“I have just the thing for you,” she said, bending over to retrieve a plain oversized cookie from the bottom rack of the display case. “Come with me.”
She lifted a section of the counter to step out into the room. “What’s his name?”
“Manuel,” I said.
“Come here, Manuel.” She walked over to a tiny table meant for children and tugged a long piece of wax paper from a roll on one end, setting the cookie on it. “Would you like to decorate a cookie?”
I had no idea if Manuel understood what she was saying, but he seemed to recognize the tiny chair was meant for him and sat in it.
The woman looked up at us. “We often have little guests while we’re sampling. This will keep him busy for a while.”
She opened a cabinet in the wall behind her and withdrew three more tiny frosting tubs and a brush. “You can paint a picture on it with frosting,” she said, handing him the brush.
He looked at it, confused, until she dipped the end in the frosting and spread a line across the face of the cookie. Then he snatched the brush and stuck it in the pot, dumping yellow across its surface.
“There we go,” she said, returning to the counter. “Why don’t you try the traditional white cake now?”
“I think that’s going to be a whole lot better than the ginger-oregano one,” Jenny said.
The woman’s face remained impassive. “Our signature flavors aren’t for everyone.”
We each took a forkful of the white cake, soft and nuanced with a hint of almond extract.
“Now this is good,” Jenny said.
“Yes, we’ll go with the simple one,” I said, glad to have a decision made. I wanted everything to be as easy as possible, but Jenny was too gung ho about the festivities to let me just pick up a ready-made cake. Or snag a dress off a department store rack. We were still trying to keep it all inexpensive, even though Mom was sending money and gift cards constantly for us to use as we put everything together.
“So, white cake.” The woman jotted a note. “Just one tier.”
“It’s going to be very small,” I said.
She nodded. “Very sensible.” She flipped through a book of images of cakes. “And this design, right, just some white-on-white decorative swirls?”
“That’s fine,” I said. I didn’t really have any opinions about the cake.
“No, not fine,” Jenny said. “We want those fancy flowers on them, the ones that look real.”
The woman turned a few more pages, showing images of flower cakes. “Lilies? Roses?”
“Hyacinths,” I said before I could even think of why.
“That’s a lovely choice. Are your wedding colors going to be purple?”
“I guess so.” I suddenly second-guessed my choice. I had chosen hyacinths for Finn’s funeral because Gavin’s mother had always grown them in front of their house. I often tended them, pulling weeds, watering, and staying close so that Gavin’s father would behave as they worked on his old car. They were the flowers I knew best. It was the right thing. It meant Finn would be there with us.
“Any other adornments in the design?” the woman asked. “Oh, look, he’s made his cookie.”
Manuelito stood between me and Jenny, his dark head barely reaching the stools.
“Whatcha got there, little man?” Jenny asked. But when she reached for the cookie, he pulled it back.
“Corbell,” he said.
He’d never actually said my name before. I looked down at him, holding up the cookie, and my throat closed so tight I couldn’t have answered him if I wanted to. In a shaky, messy spread of frosting, Manuelito had painted an unmistakable image of a butterfly with a green body and little dots of blue on four yellow wings.
The butterflies that matched Finn’s mobile still hung in the trees outside my apartment, where Tina was staying now that I had moved in with Gavin. And despite the trauma of that moment when I was loaded into the ambulance, I still could see the tiny monarch braving the wind to flap against Gavin’s jacket.
Finn was here.
I reached for the cookie with trembling fingers. “Thank you, Manuel.”
He grinned at me, his expression so totally Gavin’s that my heart caught. For a moment I was four years old again, playing with my best friend, darting along the alley, or hiding on the other side of the fence.
Gavin would peek at me and say, “Found ya!” and his face would look exactly like Manuelito’s, joyful, eager, and pleased with himself. If this boy was anything like his father, then he and I would have everything in common.
Manuelito turned his face up high to look at the bakery woman. “More?”
We all laughed and the woman, probably mollified that Jenny had managed to talk me into a design upsell, bent down to get him another cookie.
“Is this one going to be for me?” Jenny asked him.
Manuel accepted the cookie and headed back to his table without answering.
“Little turkey, playing favorites,” Jenny said. She turned back to the book. “So what else? I want more doodads on this cake.”
I looked at Manuelito’s cookie. “Are there any butterflies?”
“Oh yes.” The woman flipped the page and revealed a beautiful cake covered in pastel wings and golden bodies, all intertwined with pale green stems like ribbons.
“That’s it,” I said. “That’s the one.”
“No hyacinths?” she asked.
“No. This is it.” Wedding, not funeral. Future, not past.
I spun around on the stool, watching Manuelito spread frosting across a cookie. Gavin and his son were a package deal. No matter how this little boy got here, and no matter whether or not we were ever given a sibling for him, he was ours.
“Hey, Manuel?”
He glanced up and rubbed his hand across his nose, leaving a smear of blue frosting.
“Shall we take some cookies home to Papa Gavin?”
His dark eyes lit up, his little chin nodding up and down. “Yes!” he said. “More!” He returned to his cookie, spreading the frosting in earnest, as intense as Albert with his painting of the castle and its one lone light.
If fate had to give me something, if it already knew whether or not my future would ever include a baby of my own, then I knew I had to accept this gift, to nurture it, and to never hold myself apart.
Life wasn’t easy. We all had our hardships, our setbacks. But if Manuelito could come through everything that had happened to him, still wanting to share, still smiling at us with shining eyes, then surely I could let myself believe that everything that had happened — Finn, his death, Gavin’s run to Mexico, my forced move to San Diego — was necessary for us to arrive at this moment, this boy, and the new family we had formed.
THE END
While this is the end of Gavin and Corabelle’s story, you will see them again (and witness their wedding!) in Tina’s book — Forever Sheltered.
Tina may think she will never trust another man enough to fall in love, but she didn’t count on Dr. Darion Marks, a pediatric oncologist whose emotionally demanding job and personal tragedies have forced him to avoid romantic entanglements. Their relationship turns explosive when Tina learns the secret Darion is keeping from the hospital staff, proving that love can heal even the most shattered hearts.
To be there when they discover each other, and to know when Forever Sheltered will be released, join my mailing list for book announcements and excerpts as I write their story.
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I have promised my daughter Elizabeth that I will write Elektra Chaos next, so I will get it out this spring. It’s the final segment of my series for 8-12 year olds featuring children facing challenges. Elizabeth has epilepsy caused by brain damage when her twin sister died while I was pregnant. This will be the story that she wants me to tell. She is on the cover.