I wrapped the lasagna securely in tinfoil and picked it up. My bum wrist chose that moment to cramp up. I dropped the heavy metal pan and it clattered to the floor. The tinfoil was jarred loose and noodles and sauce spattered the black and white floor.
“Damn it.” I closed my eyes, trying to block out the mess.
“Are you all right?” Dragon put a tentative hand on my shoulder.
No, I wasn’t. I was embarrassed because one stupid mistake had consigned me to a life of misery. But I didn’t want to lay that all out for my cousin, who was having her own rough time, so I said, “Old injury.”
My mother chose that moment to pop her head out of her studio. “What happened?”
“My wrist seized up.” I turned to the sink and retrieved a dishrag. When I spun back around, Puck was there, licking sauce and ricotta cheese off an uncooked noodle.
“Let me get this. You ought to ice that wrist.” My mother reached for the cloth.
I snatched it away. “I said it's fine.” I dropped to my knees and after shooing the cat away, scooped the mess into a dustpan and then directly into the trash.
My mother stood there and I knew she wanted to say something. At that moment, I was incredibly grateful for Dragon’s presence. Mom would curb her tongue with her niece in the house.
Dragon was looking at the pot of sauce. “There’s still some left. Maybe we can just do spaghetti instead?”
A lump formed in my throat. She was a good egg, stepping up with a solution to help diffuse the tension.
“Sure.” The ceramic dish was cracked beyond salvation. I added it to the garbage bag and then tied it up. “I’m just going to take this out to the trash.”
I stood up and, feeling like I was a hundred years old, shuffled out the back door.
“What just happened?” I heard Dragon ask my mom.
Against my better judgment I paused, wondering how Prudence Whitmore would respond. We didn’t talk about what had happened. Not ever.
My mother cleared her throat. “You know Josephine was in a car accident when she was a teenager? Well, that accident cost her the chance to become an elite gymnast and her shot at the Olympic team. She never got over that. Sometimes she pushes too hard and the wrist gives out. And every time it happens, it reminds her of what she lost.”
“You mean going to the Olympics?” Dragon asked.
My mother sighed. “The Olympics, being able to do gymnastics. Everything she had worked and sacrificed for. The way she saw it, all of her hard work came to nothing. It was all snatched away in a moment. And she’s never let herself try for any new goal since.”
I moved away from the door. We had several bricks set on top of the trash can lids to keep the raccoons out of the garbage. I picked one up and hurled it into the trees behind the house with all my strength.
That felt good, so I did it with the other one. Then I sank to my knees on the frozen ground and sobbed.
My mother was wrong. I had tried to make my life better. To find a new path. I’d gotten married, worked all sorts of jobs, but it didn’t change the fact that I could no longer do the one thing I had been put on the planet to do. The only area in which I’d excelled. The universe had cursed me with bad luck because of the gift I had squandered.
“I have to fix it,” I whispered into the night. “I have to make it better, no matter the cost.”
It was time.
Chapter 8
“A real man knows what to do in every situation…exactly what his wife tells him to do.”
—Notable quotable from Grammy B
After dinner, I volunteered to take a plate of spaghetti over to Grammy’s, knowing mom wouldn’t think anything of it if I was gone for a while. Grammy B was asleep in her recliner. I shut off the forensics crime show, stowed the spaghetti in the fridge, and left her a note telling her what I’d left her and how long to reheat the plate when she felt like eating.
Then I drove out to Firefly Lane.
There was no sign of Robin though all the lights were on in his treehouse. I hunted around until I found the knot that caused the door to the tree to swing inward. Any other time, I would have waited outside