Bea pinched the bridge of her nose. What had he been thinking? This was not how her preparations were supposed to go. Not how she plotted it in her head during Pastor Frank’s sermon. But crying wouldn’t change anything. Crying wouldn’t get her cake ready in time.

She mentally blocked Dad and Jeremy out of her mind and picked up one of the cake pans. If she focused, she could still make this work. She had to. The plate she planned to turn the cake out on was already on the counter, so she quickly slid a butter knife around the edge and flipped the pan.

Nothing.

She shook the pan. “Come on, come on.”

There. Out it came. Her heart lurched. Huge chunks were missing, still stuck to the pan. This was not good. But that was one of the best things about frosting, right? It covered up mistakes. Plus, her mother’s recipe called for both chocolate and coconut-pecan frosting, so there was twice as much frosting available for cover-up.

She grabbed the two metal bowls from the fridge, along with a small rubber spatula, and dipped into the chocolate frosting. She gulped. It was as hard as a rock. Okay, maybe not a rock, but it was definitely not scoopable, spreadable, or any other -able. Was it too cold? There wasn’t near enough time to let it warm up to room temperature.

Her chest tightened, but she choked down her panic. The chocolate frosting wasn’t required. It was just an extra bonus. She could skip straight to the coconut-pecan frosting, and Dad would probably never notice.

Before she could get to the other bowl, her phone beeped. A text from Dorothy, Pastor Frank’s wife.

Frank is meeting with a church member in crisis, so we’re going to be late. Start without us!

Bea turned the screen off without replying and massaged her temples. Could nothing go according to plan? Don’t panic. They would be here eventually. She’d save them some cake.

She wiped the spatula on a paper towel and dipped into the other bowl. The frosting was gooey and decadent, just like it was supposed to be. She plopped a glob of it on top of the first layer of cake to spread and growled to herself. Something was wrong with it. It was supposed to have more texture.

Her heart clattered to the floor. The coconut. How could she have forgotten the coconut in the coconut-pecan frosting?

A thin layer of perspiration formed on her forehead and the back of her neck. And under her arms. She stared at the cake with trepidation, and her mother’s face stared back at her. There’s my girl.

Bea’s eyes stung. Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be gone so fast. I didn’t know this would be so hard. I tried, Mom. The cake . . .