Page 36 of Hot Puck
“Come on, let’s go inside and I’ll check with your brother. Have you eaten breakfast?” I ask as I urge them back toward the house.
“No. Chase was supposed to make it before he got on the phone. I think he forgot about us.”
There’s another eye roll from both of them and I stifle the laugh that bubbles in my throat. I ignore the comment about their brother forgetting them because we all know that’s not possible. Their words and actions are harmless, teenage melodrama.
“What time do you need to be at camp? Do we have time to make pancakes?”
“You can make pancakes?” Cassidy eyes me skeptically. “Chase’s either taste like flour or nothing at all.”
“If you can even eat them,” Crystal mutters.
“Yes, I can make them, and they definitely taste better than that or I wouldn’t keep making them.” I open the front door and usher the girls in ahead of me. “I remember seeing apples in the fridge yesterday. If you’ve got ground cinnamon, I can make you my favorite kind of pancakes.”
“We do!” Crystal takes off, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll get it.”
“What else do you need?” Cassidy asks, excitement lighting up her eyes. “I can show you where it all is.”
I don’t tell her I know they have the other ingredients I need or that I know where to find them. She doesn’t need to know I spent yesterday afternoon searching through their kitchen.
I’m the interloper here. And like Chase, the girls need to feel in control of their lives, well, as much as possible for a pair of fourteen-year-olds.
“Lead the way.”
The house is quiet, and as we enter the kitchen my gaze goes to the monitor on the counter only to find it missing.
Chase must have it with him. I want to find him and take that responsibility away but I stamp on the urge and concentrate on breakfast.
“Do you need to pack lunch?” I ask, trying to recall everything from my search and pulling ideas for possible lunches together.
“No. They feed us.”
“It’s usually yuck but if you drown it in ketchup, it’s okay.”
Crystal’s words have me stopping in my tracks. “You don’t like what they feed you?”
“It’s okay.” She glances at Cassidy. “But Mom always packed us lunch because you can do that if you want. Dad paid more so he didn’t have to worry about it.”
“Oh.”
The heaviness of that implication churns my stomach. I can imagine Mitch Hawkins making that decision knowing at some point over this summer with a new baby in the house, his wife would die.
“Well, we can make you both a lunch box if you want.”
Crystal claps her hands and Cassidy’s grin lights up the room.
“And if we mix up enough batter, we can add a couple of apple cinnamon pancakes to it.”
“Yes!” The girls shout and high-five each other and I’m reminded of how young they are even though they seem years older at times.
“All right.” I put my bag down on a stool and look around. “Let’s prep on the island, there’s more space for all of us to help.”
“What else do we need?” Crystal puts a jar of ground cinnamon on the counter.
“At least one apple. If they’re small, two.”
“On it,” Cassidy says as she races to the fridge.
“Grab milk while you’re in there,” I tell her before turning to Crystal. “We’ll need flour, and a mixing bowl or two, measuring cups and spoons. And something to shred the apple with.”
