Page 105 of Inside Silence
“This is a good thing, Savvy. A happy thing. Whatever changes or adjustments need to be made to our lives will be so worth it, and the beauty of it is, we have a lot of months to figure it all out.”
She flashes me a watery smile, but her tears are drying.
“Dad’s going to flip out,” she observes.
“He sure is,” I agree. “And Phil is going to go nuts over this baby. And you know who else?”
Now she beams up at me.
“Tatum?”
“Bingo. She’ll be in hog heaven.”
I lower my head and drop a kiss on her lips.
“Eww…” she mutters, pulling away. “Vomit breath.”
I laugh in her face.
“Like I care. You’re having my baby, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of bodily fluids to contend with in our immediate future.”
The expression on her face makes me laugh even harder.
“Oh God, I’m so not prepared for this.”
I rest my chin on the top of her head.
“You will be. We’ll figure it out.”
Bess
* * *
I bite off a curse and immediately cover a second yawn with the back of my hand.
Another early morning after yet another sleepless night.
One of these days one of my employees is going to come in and find me passed out on the kitchen floor. Unless Chance Tanek finds me first. He’s the town drunk and I swear he watches this place, waiting to see the light go on in my apartment upstairs.
He is usually already by the backdoor by the time I make my way downstairs in the morning. I normally have a paper bag with the prior day’s leftovers ready for him. He’s such a lost soul, not a particularly friendly one, but I feel for him nonetheless. I figure there’s no harm in giving him some day-old baked goods to soak up all the alcohol he consumed in the previous twenty-four hours. Plus, everyone deserves at least one friendly interaction a day. I’d like to think of it as doing a public service, although a couple of people in my circle of friends may not agree with me.
This morning I was too tired to even spare him a basic greeting, almost tossing the paper bag at him before slamming the door shut and shuffling into the kitchen. This is getting ridiculous; I can count the hours of sleep I’ve managed to cobble together over the past week on one hand. I’m going to have to ask Dana if there is anything she can prescribe because this is not sustainable.
I have a business to run, bills and employees to pay, and I can’t afford to fall down on the job, but that’s exactly what I’ve been doing since that damn phone call last week.
So far this morning, I already over-proofed my Chelsea buns, burned a batch of cookies, and now the apple streusel muffins I just pulled from the oven are collapsing. I can’t seem to do anything right, and it’s only a little after 6:00 a.m.
Something’s got to give.
As I quickly slide the muffins back in the oven—hoping I can salvage the batch—I hear the back door open. Lola, my only full-time employee, pokes her head into the kitchen. She takes one look at the lackluster Chelsea buns, and the discarded tray with my cookies charred remains before turning to me with a sympathetic look on her face.
“Let me put my stuff away and I’ll come give you a hand.”
I open my mouth to tell her not to bother—she shouldn’t have to pick up my slack like she’s been doing all week—but she’s already disappeared down the hall. Letting my eyes drift around the kitchen, I do some damage assessment. At least the date squares and the bacon and cheese scones came out fine. The Chelsea buns will have to do, and hopefully the muffins will turn out, but I’ll have to redo the cookies and should probably whip up a batch of lemon-poppyseed muffins as well, just in case.
Lola grabs an apron off the hook as she walks into the kitchen and ties it on.
“What’s next?” she asks, and I swallow against the sudden flood of emotions.
