The Cakes of Wrath by Jacklyn Brady Read Free Book Online Page B

“No. I didn’t mean me. I’m not . . .” She waved a hand to encompass her gray sweatpants, stained red shirt, and the bright green kerchief covering her hair. “I didn’t mean me. I’m not good at that kind of thing. All of my artistic ability goes into decorating cakes. I thought you would want to plan it. You know. Considering how close you and Edie are.”
    Close? That was a stretch. Like I said, Edie and I had become friendlier in the past year but I wouldn’t have ever said we were “close.” “It’s fine with me if you do it,” I said. “Maybe you could get Isabeau and Sparkle to help you.”
    Estelle’s mouth fell open. “Sparkle? Queen of the Dark?” She snorted a laugh and shook her head. “She’s a sweet girl under all that goth makeup and all, but I shudder to think what kind of baby shower we’d have if she helped plan it. And I can’t ask Isabeau. You know how bad she feels about the whole baby thing.”
    I did not, in fact, have a clue what Estelle was talking about, but for the sake of keeping the conversation brief, I pretended I did. “Oh. Yeah. I wasn’t thinking.”
    Estelle gave me a maternal pat on the shoulder. “So you see, you’re the one who should do it. I’m just here to offer my help if you need it.”
    I never talk about it, but I have baby issues of my own. I have no children. I’ve never been pregnant. Never came close, not even before Philippe and I separated. Philippe and I agreed to wait to start a family so we could focus on our careers. But after a while, the waiting had become less voluntary and more obligatory. I’d gone through a time of grieving every month for a couple of years and then eventually made peace with myself.
    So while I don’t dislike babies, baby showers just aren’t my thing. I’m not into playing games and raving over diapers, burp rags, and other assorted baby paraphernalia. Apparently, Isabeau felt the same way.
    â€œYou’re so clever,” Estelle chirped, her ability to breathe now fully restored. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
    That made two of us.
    â€œIt’s just that I haven’t heard a peep about the plans, and you really shouldn’t put it off much longer. You know Edie’s not even close to being ready for the baby. She doesn’t have a crib or receiving blankets. All she has is a couple of sleepers. We don’t want the baby to get here before we can fill out the layette at the party.”
    Right. Estelle gave me a quick hug and a pat on the cheek. “I’m so glad that’s settled. You’ll let me know if you need any help at all?” And then she turned and hurried down the stairs without waiting for a response.
    Considering how often Miss Frankie volunteered me for projects without consulting me, you’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I was feeling a bit shell-shocked as I continued down the hall toward the conference room. “No,” I muttered under my breath. “No!” It was such an easy word. Why couldn’t I say it when I needed to?
    I found Miss Frankie (aka Frances Mae Renier) sitting at the conference table sipping a cup of coffee and looking through the contents of a black leather folder. I’d been married to her son, but I’d kept my own surname. Most people think it was a professional choice, but it was actually homage to my parents, whom I’d lost when I was twelve. I didn’t want to lose their name, too.
    I’d been expecting to find Miss Frankie pacing, but she looked cool as a cucumber in a pale green pantsuit and low-heeled sandals. Her auburn hair had been teased and sprayed to within an inch of its life, and her nails and lipstick were the same shade of dark plum.
    She beamed when I walked through the door, but her smile faded abruptly when she saw the bruises on my face.