Page 77 of It's in the Contract
Twenty-Nine
TODAY get ready to grab some amazing deals!
Facebook event page of the St. Matthew’s Presbyterian Church.
The fundraiserinside the church gym on Sunday is huge—way bigger than I expected. I see why Caroline wanted to put her best foot forward. The fundraiser is like a small version of Pike Place Market, with booths lining the church gym in neat rows displaying handmade crafts like scarves, hats, bags, and earrings, and other stalls selling home-baked treats, too, though I note with pride that none look as tasty and professional as mine.
I let myself bask in that feeling for a moment. The feeling of being good at something, doing it well, and using a skill to help other people.
The gym is noisy and crowded, filled with people setting up their stalls and hurrying to finish getting ready before the doors open at 9:00 AM. On the far side of the room a small podium and microphone have been erected.
I help Caroline carry our boxes of treats to her table, passing a lady selling handmade beaded bracelets and a man displaying3D printed toys. Zeke’s dad is home watching Mia, for obvious reasons. Zeke is right behind me, his arms full of boxes of goodies. So far Zeke has completely avoided eye contact with me, and the awkward tension between us is palpable, even worse than yesterday.
We set the boxes down on the table assigned to us, a long rectangle covered in a checkered picnic-style tablecloth.
Caroline claps her hands, thrilled. “You’ve made us so many goodies, honey,” she says. “I know we’re going to outsell everyone else.”
“But it’s not a competition, Mama,” Zeke says, setting down the boxes he’s carrying behind the table.
“Oh, I know, I know,” she says, glancing at a table to our far left. “But it would be nice to sell well, don’t you think? For the church?”
I follow Caroline’s gaze. There’s a red-haired woman selling baked goods down the row. Her cookies are perfection, with that shiny-smooth royal icing I’ve never bothered to learn because I don’t like the taste. What’s the point of spending hours of my precious kitchen time learning to decorate a cookie that looks flawless but doesn’t actually taste good? I like my nutmeg-scented sugar cookies with buttercream frosting much better.
I open a box and start setting out brownies individually packaged in crinkly paper. I arrange them on pretty pastel plates with lacy napkins Caroline bought, along with the price tags. She’s gone all out to make our table look good.
“I’ll get the rest of the boxes,” Zeke says. I glance over his face, hoping to catch his eye, to say with my expression that everything’s okay; we can still be friends. Even if secretly his rejection still stings.
But he doesn’t look at me. Zeke nods to his mom and then hurries out the door, completely avoiding my gaze.
An uncomfortable lump forms in my throat. I look down at the brownie in my hand and take a deep breath.
“Who’s that?” I ask, looking up to see the other cookie seller greet her neighbors with a smile that looks like she’s trying just a bit too hard. She catches my gaze, notices Caroline behind me, and her smile widens.
“Oh, she’s no one,” Caroline says quickly. But the woman is coming over to us, and why do I feel like her smile looks predatory?
“Caroline, how lovely,” she says, extending her arms for a hug. She’s wearing a maroon sweater tucked into her high-waisted skinny jeans and knee-high leather boots. A jangly gold necklace hangs from her neck. She and Caroline pat each other awkwardly on the back and release each other from the hug quickly.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” the woman asks me in a condescending voice. Her scarlet hair curls around her shoulders.
“It’s Callie,” I say.
Her eyes widen. “Callie Carter? I thought I recognized you. I’ve seen your father’s movies. Kissing a lot of women who aren’t your mother, isn’t he?”
I blink.
Caroline crosses her arms. “Don’t you need to finish getting your table set up, Amanda? Doors open in ten minutes.”
Amanda turns to Caroline, her smile faltering. “I’m finished. But it looks like you still have quite a bit of work to do, so I’ll leave you to it.” She turns and blows a kiss over her shoulder. “I’ll be waving at you from the podium, Caroline.”
My stomach gets a greasy feeling like I’ve just finished talking to Brielle. I continue setting out the brownies in an artful pattern, and I notice that Caroline is quiet as she assembles the treats. “Caroline? Who was that?”
“Oh, she’s no one, honey. Amanda Williams. I’m sorry she was so rude to you. Your dad’s just doing what he needs to do to move his career forward, right?” Caroline’s talking a little too fast, and she won’t meet my eyes.
“Wait. AmandaWilliams?”
Caroline nods, fussing with our table décor.
I watch the woman. Besides the red hair, which looks like it can’t be natural now that I study the color more, her face and expressions are a dead ringer for Brielle.
