A Small Town Christmas Part 14

"I am not a baby!" Mandy cried hotly.

Sarah's junior bakers needed to refocus. "Okay, girls, let's check to make sure we have all the ingredients while I'm ordering pizza."

The squabbling was instantly forgotten and the girls cl.u.s.tered around the counter, each one randomly grabbing for salt, baking soda, measuring spoons, and cups.

"I'll get you started," Sarah said, pus.h.i.+ng between them. She pointed to the recipe sheet. "Here's the recipe we're using. Lissa and Damaris, you can measure the dry ingredients." She showed them how to tap on a filled measuring cup, then cut across it with the flat side of a knife to get the exact amount of flour.

"That's easy," said Damaris, grabbing the cup.

Fine, go for it. Sarah turned her attention to the other girls. "Mandy, you can put the sugar into the mixing bowl, and Beanie, use this knife to put the shortening into the measuring cup. Like this." She demonstrated and Beanie nodded eagerly. "As soon as I'm off the phone I'll show you how to do the raisin filling."

Okay, that should keep them busy while she ordered pizza. She moved to the counter where the phone sat and picked it up, giving one final admonition. "Remember, it's important, when you're baking, to follow the recipe exactly so your cookies turn out well."

"I already knew that," bragged Damaris, dipping her cup into the flour canister.

Maybe she was too advanced for this cla.s.s. Maybe Sarah could suggest she go learn how to hang glide or something.

"I knew that, too," said Lissa, not to be outdone. She smiled at Sarah. "I want to be a baker like you when I grow up. Then I can eat all the cookies I want."

"My mom says eating too many cookies gives you a big b.u.t.t," Damaris said as Sarah punched in the number for Pizza Heaven.

Sarah was suddenly conscious of four pairs of eyes checking out her own big b.u.t.t. She turned and leaned against the counter, hiding it behind her.

"I don't want a big b.u.t.t like Mrs. Goodwin's," said Damaris. "I'm going to go on America's Next Top Model and become a supermodel." She struck a s.e.x-laced pose that sat oddly with her nine-year-old body.

"Pizza Heaven," said a bored teenage-girl voice. "Heaven's what we deliver in every sliver."

Sarah needed a little heaven right now, and pizza alone wasn't going to do it.

After the girls got busy baking, moods improved. Even Damaris forgot she was a pill and began to have fun.

But once the pizza arrived and Sarah insisted they eat at the table she reverted to pillhood. "We always eat on the couch and watch TV," she informed Sarah. "High School Hitters is on right now," she explained to the other junior bakers. "I looove Seth."

"I'm going to marry Bo," Beanie announced.

"You can't marry Bo," Damaris said. "You have to be totally hot. Anyway, him and Kirsten are breaking up today. Can we watch it?" she asked Sarah.

Sarah didn't watch much TV, but even she knew about the new teen soap that was luring kids to the small screen after school on a daily basis. "Not today," she said, sweetly but firmly. "Today we're too busy living real life to watch pretend life."

"I hate real life. Real life is boring," said Damaris.

"Only if you're a boring person," Sarah retorted.

Damaris shut up and took another bite of her pizza.

"I was a fairy for Halloween," Mandy announced.

"I'll bet you were a very pretty fairy," Sarah told her.

"I was a pirate," said Beanie, her voice full of swagger.

"Girls can't be pirates," scoffed Damaris.

"Yeah, they can. Didn't you see Pirates of the Caribbean?"

"She wasn't a pirate. She was just a pirate's girlfriend."

"Well, I was a real pirate. I get to take fencing when I'm older. My grandma said," Beanie bragged.

"I'm going to take acting lessons," countered Damaris. She dove to beat Beanie to the last piece of pizza and tipped what was left of the c.o.ke that had come with it.

And I'm going to take an Excedrin, thought Sarah, reaching for a sponge.

"Sorry," said Damaris, and stuffed the pizza in her mouth.

"That's okay. Accidents happen," said Sarah. It's only pop, nice, sticky pop. "Okay, girls, time to get back to our cookies."

By five o'clock a miracle had occurred. Everyone was smiling and each girl was loading up a paper plate with cookies to take home.

Damaris p.r.o.nounced the cookies good and the other girls agreed. "That was fun," she said to Sarah.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," Sarah said. Maybe "relieved" would have been a better word. One cooking lesson down, three to go. "Do you need to call your dad to come get you?" How soon can he get here?

Damaris shrugged. "There's no hurry. He doesn't live far."

"Well, let's call him now," said Sarah. The sooner the better.

Damaris was dialing when the doorbell rang. George Armstrong stood on the doorstep, holding a bottle of white wine. "I thought maybe you could use this."

Sarah smiled. "You have no idea. Come on in. The girls are getting their cookie plates ready to take home."

George stepped inside. "My hat's off to you. I sure couldn't do this. You women must have some extra gene that makes it so you can cope."

"As a matter of fact, we do," said Sarah, leading the way to the kitchen. "It's called the insanity gene."

"Grandpa!" squealed both girls at the sight of him. "Try our cookies," said Lissa, holding up her plate.

The phone rang. Sarah answered it to find Sam on the other end of the line. "I'm just checking to see if you survived."

"I did," she said.

"Did you save me a cookie?"

"Ah, now we're getting to the real reason you called," she teased.

"No, I really wanted to know how it went," he insisted.

"It went great. George is here right now, so I'll call you later."

"George?"

"He's here picking up the girls. I'll call you back," Sarah said, and hung up. Or better yet, she'd run a care package over to the station as soon as she'd gotten everyone out the door and Betty off her doorstep. Which meant she'd get there around midnight.

"So, are you going to do this again next week?" asked George as the girls got their coats.

They had survived this first cla.s.s somehow, and everyone was happy. That was a good sign. Surely she could manage this three more times. Anyway, Sarah had already planned the next week's baking challenge. "Of course we are. We're going to make pumpkin cookies for Thanksgiving."

"Sounds good," he said with a nod. "That way if I burn the turkey we'll end the feast with a good taste in our mouths."

"You're cooking Thanksgiving dinner?" She'd already figured out that George Armstrong was no Emeril. His poor family.

"Not me. My son's a pretty good cook. He'll probably do most of the work."

"He'll do no such thing," Sarah said firmly. "You tell him you're all coming here for Thanksgiving dinner. I insist."

"Naw, we couldn't do that," George protested.

Sarah could tell it was halfhearted. "Please do. It's my first Thanksgiving without my daughter and her family, and having children in the house would really help me get through it."

"Well. Twist my arm," he said with a grin. "But you'd better a.s.sign us something to bring or my son will kill me."

"You tell him to bring his best dish, whatever it is. Oh, except dessert. Between my niece and me, we'll have it covered," Sarah said. "I'm sure she'll bring a ton of chocolate."

"Your niece?" George's expression turned speculative. "The one who owns that chocolate shop?"

"That would be the one," said Sarah. "She's alone, and she'll be with us this year."

George nodded, and Sarah could tell by the glint in his eyes that they had successfully gotten on the same wavelength. "Sounds good."

"What are we going to make next week?" Damaris asked.

"One more thing for Thanksgiving. Then, the week after I'll teach you how to make candy cane cookies."

"Cool," said Beanie.

"Yum," said Damaris.

"Come on, girls. Time to go home," George said to his granddaughters, ushering them out of the kitchen.

"Do we have to go already?" asked Lissa.

"Yep. Tell Mrs. Goodwin thanks."

"Thank you for having us," said Lissa. The phrase came out well rehea.r.s.ed but heartfelt.

Mandy did her one better. She hugged Sarah fiercely.

Sarah suddenly thought of Addie, her youngest granddaughter. Her eyes misted and she reached down and touched the child's head. "You were very good."

Betty arrived to pick up Beanie just as George and company were leaving.

"Beanie, your grandma's here," Sarah called from the doorway, determined to keep Betty corralled on the front porch. Beanie thundered down the hall, followed by Damaris.

"Oh, look at those lovely cookies!" Betty cried when Beanie showed her the plate of goodies. "And you made those all by yourself?"

"We all made them together," said Damaris, but Betty didn't hear her. She was still raving about the cookies and Beanie and Sarah's big heart. Damaris shrugged and set her plate on the porch, then skipped onto the front yard to do cartwheels. "Can you do that?" she taunted Beanie.

Beanie trotted onto the lawn and did a back flip, making Damaris gawk.

"She just loves gymnastics," bragged Betty, following Sarah's gaze. "And soccer and climbing trees and anything that gets her dirty." Betty lowered her voice. "This is so good for her. I understand that she's athletic and all but I want her to be well rounded. I want her to remember she's a girl." She looked at Damaris in her hip jeans and jacket. "This little girl who is with her is awfully cute."

So were baby tigers. "Beanie is fine just the way she is," Sarah said. "And she did enjoy the baking. I think she's perfectly well rounded."

"Well, it's good to see she's making some nice, new friends. A girl can't have enough friends, you know. We moved around so much when I was little I just didn't have that many," Betty confided.

Sarah had moved a couple of times herself as a kid, but she'd had trouble leaving friends, not making them. Betty's difficulty probably had more to do with her mouth than her physical location. Or maybe that was why she talked so much now. Making up for lost time?

Betty kept Sarah freezing on the front porch for a good ten minutes while the two girls chased each other around the front yard and Sarah continued to check the street for some sign of Damaris's father.

"Damaris, did you get ahold of your dad?" Sarah finally asked.

"The line was busy," said Damaris, who was now twirling in circles.

"You don't have voice mail?"

"We have an answering machine," Damaris replied. "My dad likes to screen calls."

At this rate the child would be here all night. "I'll take you home," said Sarah. At least it would get Betty off her porch.

"No, that's okay. I'll call." Damaris rushed back into the house.

"We could give her a lift," offered Betty. "I have to take Beanie home anyway. And besides, I haven't done my good deed for the day yet." She wagged a playful finger at Sarah. "Can't let you outdo me."

That worked for Sarah. She could get rid of everyone and go collapse with a nice gla.s.s of wine. "Thanks, Betty. I appreciate that. Damaris, tell your dad never mind," she called. "Mrs. Bateman is going to take you home." No reply. "Damaris?"

Damaris came walking down the hall a moment later. "It's too late. He's on his way."

"Let's go, Grandma," said Beanie, tugging on Betty's arm. "I have to go home and learn my spelling words."

"They give these children so much work," Betty said with a shake of her head, but she let Beanie lead her away.

And that left Sarah alone with the baby tiger.

FOURTEEN.