cake. “Did you put something in this?”
“It’s not green, is it?” Rae said, tapping her foot.
“Well no, but you seem to like it all right.”
Rae turned around, giving him a look. “I like lemon, I always have.”
“I know,” he smiled. Jenny had been the one to bake with chocolate until Rae made her first Todd Lambert dessert. “I’m just teasing.”
“Humph.” Rae returned to the table, the recipe box in hand. She set it down, then took her chair, gazing at Tommie. “Like I said, you leave this to the expert.”
Rae pulled a card from the middle of the box and studied it. “What’s that one?” Tommie asked.
“Lemon meringue pie,” Rae said quietly.
Tommie laughed. “Lemon meringue pie? How’n the hell are you gonna get weed into lemon meringue pie?”
But Rae didn’t answer. Instead she glared at him, then gazed back at the recipe. Tommie finished the rest of his pound cake, then stood for another cup of decaf. Rae gripped the card, then wiped her eyes, which Tommie missed as he refilled his mug, setting the pot back in the coffeemaker.
Throughout the rest of autumn, Rae baked more lemon meringue pies than pound cake, and often Tommie was shooed away, as well as the rest of Rae’s usual assistants. Every Thursday, when Sam and Jenny came for lunch, Rae had a freshly baked pie waiting, and while Tommie and Sam munched on oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, the ladies enjoyed pie, sometimes with cookie bars and thin slices of chocolate pound cake on the side. By Thanksgiving, rumors swirled about that altered lemon meringue recipe. Jenny’s improved health and demeanor were proof enough, as well as slices sampled by the rest of Rae’s circle. Her giddy daughters all agreed that the pie had been juiced, and not merely with ordinary lemons.
Thanksgiving was a small gathering that year, what with various members celebrating with their in-laws. After dinner was served, those in attendance were eager for dessert, and Rae’s pie was the main feature. Relatives giggled at white meringue, yellow filling, even the golden crust, which seemed like every other meringue pie Rae had baked. If it had been chocolate, the weed could have been concealed in the pudding base, but no hint of green could be found.
Much teasing ensued, then those with small children made their farewells. Tommie walked those families to where their youngsters were secured in car seats, then he stepped back as vehicles ambled down his driveway. The night was quiet, and he peered into the sky, stars dotting the darkened heavens. Jenny was indeed feeling better, for which he quietly gave thanks, then he smiled. “What did Rae put in that goddamned pie?” he said aloud, as if beseeching all of those just beyond the veil.
But their collective voices were silent, although Tommie heard faint chuckles. He gazed at his house, seeing Jenny being escorted out by his sons as Sam waited at the bottom of the steps, gripping the handles of her wheelchair. Rae had agreed to a ramp being built, but not to accommodate the walker. It was for that woman, who was livelier since eating Rae’s altered pie.
Tommie met them at Sam’s car, then he helped Jenny into her seat while Sam put the chair into the trunk. Tommie wanted to kneel in front of Jenny, but his legs ached. Then Tommie found himself squatting. He wanted to see Jenny’s face, even if the only light was from his front porch. Yet, her wide smile was like a shining sun. “Tommie, what?”
Sam was sitting beside her, and he leaned toward his wife. “Tommie, you okay?”
Tommie stroked Jenny’s cheek. She was high, yet not in a manner that muddied conscious thought. “Honey, you seem…”
Sam’s laughter filled the car’s interior. “Tommie, what the hell’s in that pie?”
Tommie smiled. “I was just asking Todd the same damned question.”
Jenny chuckled. “Well, good luck getting an answer outta him, or any of the rest. Although, maybe God knows.”
Tommie nodded. “Yeah, maybe he does. I sure as hell don’t. She didn’t write it down, ’cause I looked all through her recipe box. She didn’t even give it to our girls.”
“Well, if they don’t have it, it’s going with Rae to…” Jenny smiled, then squeezed Tommie’s hand. “Only Todd knows what she put into it.”
“Todd and Jesus Christ,” Tommie grinned. “Now, how the hell am I gonna get back on two feet?”
“Just a minute.” Sam got out of the car, then walked to where Tommie crouched. Sam hoisted Tommie aloft, then gave him a hug. “You find out what she put in that pie, I’ll give you ten bucks.”
“Oh now, that’s big money Sam. Shit, I’ll start torturing her tonight.” Tommie stepped away, letting Sam return to the driver’s seat. Then Tommie shut Jenny’s door, waving to that couple the short distance down the driveway. Tommie stayed outside, watching as Sam turned left. Then he took a quick right, into their farm. Tommie stared into the twinkling night sky, again asking that question. But no one answered him.
A few weeks later at Tommie’s seventy-seventh birthday party, everyone pestered Rae, who rolled her eyes, saying nothing about any illicit ingredients. Lemon meringue pie was served alongside Tommie’s cake, and the pie’s effects were plain on Jenny and a few others. Even Eric had a slice, and he was helped to the family car as his wife Pru got into the driver’s seat. Eric couldn’t stop laughing as Tommie said goodnight to them. Pru gave Tommie a look, but Tommie still had no answers for her or anyone else. Rae always made the pie when he was away, and while he had searched all through their kitchen, nothing seemed out of place.
On Christmas, everyone was in attendance, and the weather was similar to temperatures of an August barbecue. Many of the younger members congregated outside, sitting at hastily cleaned picnic tables that Tommie’s older grandchildren retrieved from the barn. Tommie visited with those in the front yard, another generation playing hide and seek, but these were Sam and Jenny’s grandchildren. Jenny sat in her wheelchair, which was pulled up to the end of a table that had already been staked out by Sam, and Tommie headed their way.
Sam stood, meeting him a few feet from the table, his grin infectious. “She didn’t wanna sit inside, said the day was too pretty not to be enjoyed.”
Tommie nodded, gazing at Jenny, who smiled at him. Tommie sat next to her and they gabbed for ten minutes, then were joined by Sam and Jenny’s offspring and a plethora of little ones. Then all were called inside; dinner was ready.
An hour later Tommie’s plate was mostly empty, but the chatter was lively, and so was Jenny. She cuddled small grandchildren on her lap, then all were taken for a spin by Eric. While they were gone, Tommie asked Sam if Jenny had been this well all day, and Sam nodded. She hadn’t had a toke that morning, or any pound cake.
Yet now she was ready for dessert, and the adults didn’t need to ask what she wanted. Tommie went to fetch the pie, Sam at his side. When they reached the kitchen, Tommie’s daughters and oldest granddaughters were busy arranging various treats. Tommie asked for peach cobbler while Sam grabbed two slices of lemon meringue. “One for Jenny and one for me,” he said.
“Well, good thing you don’t have far to drive home,” Tommie smiled.
“It’s a damn good thing,” Sam chuckled, grabbing two plastic forks. “So how many pies did you make Rae?”
“I made enough,” Rae smirked. Then she gave a broad smile.
“Well, I hope one is for Jenny and me to take home,” Sam teased. “But if there’s a big rush, a half will do us.”
“One slice will do you,” Rae said to Sam.
“You got that right,” Sam laughed. “Maybe a sliver, but I’ll let you know.”
“Well, you just do that,” Rae said as those around her giggled.
Sam nodded, then kissed Rae’s cheek. Then he slipped out of the kitchen, pie and forks in hand. Tommie watched him go, then gazed at his wife as daughters and granddaughters begged to know what was in the pie. Sam rarely drank, although sometimes he lit up with Jenny, sympathy tokes they joked. But Sam never ate chocolate pound cake, cookie bars, or Christmas fruitcake. Perhaps he wanted to see i
f Eric’s jovial mood on Tommie’s birthday was an isolated case. Or maybe Sam felt that what was good for the goose was good for the gander.
Tommie took one bite of cobbler, catching Rae’s gaze. She had made this too, but it wasn’t off limits. “Well, as usual, this’s the best damned cobbler I’ve ever had.”
“Uh-huh,” Rae nodded. “You need some coffee to go with it?”
“Tell you what,” Tommie said. “I’ll fetch some for Sam and Jenny too.”
Rae rolled her eyes. “You won’t be able to carry all that.” She poured three cups, setting them on a tray. Then she cut a sliver from the lemon meringue, placing it and a cookie bar on a small plate. “Can you take all this?” Rae said, putting his cobbler on the tray next to his mug.
“And who are those goodies for?” Tommie smiled.
“Certainly not for you or Sam. If Jenny needs seconds, none of you will have to make an extra trip.”
“I’ll carry it Dad,” one of Tommie’s daughters said.
Rae handed over the tray as Tommie stared at her. Rae said nothing more, huffing as she turned to face one of their grandchildren, who asked for dessert.
Right before Tommie went to bed that night, Jenny called. Sam was already snoozing, she chuckled, but she wanted Tommie to thank Rae for the extra pie. Sam had enjoyed another half-slice once they were home, and he had fallen asleep not long afterwards. Tommie had seen Rae wrap up