Aunt Odie and I worked all afternoon.
Stirring, sifting, baking, adding ingredients (“Not everything comes perfect from the dead. Adjustments must be made.”), baking some more. Pouring, measuring, mixing. Baking even more. Tasting, scraping, and at last, at last her saying, “Done!” with a smack of her lips.
“We’ll get this on the market after all the approvals are met.” Aunt Odie looked sort of business-y now. Even though her hair fought to get out from under a hairnet and she’d splattered flour all over when she opened the bag. “Our job is to perfect, considering what we have been given. I wouldn’t do anything less.”
During a break, I stood at the front door watching Buddy’s house.
Heat shimmered off the blacktop. When a car drove through or someone walked down the street, they looked like part of a mirage.
I took a deep breath.
“You sure there wasn’t something?” Aunt Odie asked my back.
What did ghosts whisper? Tattletale things? I didn’t dare look at my aunt. A feather of a kiss changes a girl. I knew that now.
“I’m sure,” I said. Relieved and not.
And Aunt Odie said under her breath, “I will be cat-kicked.”