Twice Baked Page 2

  “Exactly where you belong, Rita.” He tipped his hat again. “I’m taking you back home.”

  He pointed forward and, though I hadn’t seen it before, a sign now sat at the edge of the highway that read:

  Second Springs 12 Miles

  I wanted to ask the old man how he knew my name, but honestly, that was about sixth down the list of weird things that were going on right now. He patted the seat again and, though everything Dad had taught me since I could say the words ‘stranger danger’ told me not to, I got into the truck anyway.

  Hey, don’t judge me. It was a very confusing time. I had a jumbled memory, no idea how I had gotten fifteen minutes outside of town, and a complete stranger staring back at from my reflection.

  Besides, this guy looked like he could barely lift the toothpick to his mouth. He wouldn’t give me any trouble I couldn’t handle.

  The cracked leather seat was cold against my legs as I slid in and closed the door behind me. Though the rest of the interior was just as dusty as the outside of the truck, the seats were clean enough to eat off of, not that I ever actually would.

  “So,” the old man said, putting the truck into drive and squealing off, sending the poor red pouch in the back sliding toward the tailgate. “I suppose you’ve got about a hundred questions for me.”

  “More than a hundred,” I said, pulling down the visor and checking my reflection out in the mirror it held. “Though I’m not sure you’re the right person to answer them.”

  Dang it! There she was again, the green-eyed redhead with a thing for floral. What was this chick doing hijacking my reflection and, if she was here, then where was I?

  “It can be disorienting at first,” the old man warned. “But you get used to it after a while. At least, that’s what they tell me.”

  “Who tells you that? What can be disorienting?” I asked, whipping the visor back up and turning to him. A smile spread across his face, sending the tattered toothpick dancing between his lips.

  “Guess I’m the answer man after all,” he crowed. “The name’s Charlie, Honeybean. At least it is for now. And I’m afraid that I’ve got some rather unsettling news for you.”

  He took a hard right, which was absolutely not the way back to Second Springs and the poor dog skidded across the back again.

  “You should have let him ride in the front seat,” I huffed, looking back at what I now saw was a pretty amazing looking Irish setter. There was no quicker way to get on my bad side than being mean to an animal, dogs especially.

  “I tried. He’s too stubborn for all that,” Charlie answered. “He just keeps telling me he likes the wind in his fur.” Charlie leaned in. “Between you and me, I think he finds it too dirty up here. He’s kind of a snob.”

  “Can’t say I blame him,” I muttered, running my hand across the dash and drawing back a dust heap. Now where are you taking me?”

  “To prove it,” Charlie snickered, shaking his head a little.

  “Prove what?” I balked, starting to get a little tired of the runaround.

  “The unsettling news, Honeybean,” he said.

  “You know honey doesn’t actually come from beans, right?” I fidgeted in my seat, looking out the window.

  “I’ve done this more than once, Rita. And I’ve seen all sorts of reactions, including this one. Are you curious as to why you keep changing the subject?” Charlie asked, dropping the lightness from his voice. “It’s because part of you already knows what I’m about to say.”

  He was being ridiculous. So naturally, I said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “And don’t be daft,” he answered, taking another hard left. I’m sure the setter was sliding back and forth like a pair of socks in a washer, but I was way too confused to register that. “You took a pretty mean tumble down the steps, Honeybean. Most people wouldn’t get up from that.”

  “Well, I’m not most people,” I snapped back. Turning the old fashioned knob, I rolled the window down and let the wind sweep through my hair…through my red hair.

  “I think you might be,” Charlie answered, a bit of an apology in his voice.

  “I am not!” I said. Goodness, he was right. I did know. I knew what he was going to say, and I didn’t want to hear it.

  “You gotta listen to me, Honeybean. I know it’s hard, but not hearing doesn’t make it not true.”

  “Stop calling me that!” I screamed.

  He pulled to a stop alongside the road, and suddenly, I knew where he had taken me.

  Second Springs Memorial Cemetery stretched out in front of me. So many people were buried here, my mother included. I remember the night Dad brought me here for the first time. I remember the roses I put on her grave, and the way that we both cried.

  But why was I here now?

  You know why Rita.

  “It was a mighty nasty fall,” Charlie said quietly.

  I didn’t look over at him. I just kept staring out the window, staring at my mother’s headstone.

  “I died,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

  “You did,” Charlie confirmed. “But that’s only half the story.”

  “Seems like a pretty important half,” I answered, wiping tears from my cheek.

  “It is, but so is what happens next.”

  I heard his door open, and then a cane slapping against the pavement. After a few moments, Charlie was in front of me. His toothpick looked even more worn than before, and I suddenly related to it very much.

  “You wanna show me my grave?” I asked, looking past him.

  “Only if you want to see it,” he answered.

  My lips quirked to the side, the way they did when I was thinking. I had never been one to run away from things, even when I should have. Which, come to think of it, was probably the reason I ended up at the bottom of those steps in the first place.

  “Let’s do it,” I said, opening the door and stepping out.

  We didn’t have to go far. Turned out I was buried right beside my mother, in the plot Dad reserved for himself after she passed on.

  Oh God! Dad!

  “He’s all alone, my dad,” I muttered, tears welling anew behind my eyes. “He’s probably heartbroken.”

  “I don’t know anything about that, I’m afraid,” Charlie answered. “But I do know other things, like what happens next.”

  “Next?” I asked, looking at him. I heard panting and scampers, and noticed the Irish setter galloping toward us.

  “You settle down,” Charlie shook his cane at him. “This is a place of mourning.” Turning to me, he continued. “And of course there’s a next. You didn’t think everybody got to come look at their own final resting place, did you?”

  “Honestly, I never thought about it,” I said, because who thinks about that?

  “The answer is, they don’t. But you do, Honeybean. Because you’ve got unfinished business.” He tipped his hat to me again. “That’s why you were sent back.”

  “Sent back?” I asked.

  “In a brand new body, no less.” He grinned at me.

  “Wait a second,” I said, quirking my mouth to the side again. “Are you saying that I’ve been-”

  “Reincarnated?” Charlie smiled. “You got a better explanation for it?”

  “You know,” I said, looking down at my own burial site. “I really don’t. But why? Why me?”

  “Like I said, there’s unfinished business, and you’re the only one who can finish it.” He leaned down and, in the first show of affection I could remember, pet the setter on his head.

  The dog pulled back though, lifting its tail and turning its snout up in the air.

  “See what I mean? He’s a snob.”

  “What kind of business?” I asked.

  “That’s not for me to say,” Charlie answered. “All I can tell you is that you’ll know it when it comes.” He looked around. “At least you get to stay home though. I’ve known people who have had to do a second go around on the other side of the world. And let me tell y
ou, you don’t want to have to learn a new language right after being reincarnated. I’d just as soon stay dead.”

  “I get to stay in Second Springs?’ I asked, feeling a bit of light seep into me. I loved this place. I loved the people in it. Being here, being able to be around them, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “Until you finish your business, and then you get to move on.”

  “Move on to what?” I asked.

  He smiled wide at me now. “To what’s next. But there’s no sense in talking about that now. You’ve got a long way to go before you hit that mark, and you’re not going to have much help.” He motioned to the dog. “Unless you count a mangy fleabag with an inflated sense of self-worth.”

  “The dog is mine?” I asked, looking at the setter.

  “You’re each other’s,” Charlie corrected me. “Rita, meet Mayor Colin McConnell.”

  “I’m sorry,” I shook my head. “The dog’s name is Mayor Colin McConnell?”

  “It used to be,” Charlie chuckled. “You didn’t think you were the only one with unfinished business, did you?”

  I glared back at the dog, who was giving me a pretty cold side eye.

  “Um, nice to meet you, Mr. Mayor.”

  I think he scoffed at me.

  “So, now that the introductions are taken care of, you should get going.” Charlie tossed the keys to me. I caught them against my chest.

  “Let me guess, the truck’s mine too?”

  “And the luggage in the back. Hope you like flower patterns,” Charlie laughed.

  “And you couldn’t have cleaned it first?” I asked.

  “You know, I think you and Mayor McConnell have more in common than you think.” He pointed to the truck. “You’d better go. It’ll be dark soon, and I hear Mrs. Jenkins at the Inn doesn’t like to rent to strangers after nine.”

  “Oh that’s okay. I’m not a stra-” Except I was. I was someone new, someone they wouldn’t recognize; not Peggy, not Aiden, not even Dad. I was going to get to go home, but I wouldn’t be me anymore.

  “I can’t tell them, can I?” I asked.

  “Not unless you want to get slapped into a strait jacket. Though I suppose that’s up to you,” Charlie answered.

  I glanced downward, looking at my grave one more time. “It’s not right,” I said.

  “Everyone says that,” Charlie answered. “But I hear it gets better.”

  “No. I mean the inscription. It reads “Here Lies Rita Clarke: Beloved Daughter, Kind Friend, and Amazing Baker.”

  “Seems sweet to me,” Charlie answered.

  “Well it is, but I went through this with Peggy. She promised if I died before her, she’d make sure my tombstone read: Just Five More Minutes.”

  Chapter 3

  I wheeled back to Second Springs just as fast as that red bucket of rust would take me. The old truck handled better than I thought, given the age and condition of it. So much so, that it got me thinking that-after a good washing- the old thing might not be so bad.

  Of course, Mayor McConnell didn’t agree with me. Though I pleaded with him, the stubborn setter would not ride in the front with me.

  Maybe Charlie had been right when he told me how big of a snob the pooch was.

  As I passed the painted wooden sign that told me I was entering Second Springs (Where Dreams are always better the ‘Second’ Time Around), I hit the brakes.

  If I was any sort of resident worth her salt, I knew that Deputy Dwight would be parked behind the Kwick-Fuel just praying for somebody to stumble through his self-made speed trap.

  He’d have never even dreamed of giving me a ticket before, but something told me that a redheaded stranger in a dusty old pickup with an overly self-indulgent dog in the back wouldn’t get the same breaks that the sheriff’s daughter would. Even if the dog used to be mayor.

  But as I passed by the Kwick Fuel, as slow as you please, I found the old spot where Dwight used to sit in wait suspiciously empty.

  That didn’t make any sense. It was almost eight o’clock at night. If Dwight wasn’t sitting out here that meant that he was either helping my dad close up shop at the station or sitting through one of his mother’s notoriously awful meatloaf dinners. And everyone knew how much he hated those. Well, everyone but his mother.

  My heart jumped a little as I entered Main Street. I was excited to see everyone again. I was excited to see Second Springs, even if-at this hour- most everything was either closing up or already locked down.

  It had probably been a few days since my accident; long enough for a funeral obviously and, come to think of it, long enough for the grass to grow back over my grave.

  Grass could grow back in a few days, right?

  My stomach started to tighten. What if it had been weeks, or a month?

  Who knows what Peggy, Aiden, and Dad had been through? Nothing good. They had lost a friend, a future wife, and an only child respectively. They were probably deep in mourning, probably inconsolable. I’d have to help them, of course. Maybe that was the unfinished business Charlie was talking about back in the cemetery. Maybe I had to help the people I loved get used to the idea of a life without me. And, after that, I’d go on to-how did he put it?

  What’s next.

  I pulled over in one of the six diagonal parking slots reserved for Pie Ladies’ Paradise. I knew I should have probably gone went by the Inn first. Charlie was right when he’d said Mrs. Jenkins didn’t like renting to strangers after nine. And I likely couldn’t pull up to Dad in a brand new body asking for my old room back. Not that I was ready to see him anyway.

  But something was pulling me here, drawing me into that square shop where so much of my sweat, tears, fears, and laughs had been housed. Part of me was there, most of me probably. And maybe going inside would make me feel more like myself.

  I turned off the engine and the headlights, because on this old model they weren’t automatic. Opening the door, I stepped back out onto the pavement, already feeling better to feel Main Street beneath my feet. Even if, technically, they weren’t actually mine.

  “Stay right here, Mayor McConnell. I’ll be back in just a minute, and then we’ll see about getting a roo-”

  It shouldn’t have surprised me at this point, when he hopped out of the back and landed beside me on the road, blatantly disregarding my command. He looked up at me and tilted his fur covered head, practically daring me to say something.

  “Bet you were real popular with your constituents,” I muttered, turning away and walking up to the shop.

  As I pushed open the door and heard the three tones that rang any time someone came into the store- the three tones that I set up, I nearly jumped for joy.

  I was home. Even if I wasn’t me anymore, I was home. Maybe all this would work out after all.

  “Sorry,” Peggy’s familiar voice echoed from the backroom. “We’re closed. I should have locked that door, but…”

  “But you never remember,” I muttered to myself, running my fingers along the table tops.

  Peggy came into view behind the glass counter. Her apron was covered in flour. So was her face. And her hair was shorter than I remembered it being. Had she gotten a haircut to cope with my loss?

  “We usually close at- Oh, I don’t know you,” she said, stopping in her tracks.

  I’m not going to lie. Though I was half expecting them, hearing Peggy say those words stung a little.

  “I-I guess you don’t,” I stammered. “Is that a problem?”

  “No,” she shook her head, and I knew her well enough to know the way she was pulling at her fingers meant she was embarrassed about her outburst. “It’s just, I almost never get a customer whose life story I couldn’t tell you frontwards and backwards.” She smiled. “Small town life and all.”

  “I get it,” I answered, more nervous than I had ever been while talking to my best friend. “I’m from a small town myself.”

  “Really?” Peggy grinned, taking off her apron and laying it acros
s the glass case. “Anywhere I’ve heard of?”

  “Probably,” I conceded. “It’s a lot like here actually.”

  “Then you must feel right at home,” she nodded.

  “You have no idea,” I answered.

  “What am I doing?” Peggy shook her head. “Come in. Let me get you a slice of something.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “Since you’re closed and all.”

  She didn’t have to tell Mayor McConnell twice. He charged into the shop, settling right under the glass case and staring up at a particularly creamy looking piece of butterscotch pie.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she waved me forward, eyeing Mayor McConnell. “Either of you, I suppose. Welcome to Second City. My name’s Peggy, by the way.”

  “Rita,” I answered without thinking.

  Peggy looked back at me, blinking hard. “That-that’s a nice name.” She cleared her throat. “My best friend was named Rita.”

  Now we’re getting to the good stuff.

  “Was?” I asked, moving forward and sitting on one of the counter stools. “Are you guys not friends anymore?”

  “She died,” Peggy said flatly, cutting a huge piece of chocolate pecan supreme and placing it in front of me along with a fork and napkin.

  “Oh,” I answered, feigning shock. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I am too.” Peggy gave me a polite smile. “She started this place with me, you know? It was her dream. It was both of our dreams, but it was hers especially.”

  “She sounds like she was pretty special,” I said, aching as I watched the pain flash through Peggy’s eyes.

  “The best person I’ve ever known,” Peggy nodded, blinking back tears. “They say the good die young. Well, so do the great.”

  Dagger, meet heart.

  “How did she die, if you don’t mind me asking,” I said, cutting a corner of chocolate pecan supreme and shoveling it into my mouth.

  Needs nutmeg.

  “Someone pushed her down a flight of steps.” Peggy looked past me, focusing on the door. “She was making a delivery to one of the seniors in town and she came upon a crime scene. She was actually on the phone with the cops when it happened. They never found the person who did it. I keep hoping they might, but I doubt it, given that it’s been over two years now.”