And I lied and said, “I have to get rid of this cake. It was made yesterday. Let me give you two a free slice.” All our cakes are fresh.

Oh, no, they couldn’t, the man said. “I’ll pay for it. Would you care to join me?” He looked at the smiling woman.

And she said, “I would be delighted. But let me pay.”

“No, please,” he said firmly. He was a gentleman.

“Nonsense,” I said. “I refuse.” I cut two thick slices of the salted caramel chocolate cake, added forks and napkins, and handed it over.

They were surprised and delighted. Free cake! They would remember this. They would remember the rainy, windy day they met on San Orcanita Island at Evie’s Books, Cake, and Tea. They thanked me profusely, and he invited her over to sit by the windows overlooking the rainy bay.

They were there for three hours. I brought them ice water. Then free Jasmine tea.

When they left, still chatting, she turned and waved and mouthed “Thank you” to me.

When they were at the door, the gentleman turned his head and winked at me. “Thank you,” he mouthed.

“You’re welcome,” I said, in turn, to each of them.

I love happy premonitions.

* * *

I saw Marco at Lupita’s Mexican Restaurant, out on the patio with a group of men from the island. One is our doctor. Two are fishermen. One is a builder. They were laughing, being guys, talking, drinking beer.

I didn’t want him to see me, so I scurried around the corner.

I paused and leaned against the wall of the hardware store. Marco was so hot. I liked his jawline. I liked his hands. I liked his shoulders. I liked his eyes the best. Dark and rimmed with black, with flecks of gold. I liked him. It’s important, I think, to deeply like someone whom you’re madly attracted to. There can always be lust for someone, but liking someone is the most important.

I brushed away a few tears, then my throat clenched as I remembered, once again, what would happen to Marco if we were together.

My heart about split in two. If a physician had an X-ray machine, he would see two half hearts right there, I was sure of it.

Nothing could help me and this cataclysmic romantic situation at all, except for, maybe, fettuccine alfredo.

I’d still hurt, but at least I’d get pasta.

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Betsy Baturra
Multnomah County Jail
Portland, Oregon
1976

Six months after her baby was taken out of her arms, Betsy was cuffed at the wrists and ankles and led out of jail in her orange jumpsuit. In a specially equipped van that was made to haul prisoners back and forth to the courtroom, she sat shackled, two armed guards with her, their faces stony.