The Cupcake Queen by Heather Hepler

Author:Heather Hepler
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.

chapter thirteen

Sunday morning Gram gets me up early to pick blueberries. I mean early—like dark-thirty. She wants to make enough jam to last the winter. Even though it’s before dawn, Mom is already gone. She’s been working long hours at the bakery. Twice this week I found her asleep on the couch, a book tented on her chest and her reading glasses still perched on her face. I’ve tried to help, but Mom and Gram keep reminding me that school comes first.

“I can see my breath,” I say, dropping a handful of berries into my pail. Gram just smiles at me—or I think she does by the look in her eyes. Her mouth is mostly covered by her scarf.

“Autumn is just around the corner,” Gram says. She rakes her fingers through the bush, making blueberries fall into her pail. “You’ll love the fall here, Penny. Once the leaves start turning, the hills look like they’re on fire.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then she looks over at me, sliding her scarf down so I can see her whole face. “How are you doing?”

“I’m cold,” I say.

“I meant more in general.”

If it were Tally I’d say I was generally cold, but I know better than to push my luck with Gram. “I’m okay, I guess.”

“You want to try again?” Gram asks. She rakes more blueberries into her pail. Already she’s more than doubled my haul.

I sigh. “It’s hard.” I pull another berry from the bush I’m working on and pop it into my mouth, buying myself a little thinking time.

“You already have a couple of friends,” Gram says.

I nod. And enemies, I think. “I like being with you. And I like school—mostly.”

“Any cute boys there?”

“Gram! I am not having that conversation with you.” She laughs, and I immediately give in. “Well, there is one. . . .”

“Mmm-hmm. One is all you need.”

Yeah, too bad there are at least two of us interested in him, I think.

We work for a while longer. Just as the sky is starting to brighten, Gram tells me she has enough berries for two cases. She’s nice enough not to mention that she has about seven times as many berries in her pail as I do in mine. We start walking back down the hill toward her house. The closer we get, the more we can smell the ocean. Gram stops when we hit the sand and looks out over the water. I think she’s going to make some comment about the gulls or the clouds or some other part of nature she’s forever trying to make me notice, but she doesn’t.

“Your parents love you,” she says.

“I know.” Coming from Gram, it doesn’t sound hollow. “I just wish—” Wish what? I don’t know anymore. “I just wish she’d talk to me,” I say.

“You should tell her that. Goodness knows I’ve tried.”

I want to tell Gram that I’ve actually heard her trying. And I know Mom’s just trying to shield me. Dad, too. But part of protecting someone is letting them know what they’re being protected from.

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