IMOGENE
DAILY SPECIAL
Free Pie Today—For Solomon, Who Loved Pie.
AT TWO THIRTY in the morning I cut off all my hair. By three thirty I had a short cut like Lana Turner’s in Imitation of Life. It was a start. I stared into the gold-framed mirror over my vanity. My red curls were cropped close to my face. I could hear Mamaí say, “Time to put the past in the past, Imogene.”
I swept up the pile of hair that Toreck had buried his face into, swept him up as well, and tossed the whole mess into the garbage. Three days was all I was willing to give him. I went downstairs to the deli to bake pies. And though Solomon was gone, I felt him everywhere and I knew he’d be with me on this long journey back to myself. That journey begins now.
I pulled down the flour bin, took two tubs of berries out of the freezer, and tied an apron over my pajamas. It had been several days since I’d felt the softness of kneading bread, baking pies, and feeding sweetness into the ones I loved.
The feel of my hands kneading dough, mixing spices into berries, fingering flour onto the board, and shaping the pie crust just so with the wooden roller started to bring me back to myself. Five tear-stained pies later I was covered in flour and had berry stains on my fingers, arms, and apron. What a mess! It felt good.
As the steaming pies cooled on the racks, I wrote on my specials board: Free Pie Today—For Solomon, Who Loved Pie. I pictured him sitting outside on his bench, fork in hand, waiting, and knew I’d never make salmonberry pie again without the tang of salty tears.
I opened the box Solomon left me. Inside were ten gold coins, each the size of a quarter, and a note written in his shaky handwriting:
They say old pirate gold worth much money. Use this for you and to put Tula May through the schools, make her a happy home. It is time for love in your life. This will ease the way. Keep it secret or more pirates will come destroy our sanctuary.