Now, are we gonna jam or what?”
“We’re gonna jam,” I said, getting the game set up.
“Good. Who’s your person?”
“I’m Jessie Lax. Who do you want to be?”
“I want you to show me all of them so I can decide.”
In the end, Myra chose über Goth Lizzie Bourdain because “they call her guitar an axe, and it’s fancy.”
Chapter Five
The first thing I did when I got up the next morning was set out the eight cakes I needed to decorate. I put the cakes, the butter cream and the fondant on the island; and then I made myself a bowl of cereal. I felt guilty the entire time I was eating my cereal, though, because I could hear Sparrow on the porch crying for her breakfast.
After eating and putting my bowl and spoon into the dishwasher, I pulled my plush yellow robe embellished with daisy appliqués tighter around myself and braved the cool December morning air with Sparrow’s food. She must’ve been starving because she didn’t run away and wait until she was positive I’d gone inside before returning. This morning, she dug right in with me still standing there beside her. I bent slightly and stroked her head. She didn’t purr, but she didn’t run away either. I smiled to myself as I went inside to shower and dress. Sparrow and I were definitely making progress.
After I’d dressed and had my second cup of coffee, I was ready to face the day. I decided to start with the four birthday cakes. I had some flavored fondant I’d ordered at the Oklahoma Sugar Art Show—fondant has a yearlong shelf life, by the way, when stored in airtight packaging—and I wanted to use the fondant to make some fun birthday cake decorations. I had grape, tutti-frutti, strawberry and white chocolate.
As I formed 3D balloons using the grape, tutti-frutti and strawberry fondant, I found myself thinking about Fred’s funeral. The funeral was taking place at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. I wondered if Mr. Franklin would attend. I wondered if he’d allow his employees to attend. Surely, the man would be decent enough to at least send flowers.
What was his problem anyway? I realized he had issues with Fred, but people generally put their petty differences aside at a time like this. Don’t they?
Mr. Franklin had always struck me as a reasonable, somewhat kind man. Could his gruff demeanor simply be hiding his grief?
I placed the balloons on one of the round cakes and then attached blue-colored string piping. I piped top and bottom borders and then wrote “Happy Birthday” on the cake in green script. One down, seven to go.
For the next birthday cake, I decided to make ribbon roses using the strawberry fondant.
Luckily, I’d remembered to put on my headset because China York called.
“Good morning,” I said. “How are you?”
“I’m fit as a fiddler on the Fourth of July,” she said. “Are you busy?”
“I’m never too busy for you.”
“Good. I want you to make me a Christmas cake.”
“What flavor would you like?”
“Chocolate, I reckon, with vanilla icing.”
“All right. How would you like it decorated?”
“I want either a Bible or a cross. We aim to remember the reason for the season, you know.”
“I can make it a sheet cake with a Bible and a cross on it if you want me to.”
“Nah, I don’t reckon we need to be tacky about it.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from giggling. When I regained my composure, I said, “I have a cake pan in the shape of a cross. What do you think of that?”
“Why, I’d like that fine. Can I get me some purple roses on it? Purple represents royalty, you know.”
“I’ll put a cluster of roses right in the center. Would you like me to write ‘Merry Christmas’ on it?”
“No, I want you to write ‘Happy Birthday’ on it. I always make Jesus a birthday cake; but I figure since you can probably use the work, I’ll let you do it this year.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate that.”
“Can I pick it up on the 24 th
“We’re gonna jam,” I said, getting the game set up.
“Good. Who’s your person?”
“I’m Jessie Lax. Who do you want to be?”
“I want you to show me all of them so I can decide.”
In the end, Myra chose über Goth Lizzie Bourdain because “they call her guitar an axe, and it’s fancy.”
Chapter Five
The first thing I did when I got up the next morning was set out the eight cakes I needed to decorate. I put the cakes, the butter cream and the fondant on the island; and then I made myself a bowl of cereal. I felt guilty the entire time I was eating my cereal, though, because I could hear Sparrow on the porch crying for her breakfast.
After eating and putting my bowl and spoon into the dishwasher, I pulled my plush yellow robe embellished with daisy appliqués tighter around myself and braved the cool December morning air with Sparrow’s food. She must’ve been starving because she didn’t run away and wait until she was positive I’d gone inside before returning. This morning, she dug right in with me still standing there beside her. I bent slightly and stroked her head. She didn’t purr, but she didn’t run away either. I smiled to myself as I went inside to shower and dress. Sparrow and I were definitely making progress.
After I’d dressed and had my second cup of coffee, I was ready to face the day. I decided to start with the four birthday cakes. I had some flavored fondant I’d ordered at the Oklahoma Sugar Art Show—fondant has a yearlong shelf life, by the way, when stored in airtight packaging—and I wanted to use the fondant to make some fun birthday cake decorations. I had grape, tutti-frutti, strawberry and white chocolate.
As I formed 3D balloons using the grape, tutti-frutti and strawberry fondant, I found myself thinking about Fred’s funeral. The funeral was taking place at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. I wondered if Mr. Franklin would attend. I wondered if he’d allow his employees to attend. Surely, the man would be decent enough to at least send flowers.
What was his problem anyway? I realized he had issues with Fred, but people generally put their petty differences aside at a time like this. Don’t they?
Mr. Franklin had always struck me as a reasonable, somewhat kind man. Could his gruff demeanor simply be hiding his grief?
I placed the balloons on one of the round cakes and then attached blue-colored string piping. I piped top and bottom borders and then wrote “Happy Birthday” on the cake in green script. One down, seven to go.
For the next birthday cake, I decided to make ribbon roses using the strawberry fondant.
Luckily, I’d remembered to put on my headset because China York called.
“Good morning,” I said. “How are you?”
“I’m fit as a fiddler on the Fourth of July,” she said. “Are you busy?”
“I’m never too busy for you.”
“Good. I want you to make me a Christmas cake.”
“What flavor would you like?”
“Chocolate, I reckon, with vanilla icing.”
“All right. How would you like it decorated?”
“I want either a Bible or a cross. We aim to remember the reason for the season, you know.”
“I can make it a sheet cake with a Bible and a cross on it if you want me to.”
“Nah, I don’t reckon we need to be tacky about it.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from giggling. When I regained my composure, I said, “I have a cake pan in the shape of a cross. What do you think of that?”
“Why, I’d like that fine. Can I get me some purple roses on it? Purple represents royalty, you know.”
“I’ll put a cluster of roses right in the center. Would you like me to write ‘Merry Christmas’ on it?”
“No, I want you to write ‘Happy Birthday’ on it. I always make Jesus a birthday cake; but I figure since you can probably use the work, I’ll let you do it this year.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate that.”
“Can I pick it up on the 24 th
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