more than half a pie, then hand it to Sam, her eyebrows raised, but no verbal admonitions spoken. If both Sam and Jenny got something out of that dessert, where was the harm?
Where was the harm indeed, Tommie wondered, hanging up the phone in the kitchen, then turning off the light. Jenny’s health was vastly improved, and Sam could use a lift too. Jenny’s battle with multiple sclerosis had taken a toll on a wife and her husband, and letting down one’s hair every now and then wasn’t a bad thing.
Tommie locked the front door, then joined his wife, already in bed. Rae spoke about how wonderful it was that everyone had been there. They discussed the plethora of descendants in attendance, also that Sam and Jenny’s youngest daughter was expecting a baby next summer. Rae reached for a Kleenex, blowing her nose, then wiping her eyes. Tommie wondered if that was her way of opening the door to a question he’d set aside, until Rae allowed Sam to take home extra pie. Jenny had only been eating lemon meringue at the Smiths’, but maybe it wasn’t much different than the chocolate pound cake or cookie bars that Rae sent Jenny’s way. Yet, the pie looked exactly as it always had, and Rae had been baking lemon meringue for years. With Jenny’s obvious improvement, Tommie had been happy to let his wife keep her little secret, but now all he wanted to know was… “So Rae, I’m only gonna ask you one more time. After tonight, que sera sera, but honey…”
“Nothing Tommie. There’s nothing special in it.”
Tommie smiled. “Now, don’t tell me there’s nothing in that pie.”
“There isn’t. It’s the same recipe I’ve always used.”
“Humph. Don’t give me that line of bull…”
Rae sat up and glared at him. “Tommie Smith, have I ever lied to you?”
Her tone was pained, and he winced, for gazing into her eyes, he saw she wasn’t being deceitful. Yet, flickers in those gray irises caused him to wonder. “No, you never have, but everyone who’s had a slice acts like they’re stoned outta their gourds.”
“They might act that way, but it’s not because of my pie.”
Tommie heard her indignation, also some pleasure. He sighed, then sat up, taking her into his arms. “All right then, why is Jenny so much better and why’d you let them take home pie? If there’s nothing special about it…”
Rae blinked away tears. “Tommie, there’s no way in hell I’m going to Jenny’s funeral.”
Rae’s tone was often blunt, but this time, Tommie discerned more than her candor. “Honey, we don’t get to make those kinds of choices.”
“Well damnit, I am. I will not watch Sam and those kids mourn her. I cannot do that Tommie, I cannot…”
Her tears were soft, at first. Within seconds a dam burst, but Tommie didn’t lose his grip, tenderly kissing Rae, telling her that he loved her, and that it would be all right. Perhaps after this meltdown, one of her biggest ever, she would accept that in all probability, Jenny would be the first of the oldsters to go.
But he hated thinking of that, not that he wished ill for Sam or himself or the woman still trembling in his arms. But one of them would pass away, then another. Life was a cycle, nothing to change it.
Once Rae had stopped crying, Tommie released her, reaching over her for the box of tissues. She used several, then she stared at him. “Tommie, I meant what I said.”
“So you gonna take yourself out before she dies?” His tone was slightly flippant.
“No, just that I’ll be gone long before she is.”
Now Tommie rolled his eyes. Then he stared at her. “There something else you gotta tell me?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Just that Jenny will be keeping an eye on our great-grandbabies after I’m…” Rae paused, cleared her throat, then clucked. “After I’m here, haunting you.”
“Uh-huh.” He inhaled; had Rae put something into the pie? He’d found her with a generous slice after everyone else had finished. “Are you sure there’s nothing in that pie?”
“Nothing but eggs, lemon juice, and the usual. And,” she sniffed, “faith. Tommie, I’ll love you till the day I die, but there’s just some things I can’t do. Watching Jenny deteriorate is one of them.”
Rarely were Rae’s words so plain, or her words about death. Tommie nodded, wondering if she had made a deal with God, or maybe with Todd Lambert. While Tommie believed her about the pie, there was still something squirrely about how everyone who ate a slice seemed high. The power of suggestion was one thing, and prayer was good too, but…
“I know what you’re thinking,” Rae said. “Tommie, I had a long talk with… with God. I told him everything I’ve told you, and that if there was anything I could do to make her better, to just give me a sign. Whatever it takes Tommie, that’s what I’d told him I’d do, even lying. One little lie isn’t gonna hurt anyone.”
Rae smiled. “You think I’d let just anybody have a piece of that pie if there was something strong in it?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. No use wasting good weed on those who don’t need it.”
“You let Eric sample a slice on my birthday,” Tommie smirked. “And a cookie bar too.”
“Well, he’d been bugging me about trying that pie, and he’s my supplier. Gotta keep him thinking what he’s doing is the right thing. And it is,” she said. “He’s been working his tail off, and as long as Jenny keeps having pound cake here and there…”
“But Sam said she didn’t have anything this morning, not even a joint.”
“Tommie, did you see her yesterday?”
“Well, yes, we had dinner with all of them.”
“Did you see how many slices of fruitcake she had?”
“I wasn’t really paying attention to Jenny’s culinary choices.”
Rae huffed, then she grew quiet. “After Annette Funicello died, Eric told me about some special pot he was growing. He wasn’t sure if it would help his mother, or me.” Rae permitted a small smile. “He brought me some after Jenny gave me her walker. I wasn’t so sure about it at first, but let me tell you, whatever he did, it’s the real deal.”
Tommie recalled that when Funicello died in April, the mood at Sam’s had plummeted. The plucky Mouseketeer and 1960s beach-movie star had suffered greatly in her battle with multiple sclerosis, losing the ability to walk in 2004 and to speak in 2009. She was completely incapacitated when she passed away at the age of seventy, which wasn’t that much older than Jenny. Tommie wondered how much of Annette Funicello’s death had hastened Jenny’s decision to use the wheelchair full-time, to conserve the energy she still had.
“So that’s what you’ve been putting in stuff lately?” he asked.
Rae nodded. “I didn’t wanna use it until it was necessary. I wanted to, well, try an experiment.”
Tommie smiled. Most took for granted Rae’s baking prowess. Eric garnered much of the respect, just as Todd Lambert always had. Yet what about those who combined the cannabis with flour and eggs, pudding and cake mixes? “So, you put some of that super-pot into a few selected items and…”
“Well, Eric got pretty loaded just from nibbling one of those cookie bars. Jenny had a couple too. Then both had a slice of something they thought was even more potent.” Rae chuckled, then shook her head. “Humph. People will believe anything if you sell it the right way.”
Tommie laughed out loud. “So all this time I’ve been living with a marketing genius, as well as a master chef. I’ll be goddamned. What’s next?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” She sighed, then smiled. “But I plan on making fruitcake for St. Patrick’s Day. Whatever you do, don’t you touch one bite.”
“Oh, I won’t.” Tommie caressed her cheek. “But will it beat lemon meringue pie?”
“I doubt it. But maybe I’ll add green food coloring to the meringue, that’ll make them wonder.”
“Oh Jesus, you do that, God only knows what’ll happen.”
Rae nodded, turning off the lamp. She snuggled against him, then cleared her throat. “I mean it Tommie, about Jenny.”
He stroked her hair. “I know you do, but honey…”
“We don’t get to choose who we love, or our kids, or how they live their lives. But we get to make a few decisions. I love you, and I know I haven’t always been…” She sighed. “The easiest person to live with.”
“Well, neither have I.”
“No, you haven’t,” she snorted. “But I’ll be eighty in a few years. It’s a good age to…”
He nodded, but it felt strange, as if she was planning the end. “We’ll just take each day as it comes, one slice of pie at a time.” Then he smiled. “Speaking of that pie, any of it left?”
“About a quarter. I let Sam and Jenny have most of it.”
“It won’t last long,” Tommie chuckled.
“Well, if they’re not going anywhere tomorrow, Sam might have another slice.”
“Rae, I’d like to.”
She moved away, then clucked. “You wanna do what?”
Tommie laughed hard. “Have some pie. If there’s really nothing in it, I’d like to test your theory about the power of positive thinking.”
“Well, hmmm, I don’t know.” She sighed several times, making Tommie again wonder if perhaps she had tinkered with it. “Honey, all I can say is that on our great-grandkids’ lives I did not add anything to that pie that isn’t on the recipe card.” Then she nodded. “Maybe you should have a piece. That way we’ll know just how special it is.”
“A Todd Lambert kind of special,” Tommie grinned.
“Something like that,” Rae huffed.
At that late