The Icing on the Cake by Janice Thompson
Or not.
As I gazed into Armando’s eyes, as I picked up on the interest written there, I envisioned the two of us taking a twirl around the room. Hey, stranger things have happened. A good church girl. A rough-and-tumble bad boy come home to roost. Surely even the Lord would smile on the two of us taking a spin around the dance floor. Right? Of course, our families would figure out our little secret, but I didn’t mind. Soon enough my parents would see the great guy I’d come to know.
“Scarlet, you still with us?”
I shook off my ponderings and gazed at Hannah. She looked worried. Frankly, I didn’t blame her. How long had I checked out, anyway? Long enough to picture myself married with a couple of kids.
“You’re off in another world.” Her gaze narrowed. “I have a sneaking suspicion why. But before you do anything crazy, just ask yourself, what would Lucy do?”
I knew what Lucy would do, of course. She’d married her Latin heartthrob, and they’d made a life together in front of millions of people, earning millions in the process.
Okay, so he’d left her heartbroken in the end, but I didn’t really want to go there. Not yet, anyway. Right now, as I looked up to see the handsomest waiter on Galveston Island headed my way with a pitcher of tea in his hands, I could only conclude one thing: Lucy would dive in headfirst. And she wouldn’t look back, no matter what anyone else told her to do.
17
Take It with a Pinch of Salt
I’ve always thought with relationships, that it’s more about what you bring to the table than what you’re going to get from it. It’s very nice if you sit down and the cake appears. But if you go to the table expecting cake, then it’s not so good.
Anjelica Huston
The following day Armando agreed to meet me at the church. He surprised me by bringing a new lightboard, one he’d borrowed from a friend.
“Nicky said we can use this until he needs it again,” Armando said as he settled the board into place on the back table. “He knows we’re doing the fund-raiser, so he’s cool with that. In fact, I have a feeling he might be willing to sell it to us after that. Your dad is on board. I talked to him about it already.”
“If we can just figure out a way to pay for it.” I felt like bursting into song as I looked at the lightboard, and all the more as I watched Armando plug it in and set the knobs in their various positions. “How can I ever thank you? You’ve been great.”
He shrugged and kept working. “No biggie. Just thought it might help to do a real light show during the fund-raiser. People respond well to lights.”
Yes. They. Do.
And right now, with ribbons of light coming through the stained-glass windows, playing off the color of his hair, I found myself responding more and more.
Focus, Scarlet.
“So, let me get this straight.” He picked up the paper I’d given him with the list of performances. “Our first rehearsal is Thursday night.”
“Yes.” My heart quickened. I must’ve been nuts to schedule it one night before Hannah’s wedding rehearsal, but I couldn’t back out now.
“Sounds like we’re gonna be busy this weekend,” he said. “Bella asked me to run sound at Hannah’s rehearsal on Friday night because D.J. can’t be there. Pretty sure he’s going to be at the wedding, though, so I’ll come as a guest and watch you in action as a flower girl.”
A groan framed my words. “I’m not a flower girl. I’m the maid of honor.”
“I know.” He chuckled and reached to brush a loose tendril of hair from the side of my face. “Just teasing. Wanted to see your reaction.”
Tease me all you like.
“I’m also the cake baker,” I added, “so this weekend is going to be nuts. I have no idea why I scheduled a talent show rehearsal for Thursday night. Don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I just couldn’t imagine putting it off until the next week because we really need the practice.”
“Do you need to cancel?”
“No. Our show is in a week and a half.” My nerves kicked in as I spoke the words aloud. A week and a half? Really? How would we manage? “This is really the only night that works for a lot of our participants. And besides, the Splendora ladies are going to be in town for some sort of event at the seawall, and we need to take advantage of the fact that they’ll be on the island.”
“Oh, right. That motorcycle ministry thing that D.J.’s parents head up.” He began to tell me all about it—how Dwayne and Earline Neeley rode their Harleys from one end of the island to the other to win souls for the kingdom.
“Yeah.” Though I couldn’t envision any of them on motorcycles if I tried all day. “It just makes sense to hold the rehearsal when the ladies are here.”
“Gotcha. They are your headline act, after all.”
“Right. So we’re working around their schedule, not mine.”
Still, I couldn’t imagine how—or when—I’d bake my BFF’s wedding cake. No doubt I’d be baking through the night. “It’s crazy, I know. I think I’ll need a shrink when this is all over.”
“Nah.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “Just pray. God’ll get you through it.”
Okay, well, that answered my question about where he stood with the Lord. Mostly, anyway. At least he saw leaning on the Lord as a good thing. That was half the battle, right?
Armando glanced back at the list and ran his finger down the page. “I don’t know most of these people, so bring me up to speed. What are they doing, exactly?”
I took the paper from him and looked over it. “Well, for one thing, the teens are going to do a human video.”
“Human video?” He looked perplexed. “What’s that?”
“They act out a song. In this case, it’s a song about a man overcoming addiction.” I went on to explain the depth of the piece and even got tears in my eyes as I described how powerful it was.
“Interesting.” His eyes took on a faraway look for a moment, then he snapped back to attention. “What else?”
I scanned the page. “There’s a really cute little girl in our church who does a great job with ‘Happy Birthday, Jesus.’ She sings it every Christmas.”
“You do know it’s June, right?”
“Yeah.” I did my best not to sigh. “But desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“I didn’t realize we were that desperate.” He chuckled and glanced back down at the list. “Okay, what else?”
“Don’t laugh, but D.J.’s uncle Donny offered to perform.”
“Uncle Donny? The mind reels.” Armando’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What’s his talent, or do I dare ask?”
“Apparently he plays the saw.”
“The saw?” The edges of Armando’s lips curled up in a quirky smile. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, and according to D.J., he’s all the rage in Splendora. Even the trio of Splendora sisters agrees. Oh, and speaking of which, they volunteered their services for three Gershwin tunes. Their harmonies are amazing. I’m so relieved they’re able to help us with this fund-raiser. You have no idea how blessed I feel.”
“You can thank me for that.” He patted himself on the chest. “I sent them to you.”
“Yeah. They told me.” I gazed at him, wanting to thank him, but got hung up on his broad shoulders. “I just found out from Bella that D.J.’s brother, Bubba, is going to sing some sort of opera thing. Something from his last show at the Grand Opera Society. Bella’s mom says he got a standing ovation at the last show.”
“Yeah, he’s great. I just hope he doesn’t show up in tights like the last time I saw him.”
I tried not to panic at that idea. “You don’t really think he would do that, do you?”
Armando laughed and shook his head. “No, trust me. He hates that part of it. That’s the last thing he’d do.”
“Good. Well, I’m sure he’ll be pretty amazing.” Not that I was into opera, but whatever. Surely he would win me over with an aria or two. I glanced back down at the list. “Oh, and ou
“Okay. Want me to do some sort of wild light show as they sing?” Armando waggled his brows in playful fashion.
“Um, no. Pretty sure my dad would kill you. But thanks for offering.”
“That’s a shame. I think I really could’ve dressed up their hymn. Added a lot to it.”
As I thought about the hymn they would be singing, I started humming it. We dove back into our work at the board, but I must’ve started singing at some point, because Armando stopped working and looked my way.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. It’s just . . . you have a great voice.”
I winced. “What?”
“You’re singing again. You do that a lot.”
“I . . . I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. Like I said, you’ve got a great voice. I love it.”
“Oh.” I hardly knew what to say in response. “I . . . well, I used to sing a little.”
“Why did you stop?”
Ack. I had two options here. I could tell him the truth—that Aunt Willy had ridiculed my singing voice as a kid—or I could lie and tell him there were more important things in life than lifting one’s voice in song.
Then again, there were more important things. Like opening a bakery. Prepping for my BFF’s wedding. Keeping everyone in the family happy.
He continued to stare at me until I finally spoke up. “I still sing.”
“Good.” He smiled. “Because you’re really good. I think your solo will bring in a lot of money for the fund-raiser. I’m sure the others will agree, once I’ve told them.”
“My . . . solo?”
“Well, yeah. At the talent show? I’m assuming that’s what you meant when you said you still sing. What song are you doing?”
“Oh no, no, no, no, no.” I put my hand up. “I sing in the shower. I sing in the car with the radio. But I do not—will not—sing in front of people.” Never again. Not after what happened in third grade when my precious auntie ridiculed me in front of my fellow students and teacher. A shiver ran down my spine.
“What would Lucy do?” He stared into my eyes more intently than before.
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s completely fair. And it’s how you come to at least half of the decisions you make in life, from what I can tell. So, what would Lucy do, if offered an opportunity to perform?”
I sighed. “She would make her way to the Copa Cabana and do some ridiculous performance that would potentially ruin Ricky’s career. But then Ethel and Fred would come to her rescue with some great a cappella vaudeville number to save the day, and Lucy would be bummed that they got the accolades but not her. She would tuck her tail between her legs and go back home, climb into bed, and pull the covers over her head, convinced she should never try again.”
“Wow.” He gave me a strange look. “You take this Lucy thing seriously, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” I sighed again. “I need help. Maybe a twelve-step program.”
“No. You just need what the cowardly lion needed. Courage.”
I chuckled. “Maybe.”
“Definitely. So we’ll put you on the list?”
“For courage?”
“No, goofy. To sing a solo.”
“No way.” I shook my head. “Oh, but speaking of the show . . .” I diverted him by talking about the PowerPoint I’d put together for the big night. Surely that would interest him. “I’ve got some great photos of the families in Nicaragua we’ll be helping, along with photos of our team members sort of interspersed. I think I did a pretty good job.”
“Do you have them with you?” he asked.
When I nodded, he extended a hand and I reached into my purse for the flash drive. He stuck it in his laptop, and seconds later the PowerPoint—okay, maybe it wasn’t as great as I’d thought—ran on the new overhead screen.
“Do you mind if I . . .” He looked my way, his nose wrinkled.
“You want to fix it up?” I asked.
“Well, I know how to make the transitions work a little smoother. And it’d be fun to kind of go back and forth between the Nicaragua kids and the Texas kids. Maybe show that, in God’s eyes, they’re all one big, happy family?”
“Ooo, Armando, that’s a great idea. I wish I’d thought of it.”
He began to work on it, his hands moving so fast I could hardly keep up. “You have to remember I’m from one big, happy family.” He chuckled. “Well, big, anyway.”
Minutes later, he showed off the transitions, and I gasped as the screens shifted from one blessed face to another. Remarkable. The boy was a wonder with technology, no doubt about it. In that moment, I could almost envision him working at the church full-time. Heading up our media department.
We have a media department?
We would have one, if he’d consider it.
“Is there anything you can’t do?” I teased.
“Hey, that’s why they call me a jack-of-all-trades.” For whatever reason, he didn’t smile as he said those words. Clearly he didn’t see them as complimentary. I thought back to Bella’s description of him and realized just how that description might label a person. But in reality, he was multifaceted, and that wasn’t a bad thing. His ability to do many things well impressed me on multiple levels, particularly when I saw how generous he was with the gifts he’d been given.
Time for a heart-to-heart.
“Armando, I wonder sometimes if you see how valuable you are to people.”
He crossed his arms and sat back in the chair, giving me an inquisitive look. “What do you mean?”
“You’re good at a lot of things.”
“Good at a lot, great at nothing.” His gaze shifted back to the board, and he fumbled with a couple of the levers. “People don’t remember you when you’re mediocre, that’s for sure.”
“But you’re not mediocre. In fact, you’re great at many things. I wish you could see that.”
He glanced my way, giving me a sheepish look. “Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying on my part.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it helps to be told once in a while that you’re good at something. For people to let you know that they’re proud of you.”
“Well, I’m proud of you.” I meant it. Every word.
He didn’t look convinced.
I put my hand on his shoulder. His rock-hard shoulder. “Armando, the problem is you’re incredibly blessed. You can do so many different things, and do them all well. Choosing one thing that’s better than another would be tough.”
He glanced my way and smiled. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“No, I’m not. You’re really good at the whole AV thing, but beyond that, you’re good with people.”
“I am?”
“Yeah.” Didn’t he see how great he’d been with his customers at Parma John’s? How the teens had responded to him that night at youth group? “You might dislike the idea of growing up in a big family because you didn’t get enough individual attention—or whatever—but you shouldn’t. It made you the person you are.”
“Sarcastic? Tainted?”
“Well, maybe a little of that too, but it made you root for the underdog, probably because you always felt like one.”
Yikes. Had I really just said that out loud?
He sighed.
“I think you would be a wonderful friend to Devon. You guys are a lot alike.” I did my best not to sigh as I thought about the teen’s decision not to go to Nicaragua. “He’s in such a hard place right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are problems with his mom. He hasn’t really elaborated, but whatever it is has caused him to change his mind about going on the trip.”
“No way.” Armando looked genuinely distressed at this news. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I g
“Can I go with you?”
“Don’t you need to get back before the lunch crowd?”
“My brother’s got his kids helping today, and my sister Sophia is there too. I want to go with you to see Devon. I’ll even drive.”
Great. Another trip in the red pickle jar. Hey, at least there was less of me to squeeze in this time. With my hips shrinking, I’d eventually fit just fine. Until then, I’d grin and bear it.
I double-checked Devon’s address, and we headed off to see him. As Armando drove, I chatted about the upcoming fund-raiser. We arrived at the apartment complex, and I drew in a deep breath as I looked it over.
“You sure this is the right address?” Armando looked nervous.
I glanced at the paper in my hand. “Yeah. This is it.” No wonder Devon wasn’t keen on anyone driving him home after church. Talk about a rough neighborhood.
“Stick close to me.” Armando grabbed my hand as we walked together toward the apartment complex.
Minutes later we rapped on the door and waited a second until someone called out, “Who is it?” in a gruff voice. A female voice.
“Friends from church,” Armando called back.
The door eased open, and a bleary-eyed woman stared at us. Her dark brown hair stood in a messy twist atop her head, and her mismatched clothes looked as if they hadn’t been washed in ages. For that matter, the smell emanating from the room made me wonder if anything had been washed. Somewhere there was food that needed throwing out. Ick.
My heart went out to Devon as I realized how tough his living conditions were. No wonder the kid kept his distance from others.
“What do you want?” Her words sounded as slurred as I suddenly felt as I breathed in the putrid aroma from the room.
“We . . . well, we came looking for Devon,” I said. “Just wanted to stop by for a visit.”
“Devon!” she shouted, catching me off guard.