Dusk Harbor 1999

Cupcakes

Jake came and picked up the kids shortly after sunset. And then Mason and Olivia piled into the Pontiac. Mason sat in his seat seething. Sitting in boiling resentment. The windows were all rolled down, allowing cool night air to blast through as they did fifty down the highway towards his house.

It was silent. A little awkward. He didn't really feel like talking.

So he turned the radio on.

The news station. A man on the other side started reading a report.

"Just an hour ago police and fire arrived at the scene of what can only be described as a flaming mess. A box truck reportedly veered off the road, crashed into a guardrail, and then exploded violently. What was inside? Boxes upon boxes of counterfeited money. Not much survived. There is an investigation underway. Stay tuned for more updates."

Mason stomped his foot.

"Dang it!"

"What?" Olivia asked.

"Uh, just, I wish I'd been there. To witness it. You know, exploding money doesn't happen every day," he replied.

"Oh."

He switched the news off.

The car fell silent again.

I hate Jordan right now. I just know that's what the call was about. I'll kill you when I get home.

His face was scrunched up with hatred.

Droplets of rain began to splatter on the windshield. Slow, infrequent droplets. Some flew in and landed on his face and right arm. They were cold. He hated cold rain. He flicked his arm out the window and then brought it back in. Rolled the window up and leaned his head on the headrest. Gave a rough sigh.

He closed his eyes and listened to the rain softly pattering on the glass. The tires rumbled along the road. It became a rhythm. He could see the orange streetlights even through his closed eyes. But he liked them. Something about orange streetlights was oddly comforting to him. The sounds and the faint orange light sent him into a light doze.

Time passed quickly while he slept. In what seemed like just minutes, they were rolling into the row of trailers. It wasn't quite a trailer park. It was one side of one street. On the other side were actual houses, small simple houses that families of six lived in because they were too poor to live anywhere else. The houses, though small, were well-kept. And the adults all had decent jobs, and even the trailers were all tidy. Except for his. That was because he was lazy though. It was just a place where people with too many kids and not quite enough money to support them chose to live until they could afford something else.

He and Jordan didn't have to live in that area. They could get an apartment. They had enough money. But they liked it on this street. And whenever there were problems in the neighborhood, like car robberies or break-ins they dealt with it themselves. They were sort of like the unofficial heroes for this area. Plus, the old lady across the street was always making cookies and pies and odd British pastries. Always making way too many. So she was at their front door all the time, bringing them the leftovers. That was just a bonus. It was a miracle they hadn't gotten fat.

"Hey Liv. The old lady brought us some thumbprint cookies. We have like fifty of them. You want any? I can grab you some when we get there."

"Hmm. Sure. Why not? I didn't need to go on a diet anyway."

"Wait you're on a diet? Since when?"

"Well I'm always trying to start a diet but then you throw pastries at me, and then the diet just doesn't happen."

"What do you need a diet for?" He questioned.

"General well-being."

"You're fine. I don't think you're fat at all."

"I never said I was fat!" She exclaimed.

"Well, I--"

"Ouch!" She said as she pulled up outside of his trailer. Right at the edge of the walkway. The Brat was parked in the tiny driveway. "Rude, Mason."

"I said you weren't!"

"Well then pay attention!" She yelled. "I said 'general well-being'. Not 'I need to lose weight'!"

"Sorry."

"It's fine," she sighed. She ran her hands along her hair and started tightening up her side braid, "and yes. I still want the cookies. One dozen."

There was a long pause. A thick, awkward moment of silence. He drummed his fingers on the windowsill. The rain started coming down a little harder. A steady shower. He was dreading going out and walking in it. Cold rain. Bleck.

A knock on Olivia's window startled him forward. His heart leaped into his throat.

Olivia gasped and put a hand to her chest. Rolled the window down. The old lady was there, looming down to get a look inside the car. She had short reddish hair, and pale skin damaged by long years of sun exposure. Lots of freckles. Blue eyes. A thin nose on which sat a pair of silver-rimmed glasses. She had a covered tray of something. He could see shadows through the white lid. Mound shapes. Cupcake shapes. Dangerous shapes.

"Sorry to scare ya dears." She had a strange accent that was sort of German and sort of Scottish. "I saw ya pull up and a' thought ya might like some cupcakes."

"I wasn't scared." Mason mumbled.

"Yeh, ya were!" She exclaimed. "Yeh jumped a mile. Haha! Now do yeh want these cupcakes or nat?"

Mason nodded.

"Yes, please. Thanks."

The old lady slid the tray into the window, handed them off to Olivia. Olivia set the round covered tray on her lap and smiled.

"Oliviah. What're yeh doin' with this lad?" She asked. "I can set yeh up with mah grandson if yeh like."

Olivia's eyes widened.

"No no no. We're not together. We've been over this. I've told you we're not together. Remember?"

The old lady narrowed her eyes and curled her mouth to the side. Put a wrinkled hand to her face and looked to be pondering for a moment. She scratched at her short, poofy reddish white hair.

"Aye, mah mistake love. I'll let yeh be. Goo'nigh' dear!" She started backing away from the window and waved her hand.

She gave a toothy smile and then turned around and started shuffling towards her tiny yellow house. Her blue floral housecoat ruffled around in the wind. She paused and kissed her hand. Then put her hand on the head of a stone beagle statue on her porch. She always did that. It was a way of remembering her annoying old beagle who died last summer from cancer. That thing was always howling. Barking into the night. It would bark at him whenever he came home. He wasn't glad it was dead, but he was happy that the neighborhood was a little quieter.

"I hope you know I'm keeping these for myself," Olivia said as she took the lid off.

There were seven medium-sized chocolate cupcakes with stupid amounts of chocolate frosting. There were dark and white chocolate curls sprinkled all over them, and a little toothpick in the center of one of them. Attached to it was a piece of paper. She took the toothpick out and read the note.

"A recipe from my mother that I modified." She put the toothpick back in the cupcake.

He gazed longingly at them. He wanted at least one. But he knew the rules. If Olivia claimed something, she'd stab him to keep it. And he wasn't the type to stab back. So he let her have them.

"Can I have just one? Half of one?"

"No." She replied as she picked one up and crammed it into her mouth.

"Fine. See ya later."

"Wait. I want the cookies still." Chunks of chocolate cake flung out of her mouth.

"Dude-- Never mind. I'll get them."