The Game Changer, стр. 5
I wiped gravy off of my bottom lip with a napkin. “I was just trying to get a little extra for the story,” I said.
“Extra?” Esther, said curiously. “What kind of extra?”
There was another child-shriek, followed by a crash, followed by raucous laughter. Daisy looked up at the ceiling, counted to five, then said, “That’s it! I’m calling the dog now. He owes me one anyway.” Judging by the way the kids all giggled and cheered, my guess was they didn’t find her threat to be as menacing as she’d meant it to be, if for no other reason than they didn’t own a dog. Daisy rushed off to find the source of the ruckus.
I took another bite of turkey. The diner door opened, and another customer walked in. A few seconds later, it opened again and two more entered. The wreck had apparently cleared. Soon, the Hibiscus would be hopping and my chances of getting Esther’s undivided attention would be severely diminished. I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. My eyeballs were already floating on a sea of sweet tea.
“What kind of extra?” Esther repeated, refilling my glass, even though I’d only taken a tiny sip.
I swallowed. “Well. Okay. You know.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I do?”
I nudged her. “Yeah, I think you do.” This was so uncomfortable.
She scratched her head contemplatively. “I don’t think I do.”
“Mary Jean wants the recipe.”
She set down the tea pitcher and crossed her arms. “Oh, she does? Well, I don’t give out my prized recipes. She should know that by now.”
“She thought…”
Her eyebrows—fluffy as they were—went up so high they were concealed behind her fluffy bangs. “She thought…?”
I took a breath to steel myself. “She thought you might be interested in a trade.”
She uncrossed her arms and put one hand on her hip. “What sort of trade are we talking about?”
I took a gulp of tea this time. Then another. Then pointedly looked at the pitcher, hoping another refill would stall me from having to say the words aloud. She didn’t budge. That Esther could drive a hard bargain when she wanted to. “You’re sure you won’t just give it out? For the good of the people?”
“Exactly what kind of trade is Mary Jean looking to make?”
She was channeling my grandmother—God rest her stern soul—and instantly, I felt like I was ten again. My throat didn’t want to let the words out. To make this bargain would betray my oaths as a journalist. Not that I took actual oaths, of course. But I thought them. And I stood by them.
“You can look over the article and make any changes you want before it goes to press,” I mumbled.
She brightened. “Is that so?”
“Yes, ma’am. If you want. But you don’t have to make changes,” I added. “If you have strong beliefs in the first amendment, for example.”
“Oh, honey,” she said soothingly. “Are you worried that my writing will outshine yours? That’s so sweet.” She laid a hand on my arm and squeezed. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with that. I’m sure your article is just fine and I’ll make very few changes. Did you mention my giblets at all?”
I caught Daisy just as she was strapping Willow into her car seat. Two of the boys were climbing around the minivan like moles.
“Boys!” she was yelling wearily. “You need to get back in those seats. If I get pulled over, I’ll tell on you both. Do you want me to tell on you?”
I snorted. “You’re threatening to tattle on your kids to the police?”
“It’s all I’ve got left,” she said. “They’ve been running me ragged all morning. My threats are getting weaker as the minutes pass. You get your story?”
“More like she got hers,” I said. “But, yes. She’s going to give up the recipe, and all I have to do is add a whole lot of glowy language about the Hibiscus.”
She snapped Willow’s seatbelt and slid the minivan door closed, silencing the babble inside. She leaned against the door.
Daisy was thirty-one and adorable—small and mighty, with blond hair cut short and choppy, which I once accused of being stylish but she claimed was accidentally so, because she’d had to keep getting up to pull Brant away from the litter box while her at-home stylist worked on it, and also more than once had to cut out a piece of gum that nobody would admit to having lost there. Eventually, she decided it was just a look and she would go with it.
Daisy was a great—if not exhausted—mom, but also a whiz in the kitchen, especially with baked goods. She could take flour, sugar, and whatever she had in the back of the pantry and turn them into something you’d be proud to take to the company picnic. She seriously had no idea how impressive her baking skill was. She thought it was “just a thing,” and refused to admit that it was “just a thing” that she did better than anyone I’d ever known. Including Esther.
Daisy was also outspoken, incredibly intelligent, completely sleep-deprived, was the only person I’d ever seen look good in overalls, which she wore all the time. Also, she was the most intuitive person I’d ever met. She could tell you where her kids were at all times, just based on the sounds she wasn’t hearing.
Mom and Aunt Ruta tried to convince me that was just mother’s intuition and everyone had it. I didn’t have the heart to remind them about the time they left me at a gas station in the middle of Nebraska on our road trip to Yellowstone when I was seven. There were some conversations you just didn’t want to open up again with Aunt Ruta.
Daisy closed one eye against the sun. “You do know Esther’s going to leave like four ingredients