Read Online Flourless to Stop Him by Nancy J. Parra - Free Book Online
Authors: Nancy J. Parra
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again.
“Great.” I pulled on my hat and gloves. “You have my cell phone number if you need to get ahold of me.”
“I do and I won’t,” she said with a laugh. “Don’t worry, your baby will be safe with me.”
“I’m counting on it,” I said and stepped out into the cold. Since the sun had come up, the temperature had actually dropped. The sunlight was weak against a gray overcast sky. It smelled of snow and I wrapped my scarf around my face as I trudged across the parking lot. The bakery van was white, utilitarian, and, with only 75,000 miles on it, a great bargain. Thank goodness my brothers were good with mechanical things. I depended on my delivery van. I had a sneaking suspicion that without Tim, the vehicle would have kicked the bucket last year.
I rattled in an empty van down Main Street to Central. Turning left onto Central I headed west. My bed called me from the distance. My stomach rumbled and threatened me with terrible things.
Altogether it was stupid of me to think I could cheat—especially with the holidays just around the corner.
I arrived home to find Tim’s car parked in the street in front of the house. The driveway was blocked by a black Audi. I parked beside it, squeezing the van into the small space between the sleek black car and the house.
“Mindy must be here,” I muttered to myself and headed into the kitchen. Inside was warm and well lit. My cousin Mindy stood at the stove, cooking something in a frying pan that smelled like an omelet. Yum, if my stomach weren’t a big mess.
“Hi, Mindy. That smells good.” I hugged my cousin.
“Thanks, I got in when Tim did this morning. I’m hungry, but all you have is frozen bread. I don’t like it frozen, so I stopped at the store and picked up some fresh.” Mindy pointed at the toaster and a pile of toast on a plate. “I hope you like whole wheat.”
“Oh.” My shoulders dropped. “Um, I’m gluten-free.”
“What? What’s that?”
“I have celiac disease. It means that if I eat gluten it damages my insides. Like right now—I ate takeout French fries yesterday and I’m suffering today.”
“Oh.” She drew her perfectly groomed eyebrows together. “You’re sick?”
“Yes, it’s not pretty.” I stepped over to the sink and grabbed a water glass from the cupboard on the right side of the sink. “The reason my bread is frozen is because it’s gluten-free. It doesn’t have wheat, barley, or rye in it; therefore it spoils quicker. Freezing it keeps it fresh.”
“Really?” She picked up the frying pan. “So I contaminated your kitchen when I brought in fresh bread?”
“Sort of.” I winced. “I’ll need to get a new toaster and whatever dishes you used will have to be separated. You can’t wash or sterilize gluten away. It has to be dedicated.”
“I’m so sorry! I had no idea.” Mindy slumped against the counter.
“It’s not your fault.” I put my hand on her arm. “People who don’t have experience with celiac don’t understand how crazy things can make you.”
“What happens? Can I ask?” She slid a perfect omelet onto a plate. “Do you break out in a rash? Does your throat close up?”
“I get terrible stomach issues.” I hugged my belly as it rumbled. “Like IBS symptoms.”
“Oh, oh dear.” She pursed her mouth and winced. “I’ll take this out to the dining room.”
“Okay, just please keep it separate.”
“Sure, sure.” Mindy walked with me to the dining room. “It must be really hard to worry about gluten. At least it doesn’t make you so sick you die.” She sat down at the table. “I read last week where a boy ate part of a cookie and it literally killed him.”
“Peanuts,” I said. “Or tree nuts, I bet.”
“Yes, I think it was a peanut allergy. Is that why you’re home?” She forked up some eggs. “Tim said you would be working until eight P.M .”
“Yes, I’m not doing so well.”
“Then go on up to bed. I know my way around the house.
“Great.” I pulled on my hat and gloves. “You have my cell phone number if you need to get ahold of me.”
“I do and I won’t,” she said with a laugh. “Don’t worry, your baby will be safe with me.”
“I’m counting on it,” I said and stepped out into the cold. Since the sun had come up, the temperature had actually dropped. The sunlight was weak against a gray overcast sky. It smelled of snow and I wrapped my scarf around my face as I trudged across the parking lot. The bakery van was white, utilitarian, and, with only 75,000 miles on it, a great bargain. Thank goodness my brothers were good with mechanical things. I depended on my delivery van. I had a sneaking suspicion that without Tim, the vehicle would have kicked the bucket last year.
I rattled in an empty van down Main Street to Central. Turning left onto Central I headed west. My bed called me from the distance. My stomach rumbled and threatened me with terrible things.
Altogether it was stupid of me to think I could cheat—especially with the holidays just around the corner.
I arrived home to find Tim’s car parked in the street in front of the house. The driveway was blocked by a black Audi. I parked beside it, squeezing the van into the small space between the sleek black car and the house.
“Mindy must be here,” I muttered to myself and headed into the kitchen. Inside was warm and well lit. My cousin Mindy stood at the stove, cooking something in a frying pan that smelled like an omelet. Yum, if my stomach weren’t a big mess.
“Hi, Mindy. That smells good.” I hugged my cousin.
“Thanks, I got in when Tim did this morning. I’m hungry, but all you have is frozen bread. I don’t like it frozen, so I stopped at the store and picked up some fresh.” Mindy pointed at the toaster and a pile of toast on a plate. “I hope you like whole wheat.”
“Oh.” My shoulders dropped. “Um, I’m gluten-free.”
“What? What’s that?”
“I have celiac disease. It means that if I eat gluten it damages my insides. Like right now—I ate takeout French fries yesterday and I’m suffering today.”
“Oh.” She drew her perfectly groomed eyebrows together. “You’re sick?”
“Yes, it’s not pretty.” I stepped over to the sink and grabbed a water glass from the cupboard on the right side of the sink. “The reason my bread is frozen is because it’s gluten-free. It doesn’t have wheat, barley, or rye in it; therefore it spoils quicker. Freezing it keeps it fresh.”
“Really?” She picked up the frying pan. “So I contaminated your kitchen when I brought in fresh bread?”
“Sort of.” I winced. “I’ll need to get a new toaster and whatever dishes you used will have to be separated. You can’t wash or sterilize gluten away. It has to be dedicated.”
“I’m so sorry! I had no idea.” Mindy slumped against the counter.
“It’s not your fault.” I put my hand on her arm. “People who don’t have experience with celiac don’t understand how crazy things can make you.”
“What happens? Can I ask?” She slid a perfect omelet onto a plate. “Do you break out in a rash? Does your throat close up?”
“I get terrible stomach issues.” I hugged my belly as it rumbled. “Like IBS symptoms.”
“Oh, oh dear.” She pursed her mouth and winced. “I’ll take this out to the dining room.”
“Okay, just please keep it separate.”
“Sure, sure.” Mindy walked with me to the dining room. “It must be really hard to worry about gluten. At least it doesn’t make you so sick you die.” She sat down at the table. “I read last week where a boy ate part of a cookie and it literally killed him.”
“Peanuts,” I said. “Or tree nuts, I bet.”
“Yes, I think it was a peanut allergy. Is that why you’re home?” She forked up some eggs. “Tim said you would be working until eight P.M .”
“Yes, I’m not doing so well.”
“Then go on up to bed. I know my way around the house.
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