On Friday afternoon, I trek the mile or so to the Willowbank ranch with a box of apple stack cake positioned carefully in my arms. Sheri exhausted herself over this so-called Tennessee favorite –Mila, how can you not know whatTennessee Mountain Cake is?– for hours in the kitchen yesterday morning while the scent of spiced apple lingered all through the house. And now the dessert has set overnight and is ready to be delivered to those it was baked especially for – the Bennetts. In Sheri’s words, this masterpiece is an apology for frightening Patsy last weekend over the whole “Didn’t you give Mila a ride home from church?” episode. I have been given the pleasure of acting as messenger, because it gives me a suitable excuse to leave the ranch.
Over the past few days, Sheri and I have kept to our agreement perfectly with no slip-ups this time. She lets me go beyond the Harding Estate gates whenever I so desire, as long as she knows where I’m off to and I’m back by the curfew she specifies, which is never all that strict. But I’ve been reasonable, and haven’t taken advantage. I’m well aware now of the risk she’s taking. Savannah and Myles picked me up one evening and we drove by McDonald’s for sundaes, and I walked three miles to the nearest store and back to buy two big bags of Cheetos. However, I’ve quickly realized that, when residing at a ranch in the middle of nowhere and with only a learner’s permit to my name, there aren’t that many options available to me. That’s why Fredo and I are becoming such great friends – I saddle him up every morning and take him out into the fields for a gentle trot. Nothing more, because I’m still too afraid to pick up any speed in case I end up breaking my spine.
But today, I have the purpose of delivering a cake, and I walk with a spring in my step and a Dodgers cap shading my face from another day of blazing heat. My face is so weather-beaten from being outdoors that if I sprout any more freckles across my nose and cheeks I may just become unrecognizable to my friends by the time I return home.
The Bennetts’ three-story farmhouse looms before me as I near Willowbank ranch and a dismal feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. When Savannah looks out of her bedroom window, she can see for miles across the rolling countryside, off into the cluster of trees beyond. When Sheri and Popeye look out of their windows, their view is partially blocked by the walls in the distance. It’s another reminder of the impact Dad’s demands have on people around him.
Dad, who I keep trying to push to the back of my mind. His disregard for what will keep me happy still hurts and I’m not ready to process it. I haven’t even raised it with Mom yet because it’s obvious she too believes this is all Ruben’s doing, so I’ve stayed clear of the topic and instead emphasized howboooooringthe Harding Estate is in hopes that she’ll pass this information on to Dad. If I want to continue enjoying some freedom, he and Ruben need to believe I don’t have any at all.
“Mila!”
The sound of Savannah’s voice snaps me back to reality. It’s a welcome distraction from the confused, negative thoughts that swell and churn inside my head.
“Hey! Is your mom around?”
Savannah jogs over to greet me, her expression seeming pleasantly surprised by my unexpected visit. She’s wearing jean shorts and a bikini top, with a huge straw cowboy hat atop her head. Dangling from her ears today are two plastic, neon ice-cream cones. Cute. “Yeah, she’s somewhere out in the field checking a water mains with Dad. What’s that you’ve got there?”
“Aunt Sheri’s famous Tennessee Mountain Cake,” I announce with gusto, holding the cardboard box up and tantalizingly flipping open the lid. “Made fresh yesterday morning and delivered, obviously, by yours truly.”
“Ohhh, Ilovestack cake!” Savannah says as she peers hungrily into the box. “Let’s go put it in the kitchen.”
I shut the lid and follow Savannah toward the house. The strong odor of sunscreen tickles my nose as we start up the porch steps. “Have you been sunbathing?”
“Well, of course,” she says. “I don’t like water – you know I nearly drowned in a lake during a family trip to Kentucky once when I was eight? Oh, it wasawful.My life flashed before my eyes that day and ever since I don’t go near water. Honestly, in my eyes our pool is nothing but a death trap, so I prefer to stick to the daybed.”
Precariously balancing the cake box in one arm, I reach out and grasp Savannah’s wrist, mostly to silence her irrelevant babbling. “Savannah, my weight has dropped by five pounds from sweat alone because of the sheer humidity here, and you didn’t think to mention that you have a pool?” I deadpan.
“Oh! I’m sorry,” she says, flushed. She hits her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Yes, we have a pool! It’s behind the house. But I think it’s rather stupid for the entire pool to be one depth – no one thought my idea of having a shallow end was worth any consideration – so even if Ididtrust the water, I wouldn’t even be able to touch the floor anyway.”
“I’ll trade you the Harding horses for the Willowbank pool,” I blurt, cutting her off. This is a matter of desperation. “You can come over to our place and ride Sheri’s horses whenever you like, if you please, please,pleaselet me use your pool sometimes. You have no idea how much I’ve been dying to dive into one on days like these.”
Savannah lifts the brim of her hat and the shadow over her eyes disappears, the sunshine glowing against her skin. “Um –ab-so-freaking-lutely!”
My grin mirrors hers, but before we can continue up into the house, a bark tears through the peaceful ranch.
At the foot of the porch steps, I twirl around to search for the source of the noise – is Savannah Bennett lucky enough to have a poolanda dog? – but am surprised to find a familiar Golden Retriever puppy pounding across the grass. He’s hurtling toward us at a great speed, tongue lolling, tail wagging. My grin widens, but as he grows nearer, I realize Bailey shows no signs of slowing down, and my joy quickly transforms into alarm.
I clasp my arms tightly around the box of Sheri’s cake and hug it to my chest, but I haven’t secured it quickly enough. With another bark, Bailey lunges toward me. An involuntary gasp leaves me as I fall back against the porch’s wooden handrail under the impact of the determined dog and the box is knocked out of my hands. Bailey presses his paws against my chest and licks my face.
“Oh, Bailey,no!” Savannah groans, reaching for his collar and tugging hard. “Down! Down!”
With a mighty shove, I push Bailey off me, but as he drops back down to the ground, his front paws promptly land heavily on top of the cake box. The crushing of cardboard and the squash of Sheri’s apple stack cake makes me cry out in horror.
“Uh-oh,” Savannah says. “Oops.”
Bailey shoves his nose inside the damaged box and immediately chomps down on the cake. I exchange a panicked look with Savannah, who sheepishly bites her lip, before attempting to haul the dog away from the box.
“No, Bailey, STOP!” a voice yells. “What is he eating?”
Both Savannah and I look over. Blake runs toward us from the same direction that Bailey emerged from thirty seconds ago. If I wasn’t so shocked, I would remember that this is the first I’ve seen him since the latest of our awkward encounters on Sunday.
“Blake! Will you control your dog!” I holler, marching a few steps forward and pointing at Bailey, whose nose is covered in sponge cake and spiced apples. “He just. . . HE JUST RUINED SHERI’S CAKE!”
Blake arrives at the scene of destruction and drops to his haunches, hooking his arms around Bailey and dragging him back from the mangled box. Bailey happily licks the remaining cake from around his snout, and Blake holds him firmly between his legs. He pushes his sunglasses up into his ruffled hair and tilts his head up to meet my furious glare.
“She spent hours making that cake! I was supposed to deliver it!” I fume. “INTACT!”
“Mila, I’m s–sorry,” Blake tries, but he can’t get the words out. There is no attempt to suppress it – his full, hearty laughter fills the air.
