Cream Puff Read online

  ****

  Lamplight shown through the living room window as he finally pulled into the driveway. She’s still up. Pearl got such little physical activity and napped on and off throughout the day, so her tendency toward insomnia was really no big surprise. But there was more to it than that.

  Charlie grabbed the large white bag with the bakery logo that sat beside him in the passenger seat and got out. They would hopefully keep her off his back. He was beat and more than ready for bed.

  “Hey, hun,” he said, holding up the white paper sack as he came through the door.

  “I was beginning to think you’d died,” she said, accepting the pastries without looking away from a rerun of her favorite show.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Can’t collect the life insurance just yet.”

  She responded by turning the volume up with the remote.

  He walked out of the living room without removing his jacket and headed toward the garage instead of the bedroom. On the way through the kitchen he glanced at the clock. It was almost four. His body pleaded for a hot shower and bed, but there was one last thing to do first.

  Charlie flipped on the lights of the cold garage and descended the steps. The bright overhead hurt his eyes as he crossed to the deep freezer, but it would only take a minute. He had planned for the last piece of Ruby’s wedding cake—the crown atop the beautiful layers—to be a final present from her deceased little brother; a small round raspberry cake that Tommy had made at the bakery just three weeks before his death.

  ****

  “What frosting are you planning to use, Tommy?” Charlie had asked him that day.

  “Plain,” the boy said.

  “Plain? You mean vanilla?”

  “N-no, Dad,” he had said, rolling his eyes. “No fwosting.”

  It had struck Charlie as strange at the time, but Tommy insisted that the cake had to go undressed. What’s more, it had to be saved. When his father went for a large sheet of plastic wrap, Tommy had protested.

  “Dad, it h-has to las a rilly long time,” he said.

  “How long do you want to save it for, buddy?”

  “Spesh…special oh-cashun, Dad,” Tommy said. “Long time.”

  Fortunately, Charlie had just the thing. He’d been fiddling around for years with a way to store baked goods long-term while still maintaining flavor and freshness. His experimentation had resulted in a unique container made from paper-lined plastic that worked like a charm. Airtight and dry, it would keep the contents in a frozen vacuum where no texture or flavor was lost for an indefinite period. He even had a patent pending on the design.

  So Charlie stored the little cake, taking great pains with placing it carefully inside and sealing it so that Tommy could see. The container was then placed on a high shelf in their walk-in freezer there at the bakery. Tommy made a habit of checking on the container every time he came to work from then on.

  When Tommy died, Charlie forgot the container altogether. More than two months passed before he could even set foot in the bakery again. Had it not been for Kathy taking up the slack and running the place, he might have closed the doors for good.

  His first day back had been harder than expected. It was Kathy’s presence and constant, good-natured jabbering that kept him from falling apart that whole first week, but he still jumped every time the phone rang with an order for baked goods. It reminded him too much of the last call he’d received there; the one that turned his whole world upside-down.

  The one where he’d been told that his son had been roasted alive.

  ****

  That was then and this was now. He wasn’t over Tommy and never would be, but he was learning to live with the pain. Some months ago, he came across the boy’s cake container at the bakery during a regular inventory. He’d taken it home and packed it away in the deep freezer with no idea why. It was a part of Tommy—that was all that mattered.

  Tommy had decided to make his little cake, leave it unfrosted, and freeze it as if he knew its eventual purpose. Only when Charlie agreed to make Ruby’s wedding cake did the notion occur to him. He now knew it was meant to be a farewell gift from Tommy to his sister (and far more than she deserved, as far as Charlie was concerned).

  The little cake would be the perfect topper for the large stack waiting at the bakery, but it would have to thaw awhile first. He rummaged through the large deep freezer a couple of times, however, and couldn’t find the container he’d stored it in. It should have been beneath the Butterball turkey. Charlie moved things around again. Pork roast, bagged veggies, several of the wife’s pot pies—still no luck.

  Pearl had to have known Charlie was going to use it for Ruby’s cake. She must have moved it to the kitchen freezer. That was it. Of course.

  Going back to the kitchen, he jerked open the freezer door and inspected the contents: half a bag of her burritos, a box of popsicles, and two ice trays. There was a large box of corn dogs that hadn’t been there long and an opened box of frozen pancakes, but no cake container. He opened the refrigerator. Nothing.

  “Pearl,” he called out loud enough to be heard over her TV, “where’s Tommy’s cake?”

  “Mmph…what?” she said from the next room, chewing on another cream puff.

  “The little cake he made…you know—in the green container. I’m going to use it to finish Ruby’s cake.”

  “That old thing?” she said, brushing crumbs from her chest. “It was taking up too much space in the freezer. I threw it out a month ago.”

  She never even looked away from the television when she said it.

  Over the last year, she had sold, given away, or thrown away everything of Tommy’s. What few photos of the boy that remained were tucked away in the glove compartment of Charlie’s car for safekeeping. Now the last piece of their boy was gone from their home, and she’d discarded it without a thought.

  Charlie couldn’t speak, his fingers still gripping the door handle of the fridge. A year’s worth of pain had left a dark hole inside. Now that hole was filling, turning fast into something else. Something worse.

  “Why can’t you make a new one?” she said, her eyes glued to the TV. “I’m sure that old cake was no good by now anyway, if it was any good to begin with.”

  Tommy wasn’t here anymore and she still couldn’t resist talking about him like he never existed. It was as if she wished he never had.

  “You think you’ll have time to even finish that cake?” she said, thinking he was still in the kitchen.

  He wasn’t. He had entered the living room, just a few feet behind her.

  She had demanded years ago that the couch be placed where she could face the television, but it prevented her from seeing anyone coming from the kitchen area. Sure that Charlie had gone back out to the garage or down the hall to the bedroom, she reverted to thinking out loud.

  “Always gotta bring up Tommy,” Pearl muttered. She continued mumbling under her breath as her program went to commercial. He had to strain to hear her, but he caught every word.

  “Goddamn boy’s cake,” she grumbled, sounding like she was about to add something else, but stopping short.

  He thought of saying something just to shut her up, or at least let her know he was there. His gut told him to stay quiet and listen. It only took a second.

  “If you hadn’t come in his room so goddamn fast that night,” she said, “I wouldn’t have had to put up with him all those years. Sure stopped his whining, though.”

  Charlie’s lungs locked in mid-breath and he went rigid as stone. It seemed that everything in him slowed to a sudden halt—breath, pulse, even time stood still. The only sense of speed came from a forgotten memory that raced to the forefront of his mind; one whose truth had eluded him for years, but now revealed itself with brutal clarity.

  ****

  Tommy had been eight weeks old. He was a healthy, happy baby with one drawback: colic. His parents had already been losing sleep from the late night feedings and diaper changes, but that wa
s to be expected. The incessant crying cut into their sleep to the point of exhaustion, however, and Pearl had tried everything she knew without success.

  Eight-year-old Ruby didn’t help matters by standing in the doorway of their bedroom every chance she got and complaining about the noise. By the same token, Charlie recalled how every time the baby actually did manage to fall asleep for a while, a book or a toy in Ruby’s room would ‘accidentally’ fall to the floor. Then the whole thing would start up again.

  It had been Pearl’s turn to get up with Tommy that particular night. Charlie recalled that she had almost seemed eager to go and check on him. The wailing had grown louder as she went into his room (as it always did), but it got quiet fast; an abrupt silence rather than a gradual calming down. Something about the oddness of it got Charlie out of bed. He walked in to find Pearl standing over the crib.

  He’d been half-asleep and yawning when he entered the baby’s room and then, like now, she was unaware he was behind her. Through blurry eyes he saw Pearl; leaning over the crib and holding the baby’s small blue pillow in both hands. She didn’t seem to be alarmed until she noticed him there.

  “I…I think something’s wrong with Tommy,” she said.

  He had snapped awake then and flipped on the light to see his infant son wide-eyed and quiet. The little limbs were blue. His face had a panicked, oxygen-starved expression.

  Charlie remembered the frantic drive to the hospital in the rain that seemed to take forever, the horror-filled minutes when he wasn’t sure whether Tommy would live or die, and the moment in the doctor’s office the next day when they were told their son had suffered brain damage. Asphyxia, they were informed; an obstruction to the baby’s breathing that had somehow corrected itself in the knick of time. They were told they were lucky.

  Even then, he hadn’t seen it.

  Pearl.

  Fifty years, he thought now. How could I be so stupid? For five decades he’d been married to this woman and it had taken this long to see her for what she was.

  His hands began to shake. He shoved them into the pockets of his jacket to gain control of himself and…his left hand found something unexpected. The paper crumpling in his palm was all too familiar.

  It was impossible.

  He had thrown it into the trees back at the cemetery—hell, he’d thrown it away over and over, yet here it was again in the pocket of his jacket. His fingers found the thin, strong wire as it slipped silently from the spool and into his hand. He could feel the tensile strength and liked the way it felt in his grip. His hand came out of the pocket with the wire dangling, twisting like a thin gold serpent.

  “Useless,” she continued in a hushed tone, apparently thinking she was still alone. “Absolutely useless. Like father, like son. Hope you put more thought into our anniversary.”

  You tried to kill him. Our SON. Tried to kill him and then you blame HIM for his handicap. You…you selfish…miserable, fucking BITCH!

  If he had to explain it later in a courtroom, he probably wouldn’t be able to well enough for members of a jury to understand. He would only be able to say that, at that particular moment, something inside him gave way. He didn’t know if it was the invasion of a new emotion, or one that had been hiding inside him all along.

  Nor did he care.

  Charlie started forward. Without thinking, his right hand found the other end of the wire and pulled it taught. He was ten feet away from her.

  “Get some sleep, Charlie!” she shouted. She must have thought he was headed for the bedroom. “You’ve got a lot to do come morning!”

  The echo of her shrill voice ended in a self-satisfied chuckle.

  Six feet.

  Pearl shifted her weight as she reached for the television remote and farted loudly. Without hesitation, she stuffed her other hand into the bag he’d brought home for her and pulled out a third cream puff. Her next comment was somewhat muffled by the huge bite she took, but he heard it just the same.

  “And you better have gotten me a nice gift.”

  I do, he thought. Right here.

  Two feet.

  Charlie hesitated. Something in that last thought didn’t sound like him. He looked down at the beading wire in his hands and realized what he was about to do. It wasn’t too late. He could come to his senses and put the wire down.

  But she deserves it, Inner Dad said.

  No one deserves that, he thought—no matter what they might have done.

  Might have done? You know what she did, what she tried to do. You gonna let her get away with that?

  She’s my wife, he told himself. Tommy’s gone and there’s no bringing him back.

  So you’re just gonna pussy-out…let folks keep walkin’ all over ya. You chose to let the world dump on you, but what choice did Tommy have?

  The low bookshelf that ran along the back of the sofa had been his idea years ago; a place to keep all of her paperback romances and some of her crafting supplies within easy arm’s reach behind her. He could drop the jewelling wire there among the half-made bracelets and necklaces and no one would be the wiser.

  He didn’t have to love her anymore. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d hate her for the rest of his life. But he was better than she was…

  Right.

  …he could let her live.

  You’re jokin’, right? You forgettin’ what this woman did?

  He could be the bigger person.

  She treated the boy like dirt just for bein’ in her life. Her own flesh and blood.

  I will be the better person, he told himself. I won’t do it.

  Coward.

  Inches away.

  “Why the hell I married you I’ll never know,” Pearl suddenly mumbled through bits of cake, crumb, and crème filling.

  Pussy.

  Charlie watched as his hands reach forward, gripping the wire hard enough to make the tendons in his wrists bulge. Still oblivious to his presence, she swallowed hard on the mouthful of pastry.

  Chapter Eleven

  A mere handful of hours passed before the alarm blared on Charlie’s nightstand. The digital clock read 6:00 a.m. and he was surprised to feel well-rested after only a few hours of sleep. It was still the morning of their anniversary and Ruby’s wedding. Good thing, too, he thought, for there was still so much to do before the festivities.

  After coming home from the cemetery he wasn’t sure he’d get any sleep at all, but he and Pearl must have resolved their differences. Didn’t we? He honestly couldn’t remember.

  He silenced the alarm and dressed in the dark. Pearl must have decided to stay on the couch overnight, so he all but tiptoed through the living room on his way to the kitchen. No need to wake her.

  The light over the stove was on and the coffee maker was brewing as usual, although he didn’t recall filling it or setting the timer. She must’ve done it to make amends.

  Amends for what? The thought nagged at him as he poured a cup. There was a blank spot where the memory of an argument should have been. He was taking a sip when the missing time returned. He lowered the cup to the counter in slow-motion.

  Tommy.

  He recalled giving Pearl the bag of cream puffs, the mumbling under her breath. More than anything, he remembered the secret she’d been concealing all these years. And the uncontrollable rage that followed.

  Had he done what he thought he did? He’d been angry—furious, in fact—but he hadn’t gone that far. No way. He wouldn’t do something that crazy.

  Just moments ago on his way to the kitchen he had seen her sleeping; snoozing on the couch in a sitting position as she often did when she was too tired to make it to the bedroom. Granted, he couldn’t hear her customary labored breathing, but that didn’t mean anything. Pearl didn’t always snore and she always slept like the dead.

  The thought made him shiver.

  Charlie thought about walking back in there and checking, but thought better of it. Pearl was a bee-tortured bear when her sleep was interrupted and he didn�
��t want to get into it with her. Not now, at least. There’d be time enough for all that later. He glanced at the microwave clock. Gotta go.

  He decided to skip breakfast, his vitamins—even his daily meds, but paused long enough to fill his thermos with coffee before heading out the door. The one custom he did honor was kissing the palm of his free hand as he passed the living room and waving it in the air as he’d done a thousand times before.

  “Bye, Pearl,” he said with more softness than even he expected.

  ****

  The drive to the bakery was an experience Charlie always enjoyed, even when he was facing a busy day. There was something about the newborn morning, before the rest of the world came alive. It was peaceful; like sharing a secret with nature that the rest of the world didn’t know about.

  The coffee tasted better than ever and the heater setting was enough to knock back the chill and make him comfortable without putting him to sleep. He switched on the radio and was treated to an old surfing classic. It was a good one, but had to be somebody’s idea of a joke.

  “Cute,” he said to the still-defrosting windshield.

  He hummed along anyway.

  The song was replaced by a commercial and Charlie snapped the radio off to begin planning his day. He still had to finish Ruby’s cake (and he’d have to make another small one for the top tier now that Tommy’s had been thrown out), but at least some of the pressure of the day was off now.

  He’d already decided there would be no anniversary present. After discovering Pearl’s part last night in causing their son’s brain damage as an infant (and likely trying to kill him), he didn’t intend to give her another gift ever again. If she didn’t like it—tough.

  So what if this was their anniversary? He was finally going to have it out with her once and for all and she wouldn’t out-talk him like she normally did. If he had to raise his voice—if he had to scream it at her—by God, she was gonna listen. He really didn’t care anymore.