Rain Shadow(10)

Gracie leaned toward me. “It’s the looker.”

“It sure is.” The cuff relaxed, and I checked the numbers. They were too high. Of course it might have been because ‘the looker’ had walked in right then. “Gracie, I want you to go in and rest. I’ll finish the pies, all right. Your blood pressure is too high. That’s why your head hurts. Grandpa has to take you to the doctor this week.”

She shook her head. “No doctor, Angel.” The mention of a doctor was a mistake. It would only upset her more. She was terrified of them. “All right but you have to rest. I’m going to shut the blinds so that it’s quiet and dark in there. Then you close your eyes and rest.”

It was always hard to get Gracie to leave the kitchen, but I sensed that the ache in her head made it easier for her to comply. She stood from the stool. “Don’t forget the cinnamon.”

“I won’t.” I followed her into the backroom and pulled the shades down to block out any sunlight. She stretched out on the futon and went to turn on the television. I took the remote from her hand. She pushed out her bottom lip like a small pouting child.

“No television. It will make your head hurt more. Rest.”

She sighed in disappointment, but stretched out on the futon and closed her eyes. Getting Grandpa to take her to the doctor would be as tough as getting her to go, but this couldn’t be ignored anymore. She needed medication to control her blood pressure and soon.



The worry must have shown on my face as I walked back into the kitchen and closed Gracie’s door behind me.

“Is she all right?” Luke asked.

I shook my head. “Her blood pressure is too high. She needs to see a doctor,” I smiled thinking about his nickname for me. “I mean a real doctor.”

“Will your grandfather take her?”

“Will Aunt Gracie go is the real question.” I washed my hands and surveyed the counter. “At least she has the pie dough rolled out.” I spoke casually as if we hadn’t just had a life changing discussion, as if I hadn’t basically just told him that I would give up my whole existence and my family to be with him. I picked up the bowl of apples. He circled behind the counter. He took the bowl from my hand and put it back down. He gazed at me in that way that went directly into my chest and grabbed my heart. Then, without a word, he took hold of my arms, pulled me to him and lowered his mouth to mine. His kiss was long and deep and held all the emotion that had swirled through my room just moments before. It was sealed now. There was nothing anyone, not even my crazy grandfather, could do to pull us apart.

He lifted his face and looked at the clutter on the counter. “I can help. I used to help my mom make pies for the holidays.”

I smiled at that notion. “That is so fucking cute. I can just see you now.”

“Hey, I rolled a mean pie crust. Of course, it looked as if a blizzard of white flour had blown through the kitchen once I was done, but the pies looked good.”

“Great. You can put the dough in the pie pans, and I’ll peel the apples.” I picked up an apple and dragged the peeler across its surface. “You’ve never said much about your family.” I lowered the fruit and stared over at him. “Holy shit, I’ve been a selfish ninny. They must be frantic about you. I can’t believe I just thought about that.”

He pressed the pie dough into the pan and shook his head. “You haven’t thought about it because I haven’t brought it up. I just have two brothers, and yeah, they’re probably freaking out. My dad died of a heart attack a few years back, and my mom,” he stopped and seemed to get lost in a distant memory. There was that horrible sorrow again. “My mom died when I was a kid, just like yours.” He crimped the sides of the pie like a true baker. “My dad taught me how to shoot a gun, but my mom taught me how to bake pies . . .among other things.”

“What did your dad do that made him so good with a gun?” It was an innocent and logical enough question, but it had startled him.

“Uh, he was in business. He just liked shooting at the target range for a hobby,” he said quickly as if he’d just come up with it.

“That’s all right, Luke. You don’t have to talk about this. I’m being too nosy.”

“No, that’s fine. I don’t mind.” He finished one pie plate and went on to the next. A faraway look glimmered in his eyes. “I wasn’t there when my mom died, like you were, but I remember every detail of that awful day.” He finished the crust and sat on Gracie’s stool. “I was at school in my fourth grade classroom. My twin brother, Seth,” he paused, “and Dex were in the same class. Dex was always there. We were inseparable.” Bringing up Dex had thrown him off his stride. He stared down at his flour covered fingers, and I waited for him to come back to the present. Several times a day he would fade back to the horrible day when Dex had died, but I’d found that if I waited quietly without saying anything, he would surface from the darkness again. He picked up a piece of spare dough and rolled it in his fingertips. “Mrs. Henry, the school principal, walked into our classroom. With her long, sharp nose, skinny legs and seemingly endless supply of pink sweaters, she’d earned the nickname Flamingo from the students. She always wore that pink sweater. Always. Even if it was ninety degrees, she’d have that pink sweater on. The only time you saw the elusive white starched blouse beneath was when you got called into the principal’s office. Once you were summoned to sit in the chair across from her desk, the chair the office staff had called the Gage chair because my older brother Gage had spent so much time there, that’s when she’d take off that fucking pink sweater and hang it politely on the back of her chair. That day she came into the room without the sweater, and her face matched her white blouse. We all quieted down as we always did whenever she walked into the room. She leaned over and whispered something into my teacher’s ear. My teacher, Mrs. Fremont, reached back and grabbed the edge of her desk for support. Then she looked across the room at me. ‘Luke and Seth, Mrs. Henry needs to speak with you,’ she’d said shakily. Nothing about her voice or expression seemed like the woman who’d just taught us how to reduce fractions ten minutes earlier. The school hallway stretched on endlessly, and every scenario went through my head, but never the scenario that met us in the principal’s office. Gage was balled up in the chair crying so hard he looked close to puking. My brother Gage never cried. Never.” Luke swiped a finger absently through the film of flour on the counter.