mutter, pulling back so I can lift the top off the box.
I’m not sure if it’s my words or the cake itself that makes Libby laugh hysterically. “What…is that…Cal, you weren’t kidding about the nuts!” Her laugh is the balm my heart needs. “I don’t want to imagine what the kitchen looks like.”
“I’m bringing in a professional to clean it,” I joke.
She grins before poking at the cake with a brave finger. Then to my surprise, she calls out, “Daddy, come see how Cal mutilated Nonna’s cake just for me.”
“I hope you bought life insurance for us if you expect us to eat that,” Marcus mutters as he steps into his daughter’s room. His eyes the cake askance. “Son, you need to go down to the kitchen with Natalie for a while to learn how to make something edible. Otherwise, you’ll either die of starvation or have a hell of a commute to work while Libby’s recovering.” It’s as close to an invitation to stay as I’m going to get.
“Well, since I have the next month off to take care of my wife, I’m certain I can learn how to crack an egg between now and then,” I state calmly.
But it isn’t the reaction to the time off that garners the most attention.
“You didn’t crack the egg,” Marcus says slowly.
“The recipe didn’t say to,” I say defensively.
“Oh, boy,” Libby mutters. “Hey, Dad? Can you get a picture of me with the cake?”
I beam with pride—for about two seconds until Libby says, “Because there’s no way in hell I’m eating it.”
“You got it, honey.” Marcus goes off in search of Libby’s cell phone.
“No way in hell?” I demand of my wife.
“Cal, if I made this for you, what would you have done?”
“Um.” She has me there. “Kissed you, said thank you, and politely handed it to someone to dispose of.”
