It's a Sweet Life

Chapter Two

Libbie slumped into her office chair and breathed a sigh of relief.

A little after nine o’clock in the morning, and Karen Palmer, mother of the bride, had just picked up their order. It didn’t hurt the woman was tickled to death with the results. And she took a handful of business cards with her to hand out to her friends. She was so pleased in fact that she placed a large order for her ladies’ church group, for pickup next Wednesday afternoon.

A hundred large cupcakes, four different varieties, decorated. Plus three red velvet cakes, two sour cream pound cakes, and a carrot cake.

She’d paid the order in full in advance so she could send someone else to pick it up for her.

Yay. I can pay Jenny today instead of on Tuesday after all the Friday checks clear. Karen Palmer wouldn’t stiff her and write a bad check. And the young mom would no doubt appreciate the early payday with her food stamps not paying out for nearly a week. Jenny never asked for an advance on her pay, but Libbie saw how the woman struggled this time of the month, every month, making sure her kids had good food while she sometimes subsisted on day-olds Libbie gave her to take home.

Grover leaned against the office doorway. “You okay, sugar?”

Libbie nodded. “Exhausted. How are you?” Out in the shop, she heard the bell jingle as someone entered, followed by Jenny’s cheerful voice as she greeted them. Back in the kitchen, Ruth had the giant mixer running as she put together the basics of a cake order going out the next day. Ruth didn’t do the special decorating. That fell on Libbie’s shoulders. But the older woman had a special touch with even the fussiest recipes and rarely ruined anything.

Grover shrugged. “If I wasn’t here, I’d be sitting in my chair at home. Don’t worry about it. But I meant your hands.” He nodded to where she had them clutched in her lap, the apron wrapped around them and the microwaveable gel hot pack she held. “You don’t think I didn’t see you do that, did you?” One bushy eyebrow threaded with grey arched over his friendly brown eyes. “Don’t make me cross-examine you, kiddo.”

She felt her face flush. From the stories her father had told her, Grover had been a formidable trial attorney. “I’ll be okay,” she mumbled.

“You’re this bad and it’s only October. Honey, you’ll be in misery come January and you know it.”

Libbie knew all too well where this conversation was going and decided to head him off at the pass. “I can’t afford to go to Doc Smith.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” a man said from behind Grover.

Grover turned with a smile and held out his hand. “Hi, Doc.”

Dr. Smith shook hands with him and stepped past him and into the office. “Grover. Libbie.”

She shot a glare at Grover. “You called him?”

He returned her glare with an arched eyebrow. “Of course I did, you stubborn thing.”

Dr. Smith waggled an accusatory finger at her. “How am I supposed to get my morning crullers if my favorite baker can’t make them?”

Dr. Smith was a general practitioner who’d been practicing in Brooksville for over twenty-five years. Thin and tall, he stopped in every morning on his way to his office four doors down from Libbie’s building. He’d been their family doctor when Libbie was growing up.

This also wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion. “I don’t have insurance yet, Doc. Maybe by next spring I can afford it.”

He walked in, sat in the folding chair next to her desk, and held his hands out, waggling his fingers at her. “Give ’em. Hand ’em over, girl.”

With her head hung low, she released the gel pack and held her hands out to him. She winced as he gingerly probed and manipulated her hands before releasing them. She pulled them back and once again buried them in her apron, wrapping her fingers around the still-warm gel pack.

He cocked his head at her. “I can’t force you to come see me. I also keep telling you I’ll make you a special cash deal so you can.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want charity.” She already felt guilty enough about Grover’s insistence on coming in to help without compensation.

The doctor pulled a prescription pad and pen from his jacket pocket. “This isn’t charity. This is self-interest.” He smiled as he scribbled on the pad. “I don’t smoke or drink. Your crullers are the only monkey on my back. Do an old man a favor, would ya?” He tore the sheet off and handed it to Grover, who pocketed it. “And how am I supposed to get my fix guilt-free if I know you’re killing yourself over here?”

She finally smiled, which earned her a pat on the knee. “But I can’t take anything that’s going to make me sleepy,” she said. “I have to get up so early.”

“How’s the fibro fog doing?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter because I have everything written down and organized so anyone can help me. And I can’t do something stupid like forget.” She had hundreds of laminated pages in several binders in the kitchen, with all her standard recipes in them, so she could use dry-erase markers on them while baking and not miss a step or forget an ingredient.

It also meant anyone, like Ruth or Grover, could do all the prep work for her if necessary, and leave the detailed decorating to her.

And there had been days Grover forced her to sit on a stool at the decorating table and not move from it while he and Ruth did all the other prep work.

Dr. Smith nodded. “Don’t worry, it’s naproxen, not a narcotic,” he assured her. “It’s just a stronger version of what you can buy over the counter. And you can get it in a generic form, so it won’t cost you an arm and a leg. It’ll help you with the arthritis pain somewhat, although it might also give you some relief for the fibro pain. It probably won’t help much with the fibro fog, though. If you will quit being so stubborn and come in for a full workup, I can look at trying you on something like Cymbalta or Lyrica. I have samples of those and a couple others we can try to see what might work. There are even several other drugs we can try that have inexpensive generic alternatives. But I can’t put you on any of those until I get baseline blood work results for you.”

He stood to go and waggled a finger at her again. “Remember, you wouldn’t want to deny an old man his best pleasure in life.”

“Thank you,” she softly said.

“I’ll make sure she gets and takes them,” Grover told him, patting the doctor on the shoulder as he passed. “Thank you for coming.”

“No problem.”

When he left, Grover took his place in the folding chair. “I’ll go get these filled for you.”

She started to reach for her purse, but he put out a staying hand.

“Don’t you dare reach for money or I’ll spank you.”

“But you already do so much. And there’s tomorrow. And—”

“Stop. I’m paying for this one. If I couldn’t afford it, I wouldn’t offer.” He grinned. “If they’re cheap, you buy the next batch. But you need something to help you out.” With all his kids grown and away from home, some of them already with families of their own, Grover had turned all his fatherly powers on Libbie.

The only reason she accepted his help was because she suspected he used it to escape his grief and loneliness after Connie died.

It didn’t mean, however, that she didn’t feel guilty about taking it.

She slumped back in her chair and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t you be thanking me yet. Jeneese heard what we were doing and now has her sisters and their men involved. You’re going to have a house full of Johnsons tomorrow.” He grinned. “And I’m bringing the big barbecue cooker. It’s going to be like a family reunion.”

Grover had already left for the drugstore a few minutes later when Mandaline Royce came in for her daily order. Libbie smiled. “I’ve got it all boxed up. Let me go get it for you.”

Mandaline had inherited Many Blessings when her friend, Julie Prescott, was murdered earlier that year. The New Age shop sat almost directly across the town square from Libbie’s bakery and sold coffee and other beverages. But they purchased all the baked goods that they sold every day in the coffeeshop from Libbie.

When Libbie returned with the three boxes of assorted items, she noticed Mandaline’s frown. “What’s wrong?”

Mandaline gently took Libbie’s hand and turned it palm down in her own. “I should be asking you that.”

Libbie felt her face heat as she carefully pulled her hand away.

“I’m okay.”

Mandaline, who at five four stood three inches shorter than Libbie, planted a hand on her hip. “You can’t lie to a witch, you know.”

Libbie considered Mandaline a close acquaintance, but they were almost friends. “It’s just the cool weather getting to me.”

Mandaline chewed on her bottom lip. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“No. Why?”

A beaming grin broke out across her face. She placed the pre-written check for her order on the counter and scooped up the boxes.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t you want your receipt?”

“I’ll get it when I come back. Don’t go anywhere.” She practically ran out of the store, her long brown hair flowing behind her as her multicolored ankle-length skirt swirled around dark blue leggings and tan Ugg boots.

“What’s going on?” Jenny asked.

Libbie shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Mandaline returned a few minutes later, carrying a small paper bag with the curly, bright pink Many Blessings logo on the side. She handed it to Libbie. “This is for you. A gift. Let me know if they help you. If they do, I’ll keep them in stock.”

Libbie handed her the receipt before looking in the bag. A small tube and a small, brown, glass bottle lay inside. “What are they?”

“The tube is a homeopathic ointment we’re stocking that we just got in a couple of days ago. All natural ingredients. It’s supposed to help with pain. No odor, either. And in the bottle is an essential oil blend of my own concoction. Rub a little on the backs of your hands, especially before you go to bed, and see if it helps.”

Libbie forced a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” She’d tried every over-the-counter ointment she could buy at the drugstore and hadn’t found one to give her anything but the slimmest of relief, and even then for only a short time.

And they stank.

Mandaline leaned across the counter to give her a hug. “These aren’t your normal drugstore snake oil cures,” she teased. “Give them a try and let me know. Hey, can’t hurt.”

Libbie’s eyes widened. “How did you know I thought—”

Mandaline tapped her forehead again with a giggle. “Witch, remember? I’ve got to go. I’ve got students coming in half an hour.”

She gave Libbie a gentle hug and headed out the door.

Libbie watched the slim woman race across the town square again. Libbie wasn’t much of a believer in psychic stuff, or witchcraft, or any other religious beliefs to speak of. But she didn’t hold it against anyone who did.

She looked into the bag again as Jenny also took a peek. “She’s right,” Jenny said. “Can’t hurt. I saw a TV documentary once about the rain forest and how there are a lot of plants and stuff that are natural cures for diseases.”

“Well, right now I have another batch of cupcakes to get decorated, so I can’t put anything on my hands. I’ll try it later.” She carried the bag back to her office and set it on her desk.

The rest of the day went quickly. By the time Libbie closed up shop at three, she felt exhausted. But at least the prescription Grover brought her seemed to help take the worst edges off the pain.

She crawled upstairs and flopped down on her couch. Galileo looked down at her from where he lay sprawled across the back, taking in the last of the afternoon sun through the window.

“Mwrao.”

“Back atcha, buddy.”

The cat slowly stood, stretched, and then made his way down to where she lay and took up residence on her chest. His deep purring rumbled through her body as she stroked his head.

She didn’t mean to fall asleep, but when she next opened her eyes the sun had slipped behind the buildings on the western end of the square, casting deep shadows across the courthouse. The time on the cable box read 6:37.

“Damn.” She looked up into Galileo’s face. The cat hadn’t moved.

He stared down at her with half-opened green eyes. “Why did you let me fall asleep?”

“Mwrao.”

“Right.”

He craned his neck and sniffed at her chin before head-butting it and rubbing his head against her.

“I get it. You’re hungry.”

He slowly stood and stretched before jumping down and padding across the living room to the kitchen, where he sat and waited.

“This is my life,” she said with a groan as she sat up before following him into the kitchen. “Sleep, bake, feed the cat, and scoop his pan.” She flexed her hands, which were starting to scream again as the medicine wore off. “And hurt like hell.”

She realized as she emptied fresh dry food into the cat’s bowl that she’d left both the bottle of pills and the stuff from Mandaline down in the office. With a heavy sigh, she stepped into the hall.

But not without stopping at the door to the other apartment. That was tomorrow’s major feat.

She opened the door and walked in. She never locked either apartment, because few people rarely came up here besides her and Grover.

I suppose I’ll have to get used to locking the door to the bakery.

And my apartment door.

A separate staircase from out back led directly upstairs as well.

The tenants would have a way to get inside without having to go through the bakery door. Since she rarely used that door, she kept it locked all the time.

I’ll need to get extra keys made for it.

She resented the thought of losing her privacy, of not being able to come and go freely without worrying about someone else in her domain.

But the extra money would be nice.

She’d already thought about it and felt comfortable charging five hundred a month, including utilities.

But as she looked at the apartment in the fading light, she realized how much darker it was than the one she called home across the hall.

The smaller apartment faced the back of the building. And while it had a nice view of some wooded property to the south, it also lost the afternoon sunlight a lot sooner.

It was smaller, too. It only had one bedroom, whereas the apartment she lived in had two. Albeit small bedrooms, but the entire square footage of her apartment was more than this one.

She leaned against the doorway and looked across where she’d stacked furniture in the living room area. Some of it she could use as furnishings for the rental, ask a little more money that way.

Libbie picked her way through a path to the kitchen. As she studied the appliances, she realized she’d forgotten the kitchen had been completely remodeled by the previous owner not long before the sale. It had brand-new appliances which had been barely used.

She eased around another pile of boxes, to the bathroom, and flipped on the light.

The deep, sunken tub beckoned to her, larger than the standard one in her apartment.

“Hmm.”

I don’t really use the other bedroom for anything but office work anyway. I don’t need two desks. I can use the office downstairs for my paperwork.

The living room was only marginally smaller here than across the hall. She could take the leaf out of her dining room table and send two of the six chairs to storage with Grover. It wouldn’t be a huge sacrifice to downsize a little.

Not like I ever have anyone over to eat except Grover and Mandaline, and sometimes Jenny and her boys.

The more she thought about it, the more she talked herself into it.

A furnished, two-bedroom apartment, with utilities? She did the math in her head. She could easily charge seven hundred. That would cover her utilities for the building every month, as well as a few other incidentals.

The stress relief that alone provided would take a weight off her shoulders.

As she worked her way back to the door, she nodded, decided.

Tomorrow’s moving day.

Although Galileo would, no doubt, express his extreme displeasure with the move.

It’s a Sweet Life

27