Kimberly Stuart by Act Two: A Novel in Perfect Pitch Page A

first.”
    Words to the wise, those were, because by following Cal’s advice, the rest of us were granted a piece of Jayne’s apple streusel pie.
    â€œJayne,” I said, only one bite in and already breathless, “this is magnificent.”
    She blushed. “Thank you, Miss Sadie.”
    â€œPlease, call me Sadie,” I said, filling my fork with pastry.
    â€œOkay,” Drew said. “Sadie, would you pass the milk?”
    â€œNot you, sir,” Jayne said. “Sometimes grown-ups call each other by their first names but you stick with ‘Miss Sadie.’”
    â€œAll done,” Joel said from his position on the bench he shared with Drew. “’Ssert!”
    â€œPlease,” Jayne said. Her dinner plate remained untouched.
    â€œPweese,” Joel said, his eyes trained on her as she dished up a small slice of pie. Drew slumped in his chair and munched on a tree of broccoli.
    â€œI’m serious, Jayne,” I said. I had my nose down near the plate and was tempted to lick the remaining crumbs. “This crust would be worthy of a five-star restaurant in New York.”
    â€œOh, you’re just hungry for some home cooking,” she said, cheeks red and eyes glistening.
    Cal put down his fork. “Jayne comes home with blue ribbons from the state fair every year.” He pushed back his chair. “Wait ’til spring and her rhubarb crisp.” He leaned down to smooch her loudly on the cheek. The kids giggled.
    â€œI’m not a very good cook,” Jayne said, sawing into her now-cold ham. “But I’ve always loved to bake. My mother taught me how to make a piecrust when I was little and it just kind of grew from there.”
    I couldn’t argue with her about the cooking, at least based on this evening’s ho-hum performance. But I could swallow a great many bland calories on my way to a pie like that.
    Drew reluctantly finished his “good stuff” and was given his reward. We passed some quiet minutes together, each of us reveling in the joy of a successfully flaky crust.
    â€œMay we be excused?” Drew spoke for both boys, who had become very efficient eaters when faced with their dessert.
    â€œYou may,” Cal said.
    â€œBring your plates to the sink, please,” Jayne called as they ran out of the room. They made a wide arc in the dining room and returned to the table.
    â€œYour children obey you,” I said, watching their plates wobble precariously until Cal intercepted them near the sink.
    Jayne laughed. “We’ll see what you have to say about that after a few weeks here.” She stood to lift the baby out of her chair. “They’ve had lots of time-outs to get to this point.”
    â€œAnd bare-butt spankings,” Cal said as he followed the boys into the family room.
    Corporal punishment. Fantastic. I looked around for some more pie to comfort me.
    Jayne rounded the table, jostling the baby on her hip. She reached to clear my plate and I thanked her. “I need to put Emmy to bed, but would you like some coffee or tea? I can put it on now before I go up.”
    â€œTea would be lovely, thank you. But I can make it myself. Just point me to your teapot.”
    Jayne showed me the pot and then turned to go. When she got to the threshold, she turned and smiled. “Thank you for your compliments about the dessert, Sadie. It means a lot coming from you.”
    â€œIt was the perfect end to a trying day,” I said. I watched her go and wondered how long the glow from a piece of pie could be expected to last.

7

    Maplewood
    The amplified noise of my own breathing awakened me. I tugged gingerly on my velvet eye cover and squinted into pitch-blackness. During the night, primal instincts must have prompted me to flee the cold and burrow further and further under the quilts until I woke, my body pulled into a ball at the foot of the bed. I crawled back toward my pillow and braved one