How to Bake a Perfect Life Read online

  The next step is to try to open her email. It has a password, of course. I wonder if I can figure it out. The first thing I try is Merlin.

  The account opens.

  And there are the emails from her mother, manipulative and self-centered and begging Katie to come visit.

  El Paso, then.

  A half hour later, I’m at Jonah’s door. He answers wearing only jeans, his hair tousled, and I realize it’s not quite seven a.m. “Ramona, what’s wrong?”

  “Katie,” I say, and tell him what I know. “I’m going down there to see if I can find her. I just wanted to let you know.”

  He runs a hand through his hair. “Give me ten minutes.”

  “You don’t have to go.”

  He shakes his head, pushes open the screen door. “You aren’t doing this alone. Come in and wait while I brush my teeth.”

  Katie

  When the bus stops in Albuquerque, there’s a layover. Katie puts her sweater on her seat and asks if the lady across the aisle will keep an eye on it for her. The woman nods without smiling, and Katie heads for the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.

  She got on the bus at one a.m., along with a guy who looked like he might be a soldier, with that shaved-across-the-back-of-the-head look, and two women who spoke only Spanish and carried a baby. The people already on the bus were asleep. She found an empty row and took the window seat.

  It had not been that easy to get to the bus station at night, especially because she was worried about spending too much money. Although she wasn’t proud of it, she’d stolen money from the bakery office, right out of the safe that Ramona never locked. She took two hundred dollars in twenties, tucking them into her bra, like her mom showed her, and feeling guilty because she knew very well that the bakery was hurting.

  But so was her mother. So was Katie. She would pay it all back.

  In the end, she had to walk down Colorado Avenue, which was a kind of busy street, to an all-night 7-Eleven. A guy with a gold tooth was behind the counter, and he called her a cab without asking any questions. He probably thought she was older.

  The cabdriver, though, wanted to ask a million questions and kept looking at her in the rearview mirror, which made her really nervous. Was he gonna call the cops on her? She said finally, “I live in a foster home, and I’m going to see my mom, who is in the hospital in El Paso.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been better to do it in the daytime?”

  Katie shook her head. “Nobody was gonna let me go.” She looked at him in the mirror. “What would you do if it was your mom?”

  He just nodded. When he dropped her off, he said, “Careful now, sweetie. The world isn’t a very nice place.”

  “Believe me,” she said. “I know that.”

  “Somehow I think you do.”

  It was also tricky to get a bus ticket, since the woman behind the counter said she needed an adult to buy it for her. Katie thought of her mom joking with some dealer, and said, “My mom’s a meth addict. I don’t think she cares if I take a bus to see my dad at Fort Bliss.”

  Her eyes softened. “He’s a soldier, huh?”

  Katie nodded. “He’s been in Iraq, but he’s out now.”

  The woman sold her a ticket for sixty-three dollars. When Katie settled into the seat by the window, she felt like crying and didn’t know why. The bus was quiet and the baby fussed a little bit, and it seemed like the loneliest place in the world. If her head had been too noisy before, the silence seemed to echo now, and she didn’t know what to do with it. She wished for Merlin. She wished for the smell of bread.

  Get off the bus and go home, said a voice in her head.

  And then she thought of her dad trying to kill himself, leaving her behind like she was some empty cup he was going to throw away, and she stayed where she was. Using her sweater as a blanket and her backpack as a pillow, she fell asleep and didn’t wake up until they were outside Albuquerque.

  In Albuquerque, it’s pretty early and there aren’t that many people around. A homeless guy with about twenty-seven years of grime on his neck and cuticles says, “Hey, girlie, you got some change for an old man?”

  She shakes her head and pulls her pack closer to her. He calls out behind her, “Hope you’re never hungry and homeless!” and for some reason it makes her mad. She turns around and glares at him. “I have been, thanks.”

  He looks sad, but Katie just stomps into the bathroom. She pees and washes her hands, carefully not touching anything without a paper towel. Looking at herself in the mirror, she sees that her face is greasy and there are bags under her eyes—eyes that look so mad bright that she wonders, with a fluttering in her chest, just what the heck she’s doing here.

  It passes. In the station, she finds a fake Egg McMuffin and a glass of orange juice. She buys a bag of Skittles from a machine and tucks those into her pocket, then she heads back to the bus.

  It’s still quiet. Other people are eating, too, and she can smell coffee. Unwrapping the sandwich, she stares out the window and waits for the bus to go, willing the seat beside her to stay empty.

  In a few hours, she’ll see her mom. Who has now been clean for two months, so she’ll be in good shape. Once she sees her, talks to her, Katie thinks, she’ll know what to do.

  Ramona

  El Paso is a ten-hour drive, straight down I-25 through New Mexico. Because I’ve been awake since two, I drink coffee and take the first shift. Merlin is in the backseat, his nose lifted to the two-inch crack at the window, but after a while he curls up on the blanket I put down for him and tucks his nose under his tail.

  Jonah mans the CD player and eats a bagel and cream cheese we picked up at Starbucks. “Woman runs a bakery and I have to eat store-bought bagels,” he says, lifting his eyebrow.

  “I didn’t know—”

  “Joke!” he says, holding up a hand. The scent of his chai is exotic and pleasing, and I think that I don’t know him well enough to be in love like this. He’s essentially a stranger, someone I didn’t even know existed a few months ago. It scares me, another layer of terror to add to the rest. I’m struggling to keep all my defenses in place. I’ve had a headache for two days, and that sense of threat that’s been my ever-present companion has intensified times twelve.

  If I hadn’t become involved with him, would I have been a better guide to Katie? Would I have noticed more?

  I’m grateful that he doesn’t talk a lot. The music he plays is all upbeat and cheery, and I find myself letting go of the furious worry and anxiousness about everything and begin to see what’s around us. Mountains; a sky so clear and blue it seems impossible that it isn’t solid; fields of pale-green yucca and prickly walking-stick cactus. Jonah points to a herd of antelope, delicate and long-legged, springing across the landscape.

  Driving becomes almost a meditation. There’s something relaxing about the straight, clean, sunny highway rolling ahead of the windshield. I find myself letting go of a breath I’ve been holding since I found her note this morning.

  “That’s better,” Jonah says.

  “I’m still in shock that she did this, honestly. Stole money from me? Ran away in the middle of the night? She’s been thriving here.”

  “She hasn’t had an easy life.”

  “That’s true. My mistake has been in forgetting that.” I think about last night, standing by her bed, all the things I wanted to say and couldn’t. “If Sofia had done something like this, it would have been dramatically awful. With Katie, I’m less worried because she’s so street-smart, you know?”

  He nods.

  “I worry that she thinks she’s savvier than she is, though. I mean, all it takes is one wrong move, and there you are with some bad man somewhere.”

  His finger moves on my arm. I move it away.

  He says, “You or her?”

  I glance at him. “I know, it’s all mixed up together. The exile, the drama. But my parents, for all the mistakes they made, were always behind me. In my corner. What must
it be like to have your parents really abandon you?”

  “She’s a strong kid. I’ve watched her. She’s smart and astute and really good at getting her needs met. We’ll find her, bring her back. She’s going to be okay.”

  “It was a dozen little missteps, you know? She felt betrayed by my mother going to San Antonio, then I let her down over the flower show, and then I didn’t tell her the truth when I should have.” I look at him. “You know, no matter how hard you try, it’s hard to be a good parent. You always drop the ball somewhere.”

  His eyes cloud. “Ethan was always so sick.”

  “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I hate when people tiptoe around it. It was hard to be a good parent to him, too. Hard to discipline him, and Claire, my ex, wouldn’t.”

  “That is hard.”

  After a minute he says, “You know I’m not the enemy, right?”

  I look at him. “Yes. That doesn’t mean I think this is a good idea or that it’s working out or—”

  His chuckle surprises me. “It doesn’t have to be decided today.”

  My phone rings. “Answer that, will you?”

  “Hello,” he says, “this is Ramona’s phone. She’s driving. Can I help you?” He listens for a minute, but I hear Sofia’s voice, anxious and loud. Signaling, I head for the side of the road. “Hold on,” Jonah says. “She’s pulling over.”

  When I’m stopped, he hands me the phone. “Hi, Sofia. What’s going on?”

  “Where the hell is Katie? I had the weirdest email from her, and it sounds dire. I thought you weren’t going to tell her about Oscar?”

  “Her mother told her.”

  “How did her mother find out?”

  “Through the grapevine somehow. I don’t know. And because I didn’t tell her, she has taken off, probably to go see her loser mother.”

  “She ran away, Mom? How could you let that happen?”

  “I didn’t let it happen. She’s thirteen. Her mother is a crackhead and her dad is grievously injured and she feels betrayed on about a thousand fronts.”

  “But you were in charge of her!”

  “Sofia! I’ll thank you to lose that tone. I’m in the car, I’m on my way to El Paso, and I’m doing the best I can with a lousy situation.”

  “Sorry, but I am nine months pregnant and my life isn’t the greatest, either, okay?”

  “I don’t want to have a fight.”

  “No, I know. Sorry.” She sounds exhausted. “Why do you think she’s going to El Paso?”

  “I found some emails from her mom, trying to get her to go down there. I need addresses, phone numbers, anything you can give me. Do you know where her mom is in rehab?”

  “I can get all of that. Damn it, I’m so mad at Oscar for this!”

  The car is running under my feet. I turn it off to save gas. Lifting my hand to the back of my neck, I move my head back and forth to loosen it. “Me, too. But that won’t help, either. I have to find her, and that means I can’t be on the phone with you.”

  “Wait. Who’s with you?”

  I look at him flipping through a heavy CD case. “My friend Jonah.”

  “The sweater guy?”

  He looks up and I realize he can hear her. “Yes,” I say, meeting his eyes. “The sweater guy.”

  He smiles, and it hits me in the solar plexus. I want to cry and make love and hit him and scream and about a hundred other things. I bow my head, breaking away from his gaze. “Sofia, I have to go now. Get all those addresses and numbers together and then call me back.”

  “I will.”

  When I hang up, Jonah says, “The sweater guy?”

  “I kept your sweater. It was with a bunch of stuff she used to like to go through.”

  “I don’t remember a sweater.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  He takes my hand. “Tell me.”

  “I wasn’t planning to go to the shop, but I got stuck in a rainstorm. I was soaked when I came in, and you loaned me your sweater.” I bend my head, feeling shy and silly. “It was—”

  “I remember.”

  From here, those days seem so innocent. So much easier than this. I don’t laugh. I can’t look at him.

  “Maybe I should drive for a while.”

  “Done. Merlin probably wants a potty break, too.” I get out of the car and leash him, then walk him into the wide field beneath the bowl of New Mexico sky. Happy and sad, lost and found.

  Let me find her, I think. Keep her safe until I do.

  Katie

  When the bus pulls into El Paso, the sun is overhead and it’s hot outside. Katie washes her face, changes into a pair of shorts, and heads for the city bus terminal.

  She’s tired in a way she’d forgotten about. Her shoulders ache, her eyes are grainy and dry from so much crying yesterday, and she’s really hungry but not for junk food. Looking around, she sees a sandwich shop, which isn’t open, and a diner and a convenience store. She ducks into the store and finds an apple and a banana and some pretzels. Later she’ll eat with her mom, maybe. At a Village Inn or someplace like that, where they can have eggs and pancakes for lunch, the way they used to.

  The bus maps here are familiar to her, and she’s visited her mom at this rehab before, so she finds the right bus, pays the fare, and sits down. The city looks worn out, something she never noticed before. It’s dusty and colorless and crowded, and it makes her feel lonely.

  Why did she do this? What was she thinking? She doesn’t want to see her mother. She doesn’t want to live in El Paso anymore. She’s mad, sure, but not mad enough that she wants to get swept into the foster-care system and lose everything she had.

  Merlin! Her stomach sinks as she thinks of him. Her own special dog. Her dog. How could she have left him?

  Tears choke her as a picture of his face moves over her imagination. She presses her fist really hard against the bottom of her jaw to keep from crying.

  And then there is the bus stop. The one she remembers from before. She sits there for a minute, but when the bus starts to move again, she leaps up. “Wait! This is my stop! Sorry.”

  She’s come this far. She might as well see it through.

  Sofia’s Journal

  JULY 14, 20—

  It’s hot. My back is killing me. I’m thinking about Katie, wondering where the heck she might be. My grandmother went to the hospital chapel and lit a bunch of candles.

  I marched into Oscar’s room and told him that Katie had run away, that she found out that he had tried to kill himself. He looked shocked. “She ran away? Where is she?”

  “They don’t know.” I had to sit down, because my belly makes my back sway so much it’s hard to stand straight. “Probably to see her crazy mother.”

  “Jesus,” he said, and it was the first time I’ve heard anything real out of him since he woke up. “I fucked up.”

  “Yeah.” I was sitting there, rubbing my lower back with a fist, trying to get the knots out, and the baby was making a slow, hard turn that felt like a giant drum moving inside me.

  “Sofia,” he said, “I can’t see you when you’re sitting down.”

  “Yeah, well, my back hurts. You have to talk without seeing me.”

  “Baby.” He held up one arm. “Please.”

  So I stood up, because that’s me, Ms. Nice Guy, and Oscar, my big strong husband, had tears in his eyes. I put my hand in his and he said, finally, “I’m sorry.” He brought my hand to his mouth. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  I kissed his fingers back. “We’ll get through all of it, Oscar. Together. Okay?”

  He nodded, and then I had to sit back down because my back was killing me. And now I’ve got to go find somebody, because it’s hurting in a way I don’t think I can handle for very much longer. Maybe there’s some drug they can give me.

  Ow!

  Katie

  There’s some paperwork to get through, but Katie doesn’t care. She’s really sick to her stomach and know
s this was the stupidest idea she’s ever had, but her mom is right on the other side of that door and she has to see her now, doesn’t she?

  So she leans against her backpack, watching some Spanish soap opera. The door buzzes and then the room fills up with her mom. “Katie! Baby!” she yells, running forward.

  Her voice is as loud as ever, but when Katie sees how much better her mom looks, her heart flips over and over, and she jumps up. “Mom!”

  They hug, hard, hard, hard, right in the middle of the waiting room. Lacey smells like cigarettes and shampoo and a sweet, airy soapy smell that must be from the care package they sent her. Her arms are strong, and she’s gained enough weight that she has a little bit of chest back. Katie is, however, a lot taller.

  “Jeez, kid!” Lacey says, pulling back to look at her. “You’ve grown a half a foot since I saw you last!”

  “Three and a half inches,” Katie says, and laughs. “Can you believe it?”

  “You look so beautiful! Look at your hair and your figure.” She steps back to look Katie up and down, holding on to her hand.

  “So do you, Mom.” And it’s true. All the wounds and scabs are gone, and her hair is cut neatly at her shoulders. Katie can’t remember the last time she saw it this short.

  “You ready to go? We only have an hour. But we can go to the park up the way.”

  “Can we go get something to eat? I’m really hungry. I saw a Denny’s up the street a few blocks.”

  “Oh, sweets, I’m sorry, but I can’t be gone that long. Do you want to skip it, come back tomorrow?”

  “No, it’s all right. I can eat later.”

  “Good. Come on. There’s a picnic table right by the river and it’s real nice. You’ll like it.”

  They walk across the street. Her mom has an ankle bracelet on, which is why they let her go, Katie guesses. The street is busy, but they cross at the light and walk six blocks up to a skanky-looking park with hardly any grass and a picnic table covered with gang graffiti. “This is it?” Katie asks.