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I had never seen his eyes so sad.
"You okay?" Sheila asks, and I feel her hand on my arm.
Quickly, I suck in a deep breath, hoping it will sober me. "I'm sorry, Sheila. I just needed a break for a few minutes. All this packing is… wearing me out."
She pats my arm comfortingly, and I open my eyes to meet hers. She smiles in sympathy. "I know, honey," she says softly. "Take all the time you need."
Sheila stands, taking a couple boxes with her over to the table. Carefully, she unfolds them into their full size and tapes them, readying them to hold the small pile of cake pans stacked beside her.
The easiest thing about packing up my mother's bakery has been finding enough boxes. After all, my house was full of them, unopened and undisturbed since my move to Barton Beach over a year ago. Now, instead of just random clothes and decor pieces, they'll hold all my mother's memories. Gathering dust until I can bear to think of something to do with them.
It's strange, honestly, how much I'll miss this place. The Sugar Breeze Bakery. I'll miss the building, of course. The white shingles on the roof, the silly awning, the peeling stickers. All things made by my mother's hands. All things that can never be remade.
I guess, in a way, they'll still be with the family. But goodness knows Austin won't care for them the way I did.
No, I'll miss this place for other reasons too. Reasons that have surprised me. The baking, for one thing. I've never done so much hard work in my life. But every day, seeing someone eat something made by my hands and smile at the taste or seeing children giggle at the fun decorations and sprinkles I took so much care in perfecting? Those are the things I'm going to miss the most.
A tissue appears before me, and I blink for a moment before I realize Sheila's hand is attached to it. "Here," she says. "You look like you need it."
"Thanks." Taking it from her, I wipe my eyes and blow my nose again. My whole face is sore from the amount of crying I've been doing lately, and my nose has a permanent pink tinge to it.
"You sure you want to be here?" Sheila asks, putting a business-like hand on her hip. "Because I can totally get Paul and the kids to help. We'll take care of everything. You know that. In fact, those kids could probably use something to do. Little demons have been driving me wild all summer."
I let out a soft laugh. "Yes, Sheila, I want to be here. It makes sense. You and me packing away our mother's things. If the bakery had to end, at least her children get to spend quality time together because of it."
Sheila frowns in distaste, ripping another strip of tape roughly from the dispenser. "Notallof her children, thankfully."
No matter how betrayed I feel by what Austin had done, it was nowhere near how furious Sheila was when I told her.
I went to her house to apologize for our fight a few days after Tinsley's wedding once I had recovered enough from the breakup to attempt human speech again. Sophia had gone with me and had even carried the apology gift of a bottle of wine in her hands despite not being old enough to partake in it herself.
As Sheila opened the door, hugging a fussing Peter to her chest, she'd turned her nose up at me, prepared to send me away. But as soon as she'd eyed that bottle in Sophia's hands, it was almost like all was immediately forgiven.
Almost.
Over a couple glasses in her kitchen, I'd made my real apology and told her I'd also admitted to Sophia what I'd done.
"You were right," I said. Taking Sophia's hand in mine, I squeezed it. "I should have been honest about what I was going through. It was just a lot of pressure, being given a bakery you don't know how to run. Living under your mother's dying wish like that. Trying to keep her dream alive when you don't know what you're doing half the time. I didn't want to admit that I was a failure."
"But you're not a failure, Mom," Sophia said, squeezing my hand back.
"Definitely not," Sheila said, holding her glass in the air. "I just wish you wouldn't hold the world on your shoulders so much. It's not healthy. I'm here to support you, of course, but… not if you're going to take my help for granted."
Swallowing more wine, I shook my head. "Never again."
"Now," Sheila said, her eyes gleaming wickedly like her usual self again. "Where is Brett? Shouldn't he be the one holding your hand? Or more?"
"Sheila," Sophia groaned. "If you're not going to let me drink, the least you can do is not be disgusting in front of me."
But by this time, Sheila's attention was solely on me. Her smile had fallen again, as quickly as it had returned. "Sophia? Would you mind holding the baby for a minute? Maybe take him into the living room to play with some of his toys. You know how much the kids have all missed playing with their favorite cousin."
Sophia got the hint, and as soon as she and the baby left the room, Sheila's hand replaced hers, holding my fingers tightly and stroking them with her thumb.
"What happened?" she asked softly. "What did he do?"
And, no matter how much it hurt, I told her the truth. Everything. About Austin, and Brittany, and finally… about Brett.
The shouting. Brett grabbing Austin's shirt collar. The admission. The taunting. The slap. And everything that had happened in the parking lot. It had all replayed itself so many times in my mind that, at this point, it felt more like reciting a movie or a dramatic TV show than my own life.
