Ember

The day after Jackson left for college, my nightmare returned.

Water rushing in all around me, pouring in the windows, rising from the floor, filling the small space where I’m strapped down. It comes in faster than I can breathe, faster than I can scream for help.

I’ve always loved the ocean, but this dream is different.

This water wants to kill me.

I stopped having it when Jackson and I were together. That summer, I had three months of pure, uninterrupted sleep.

Sleep in which my only dreams were of his strong arms around me, his full lips tracing lines along my ribs, inhaling my scent, making the tiny hairs on my body rise. His mouth would close in a pucker over my straining nipple, and with a gentle tug, a flash of heat would register straight to my core. I would wake up so wet for him, I’d slide my hand between my thighs for relief.

Those dreams were luscious and decadent and wickedly sinful.

Those dreams were my life.

He left, and the nightmare returned.

To this day, every few months for no clear reason, I’m panicked out of a deep sleep by the force of rushing water. I wake up only to find I’m in my bed, in a wide-open space, completely dry.

---

It’s early Sunday morning, and my small oven blasts heat in my face when I pull open the door to slide the cupcake tin inside. Every fan in my non-air-conditioned apartment is on high, but still a bead of sweat traces down my neck. I’ll have to shower before I dress for church.

I’ve been up since six working on Coco’s purple monster number three. I started by mixing yellow cake with blueberries and the slightest pinch of cayenne pepper for the monster bite. I’ve made a deep purple buttercream frosting by mixing confectioner’s sugar with red and blue food coloring.

I try to imagine what it would be like if she were here right now. She’d love adding the colors and watching it all slowly thicken and turn purple… I can’t wait for those days to come.

When my aunt died and left me this place, I’d gotten to work renovating what was once attic storage as fast as my budget and time would allow. The upstairs had been in worse shape than the downstairs, but after nine months of elbow grease, it’s a clean, partially painted, partially furnished enormous studio apartment.

Honestly, it looks a lot like my “store” downstairs.

“I’ll have things to sell, Betty Pepper, don’t you worry.” I twist my long, heavy hair onto my head and shove a pencil in to hold it.

In the late summer, it can be hot as blazes up here, even with all the fans blasting. Still, it’s only truly unbearable for about a month. Then, with the French doors open across the front balcony and the small windows open in the back, I catch the sea breeze, and every night I fall asleep to the sounds of the surf crashing just a few miles away.

Coco can spend the night here once it cools off, since I have a radiator for heat in the winter. It’s just during these summer days she does better staying in my old room…

Pictures of us together mixed with her preschool drawings are pinned all over the walls. My favorite is a framed one of the two of us on a swing, our long hair blowing back in the breeze. Her brown eyes look so much like mine…

“You’ll be here with Mommy soon,” I say, tracing my finger down her chubby cheek. “Just a few more weeks.”

A glance at the clock sends me hopping. I dash to my small bathroom area and take as cool of a shower as I can stand.

Church starts at nine, and the days of me sleeping in, blowing off that weekly ritual are gone—it’s one of the conditions of my mother keeping Coco in a plush, air-conditioned home and paying for her preschool.

Even more motivation to work faster. I step out, wrapping an old white towel around my body. My phone buzzes, and I scoop it up quickly when I see the name on the screen.

“If Sunday is the day of rest, why does church start so damn early?” Tabby is not a morning person.

“I’ve been up since six.” I turn to the side in front of a full-length mirror in an antique picture frame leaning against the wall.

“You have a sickness.”

“I’m admiring my tattoo,” I say, getting closer to the glass and tracing my finger over the colorful blue-green mermaid scales on my hip.

“Has Marjorie seen it?”

“Of course not.” Tapping my finger on the speaker button, I put the phone on my dresser and grab my thong. “Does this mean you’re coming to church today?”

A loud groan fills my room. “It’s my ten percent agreement with Uncle Bob.”

“Explain to me how that works again.” Throwing a blue rayon sundress over my head, I grab the phone and dash to the kitchen.

“I go ten percent of the Sundays, or five Sundays a year. It’s a time-tithe.”

Snatching up the hot pad, I open the oven and pull out perfectly golden cupcakes. I’ll have just enough time to cool and frost them purple.

Holding the phone on my shoulder, I run to the mirror again with my makeup bag. “Then shouldn’t it be thirty-six Sundays a year?”

“What?” Tabby’s voice is a shriek, and I pull the phone away quickly.

“There are 365 days in a year. If you’re tithing the days, then ten percent would be… Actually thirty seven if you round up.”

“Who the fuck’s side are you on?”

Laughing, I dust powder on my nose. “I’m just trying to follow your logic.”

“This is math, not logic. I’m tithing my Sundays.”

“Hmm,” I say, reaching for my eyeliner. Just a touch at the corners. “If you only have to go five times, why now? I’d start on the Sunday after Thanksgiving and finish out the year—those are the fun ones.”

“If church is fun, you’re doing it wrong,” my friend announces loudly.

“I feel like there’s more to this story.”

She’s quiet a minute before she says, “Chad pulled me over last night.”

I pause in my mascara application to give myself a knowing look. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What did you do this time?”

“I was going forty in town.”

“Tabs! That’s dangerous!”

“I wanted to get home,” she whines. “Anyway, who’s out walking at 2 a.m.?”

“Sleepwalkers… Alzheimer’s victims.”

“I know every person in this town, and none of them fit those categories.”

“Medical emergencies?”

“You’d make a great cop. I’ll ask Chad to give you an application next time I see him,” she grumbles.

“Why does getting pulled over mean you’re going to church today?”

“I promised to be in church if he didn’t give me a ticket.”

“So it’s a penance service?”

She takes a loud sip of what I’m sure is coffee. “Something like that.”

“So you still have to go one more time to make your tithe.”

“Forget cop. You’d make a better lawyer.”

The word makes me wince, but I blow it off. It’s only a word.

“I’m hanging up now,” I say. “I’ve got to get these cupcakes to Mom’s. If you’re ready in ten minutes, we can walk together.”

“Wait for me.”

I trade my phone for the bowl of purple frosting. The cooled cupcakes are quickly covered, and I’ve molded chocolate 3s for the tops of each. I transfer them to a square Rubbermaid dish, and I’m out the door.

Tabby is waiting when I arrive at my mother’s house. The door is unlocked but the house is empty. I place Coco’s present in the refrigerator and hurry back out. We arrive at the small wooden building just as the organ music begins.

First Christian Church of Oceanside Village is a one-room building with a back door that leads straight into the sanctuary. The door creaks so loudly it echoes when we enter, and a few people turn to scowl at us. I smile at Betty Pepper, who clutches her hymnal to her chest and gives me a thumbs-up, mouthing, It was delicious.

Right next to her is Stinky Bucky, and he gives me a lecherous grin. I blink away fast, feeling sick that I’m trapped into going out with him on Friday. I’ve got to stop being so nice.

Tabby pulls me into a pew two rows behind Chad.

“I don’t think he saw you,” I sing in tune, holding the red hymnal open to the wrong page.

Tabby isn’t looking forward, though. She’s glancing over her shoulder, scanning the room. I do likewise, but it’s all the same thirty or so faces we see every week.

“Who are you looking for?” I’m right at her ear, and she jumps.

“Nobody! Why would I be looking for anybody?”

That’s suspicious. “Good question. I thought you were here for Chad.”

“I am!” Her voice is too loud, and we get a glare from one of the old biddies in front of us.

I join in at the chorus, which is the only part I know. “Crown him with many crowns…”

Tabs continues in tune with the melody. “I don’t see him back there…”

Nodding, I give her an elbow, but she only briefly glances at Oceanside’s lone deputy sheriff two rows in front of us. She’s still surveying the place like it’s the wondrous cross—the hymn we’ve moved onto.

“You can say hello after church,” I sing.

Song service ended, we sit and get comfortable as Tabby’s uncle takes the two steps up the lectern and gazes down on us with a disgusted frown.

“Idolatry!” he shouts, and an old man nodding in front of us snorts awake. “Sex and idolatry are the workings of the flesh, and in the last days they will grow stronger and stronger amongst the children of men…”

He continues blasting about how lustful and depraved we all are. Then he moves on to the Ten Commandments and putting God first in all things.

I spot my mother in the front with her chin lifted. So pious. Her hair is a perfect blonde helmet, and the faintest hint of a smile is on her face. Occasionally she nods when he says something particularly loud. My nose automatically scrunches.

Scanning the other faces in the room, I observe how they respond. Some shift in their seats, while others look at their hands or study their Bibles.

Two years ago, when I was searching for an email from Coco’s preschool teacher, I found an email conversation between my mother and Pastor Green.

I was snooping, I know I’m going to hell, but he thanked her for her insightful notes on the text. He wrote that he looked forward to incorporating them into Sunday’s message.

Curiosity piqued, I glanced down her folders on the side of the screen and saw one labeled “Sunday sermons.” Clicking it open, I found all his sermons going back years, since I’d rejoined the congregation after having Coco and briefly moving back home.

When I was a little girl, I’d seen the movie Pollyanna. I didn’t understand the part about “nobody owns a church” until that moment. My grandfather had been one of the richest men in Oceanside Village before he died. He was the first city council president. My mother was an only child, and when her parents died, she inherited their big house in the middle of town and their legacy of leadership.

After my father was killed in the car wreck that also took Minnie, she kind of lost it. For weeks she stayed in her bedroom with the door closed, and I stayed at Tabby’s house.

When she finally emerged, she was different. It was like she decided their deaths were God’s way of punishing her for not doing more to keep everyone on the straight and narrow.

Now all I see are my mother’s eyes judging all our shortcomings and delivering instructions on how to address them via Pastor Green each week.

I haven’t cared for Bob Green’s sermons ever since.

“…and you shall be saved,” he ends ominously. “Let us pray and beg the Father to expose our hidden sins and save us from ourselves.”

“That’s what I call church,” Tabby says, leaning forward. “Anxiety and upset stomach for the rest of the day.”

I elbow her in the ribs. I know the source of that fire and brimstone, and I feel fine. It’s simply another of my mother’s methods for trying to control me—forcing me to be here, to listen to her judgmental bullshit coming from Marjorie’s mouthpiece.

“Just a little while longer,” I whisper.

It’s Coco’s last year of preschool, I’m making enough money to keep us clothed and fed. My daughter will be back with me in just a few short weeks, and I’ll start sleeping in on Sundays again.

We’re finally released, and Tabby and I are the first ones out the back door. I linger around on the front lawn a few minutes, waiting for my mother to appear with Coco.

“My advice on sex and idolatry is ‘don’t mix tequila with Googling your ex,’” I say, looking up at the small but imposing structure and remembering the one time five years ago when I entered Jack Lockwood in the search bar on Tabby’s laptop.

“That was a crazy night,” Tabby says, giving me a grin. “You were wild.”

I was miserable.

With a rueful smile, I quote, “Beer makes you pee, wine makes you cry, tequila makes you pregnant.”

“At least Coco’s dad was a gentleman and went away.”

I cut my eyes at her just as Betty Pepper makes a beeline for me with Bucky on her heels. “Ember Rose, that cake you made was the star of Donna’s party!”

“I’m so glad!” I give her a hug.

“Hello, jump back!” Tabby calls, and I step away quickly when I see Bucky coming in for his turn to hug me.

He’s dressed in cornflower-blue polyester suit with a shiny gold tie. I glance up to his face, and it’s not awful. He’s just so… weird. He has been since we were kids.

“Hi, Emberly,” he says, and he moves his eyebrows in a way I’m sure he thinks is flirty, but it’s totally creepy.

“Hi, Bucky.”

“You have to make another one,” Betty continues, and her son’s pale blue eyes ogle my boobs.

Like, seriously.

In front of his mother.

“My store manager Thelma’s anniversary is next Friday.” Betty finally notices her son’s inappropriate gaze. “Bucky! Go get the car!” He jumps and scampers off, and the old woman leans in close. “He’s got quite the package—”

“What!” I pull back startled.

“Thelma’s husband!” she scolds. “It’s the dark chocolate variety, if you know what I mean.”

“I know André.” I’m just not sure about this repeat business.

“Just wait til all the guys find out you’re baking their junk,” Tabby teases, jabbing my ribs. “You’ll be the most popular girl in town.”

My mother appears at the top of the steps, and I feel my face go red. Even though I’m too old to believe it, I’m convinced she has a radar for when I’m “sinning.”

Coco saves me. As soon as she spots me, she throws my mother’s hand aside and runs straight to me. “Mommy!”

“Coco bean!” I swing her up onto my hip laughing, her purple and white gingham dress swooshing around us.

Her dark curls are brushed smooth down her little back, and the very top is gathered in a white grosgrain bow as big as her head.

“How did you sleep last night?” I ask when she presses her head against my shoulder.

I only get a shrug. “Granny made me go to bed early with no treats.”

“No treats?” My brows pull together in a frown. “How come?”

“She said you were bringing me too many cupcakes today.” Her little head pops up. “Did you bring me too many cupcakes?”

“I brought six purple monster three cupcakes, and you can eat them all if you want.” Cutting my eyes back toward the church, I see my mother in a chaste conversation with the minister.

“Just save one for me.” Tabby pats her little back and drifts away to where Chad stands talking to one of the parishioners.

Betty Pepper has me by the arm again. “Can you take an order for it now?”

Blinking back at her, I’m momentarily confused. “For what?”

Her eyebrows rise, and she makes her eyes big. “For the humpht cake.”

When she says humpht she wobbles her head and jabs her index finger straight up—I imagine like a springing erection.

I grab it in my fist quickly. “How soon do you need it?”

“Friday. You know, the same night you’re going out with Bucky.”

“Right.” As if I could ever forget that good deed gone wrong.

“Are you making a cake, Mommy?” Coco’s head is up, and she’s lifting my hair around my shoulders. Her sadness over last night is ancient history now that too many cupcakes are waiting for her.

“I need to be making more,” I say, looking over the crowd.

Tabby gives Chad a little wave and starts back, but just before he slides those aviator sunglasses up his straight nose, I see his eyes linger on my best friend’s ass. The muscle in his square jaw moves, and it’s pure lust.

It’s also pure busted when he sees me. I give him a little wink, and he turns quickly. I just laugh. Poor Chad. He’s been in love with Tabs since the town hired him, and she won’t give him the time of day. She says he’s too “law-abiding.” I call bullshit. I think she knows what I know… Chad Tucker would have a ring on her hand faster than she could say I’m not that kind of girl.

“What’s that smug expression about?” she asks once she reaches our little huddle.

“I see Officer Tucker punched your church card.”

“My what?” Her black brow arches. “Oh. Right. Yeah.”

“You’ll also be happy to know Betty here just placed another order for a humpht cake. Chocolate this time.”

Tabby’s eyes widen even more. “Who the hell—”

“Coco bean!” I cut her off loudly. “Run tell Granny you’re walking home with Aunt Tabby and me.”

My daughter does a little hop on my hip, and she’s out of my arms, running top speed in the direction of the church.

BP leans closer. “I put the word out you made the cake. You should have a few more orders across the week.”

“Thanks, but remember to tell them I do legitimate baking as well. Birthday cakes, wedding cakes, anniversary cakes you can serve your pastor…”

“What’s the fun in that?” The old woman clutches her purse against her lavender suit and starts down the lane leading to where her son sits in the car waiting, leering at me.

I can’t help a shiver. I’m waiting for Tabby’s snarky response, but she doesn’t even notice. My best friend is so distracted, I honestly can’t take it anymore.

“What is on your mind, Tabitha?”

“Don’t call me that,” she says absently. “Chad calls me that.”

“Well, it’s your name.”

Cocoa charges back to us, blowing air through her lips like a loud little motor, and grabs both our hands. We set off at a leisurely pace in the direction of my mother’s house.

“Speaking of Chad, he’s rocking that suit today.” I cock an eyebrow in her direction. “Has he been working out?”

Coco takes off ahead of us chanting, “Work out… turn to the left! Work out… turn to the right!”

“Is that Supermodel?” My friend snorts.

“Her teacher’s using it to teach them left and right.”

“Shi—oot, all we got was the hokey pokey. I demand a RuPaul do-over!”

We take a few more steps with only the sounds of my energetic preschooler filling the air between us.

“Hey, Em?”

I glance up at the change in her tone. “What is it?”

“How would you feel if… say… I don’t know… Just for instance, if you were to bump into Jackson Cane?”

I stop walking. It’s like I’ve been electrocuted. My heart is flying in my chest, and I automatically touch the painful space. “Of all the things…” I whisper. “Why would you ask me that?”

Green eyes flicker to mine. “Just… he broke your heart when he left, and—”

“No,” I shake my head, needing to keep the history accurate. “He left to go to college. He needed to leave. It broke my heart when he never came back.”

I start walking again, albeit slower, and my hand moves from my chest to my stomach. Now I have heartburn.

Jackson Cane left me holding onto a promise, and after a few months, he just disappeared. He stopped calling, he never wrote, he never answered my calls or letters…

He was gone.

And I was left to pick up the pieces.

The shards.

“So if he were to come back—” Tabby’s voice is slower.

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know.”

We’re at the steps leading up to Mom’s front porch, and I’m angry. I can’t believe my best friend would bring this up. She knows his name only hurts me.

“What if he did?” I snap before following my daughter into the house. “I’ve moved on.”

I’m just passing through the door, when I hear Tabby say behind me. “Have you?”

I’m still mad at Tabby a half-hour later when my mother launches into her weekly post-service post-mortem over our usual fried chicken lunch.

“I thought the pastor’s words on lasciviousness were particularly well-timed with all that’s going on in the world today,” she says.

It takes every ounce of willpower to hold my gaze on my chicken and not roll my eyes at her. Like I don’t know this is a direct reference to the penis cake.

“That’s a word I’ve never been able to spell,” Tabby jumps in, saving me. “Lasciviousness… Lascivious. Ness. What does it mean?”

“It means lustful… smutty… obsessed with s-e-x.”

“Oh!” Tabby’s face brightens, and she shoves a huge spoonful of lumpy mashed potatoes into her mouth. “I can spell smutty.”

I choke on my sweet tea and almost laugh, my anger at my best friend forgotten. If anyone can deflect my mother’s obnoxious, judgmental statements, it’s her.

Naturally, I get a stern glare before my mother continues talking about her favorite parts of her sermon. I’m so tempted to say, I know you wrote the whole damn thing!

Instead, I turn my attention to Coco, who’s creating a mountain out of her potatoes, complete with a moat in the middle for the gravy to run through.

“Looks like you’re finished!” I cheerfully hop up and take her plate, cutting my mother off mid-sentence. “Who’s ready for purple monster number three?”

“Me! Me! Meeeee!” Coco squeals holding her hand high and shaking it.

I laugh and go to the refrigerator to grab the square container. “I made one for each of us with two left over.”

Coco gets the first one, and she dives in smearing purple frosting all over her nose and chin.

“Mm!” she squeals. “Chocolate and purple. It’s hot!”

“That’s the dragon’s breath,” I say with ominous glee.

“None for me, thank you.” My mother’s affected tone is like some old antebellum woman. Again, eye-roll suppressed.

“Split one with me,” Tabby says. “I haven’t exercised enough this week for a whole one.”

“Having a little dry spell?” I tease. “Officer Tucker would be happy to help you out with that, I’m sure.”

“I like a man who’s faster than me,” she says, taking a pinch of purple. “Chad Tucker is too slow to catch me.”

“Sometimes slow can be nice.”

“Is that crude talk?” Momma snaps. “On the Lord’s day?”

“What? No!” I act innocent as I sit down. It only reminds me of Betty’s order after church today. “Speaking of slow, I’ve got to get more orders coming in. I don’t know what to do.”

Tabby leans forward on her elbows. “I told you. We’ve got to get your website up. Online orders are the hot new thing! And a delivery guy…”

“I’m not interested in spending all my time online.” My last venture into cyberspace landed me a baby. A baby I love, but still.

“Have you considered handing out fliers on the strand? I’m sure people out there are having birthdays, anniversaries… Maybe they just want cake by the ocean!”

Shaking my head, I watch her take a bite of spicy chocolate. “I did that a few times this summer. It didn’t seem to make a difference.”

“This is so delicious!” she cries. Just as fast, her eyes go wide. “I have an idea!” She’s out of her seat, taking my cupcake out of my hand and putting it in the box beside the remaining four.

“What are you doing?”

“Grab CC and the fliers. We have a cute baby and a beautiful Sunday afternoon. We need to hand out samples!”

“I’m not a baby!” Coco cries, and I laugh. Her angry face is covered in purple.

“It’s not a bad idea.” I go to the sink and pick up a washcloth.

“It’s a great idea!” Tabby has me by the arm, pulling me to the door. Coco’s behind us doing her kangaroo hop again. “Coco! Stop hopping. Walk with purpose!”

“You called me a baby,” my little girl fusses, and I know we’re pushing naptime.

“I expect a raise once the money starts rolling in!” Tabby leads us to her car, the box of cupcakes in her hand.

I scoop up my daughter and follow her. “I don’t pay you now.”

“Exactly.”