It's Raining Cupcakes (13 page)

V
isiting the cupcake shop gave me an idea. A great idea. An incredible idea. An idea that I could only hope Mom would like.

I did what I needed to do to set the idea in motion, and then I went to find Mom. She was sitting next
to Dad on the couch, reading a magazine while he watched a baseball game.

I sat down next to her and took a deep breath. “Mom, I want to tell you something.”

“Isabel, I don't think—,” my dad began.

“Dad, please. Maybe you don't think this is a good idea, but I need to do this. I need Mom to hear me say that I want to bake cupcakes with her. Remember, Mom? We used to bake all the time, and we loved it. That's all this is—another baking session, just a little bigger this time. We're throwing stuff in the bowl, and yeah, it's a big mess for a while. But we'll keep stirring, and we'll cross our fingers, and we'll hope that when we pull the batch out of the oven, it will be something wonderful. A wonderful cupcake shop, just like you wanted.”

She didn't say anything. I stood up and took the books that I'd gotten from the library off the coffee table and set them in her lap.

“Mom, we can do this. You believed once, right? Just believe again. If you'll try, meet me in the
cupcake shop tomorrow morning at nine. I have a surprise for you.”

I walked out and down the hall toward the front door. “Dad, is it all right if I go see Stan and Judy for a few minutes?”

He nodded, so I left.

Stan was home, since it was his day off. And Judy was there too. I'd only talked to her once or twice, but she made me feel like I'd been to their home a hundred times.

“Come in and sit down, Isabel,” she said. “I'll get you some lemonade. And we have cookies. You like cookies, right?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Their apartment was a lot like ours, although much cooler, since they had an air conditioner. It had old furniture that had seen better days. Bookcases filled with books once read, now just taking up space. And lots of pictures hung on the wall. Stan sat in a big, stuffed green chair. I sat across from him, on the floral couch.

“Nice article in the paper today,” he said. “Good
photo, too. I bet you have a ton of business on opening day.”

“I hope so,” I replied. “Hey, is that your son?” I pointed to one of the pictures on the wall.

“Yes,” he said, smiling proudly. “Yes, it is. He lives in Texas now. He should be coming for a visit around Thanksgiving.”

“Were you close?” I asked. “When he was growing up?”

Judy brought me a glass of lemonade and a plate with two cookies. “Are you kidding? They fought all the time. They're very different from each other.”

I took a bite of the peanut butter cookie. It tasted good. I hadn't had a cookie in so long, it made me want to go home and bake some. “What do you mean?” I asked.

Stan leaned back and put his feet on the stool in front of him. “He loved to be busy doing things. Going places. Seeing things. Me? I like sitting around, talking to people. That's why I like cutting people's hair. All day long I get to hear interesting stories from people.”

I nodded and kept eating my cookie.

“Like yesterday, this guy Rupert was telling me how he went to a rummage sale at his church, and he's walking down the aisle, looking at all the junk. And then he spots this long, skinny black case. And he's thinking, what could be in that case? Of course he looked, and it was a sword with this old-looking handle and some papers inside written in what seemed to be Japanese. It looked interesting, so he bought it. Well, he did some checking, and do you know that sword is from the 1800s and is worth thousands of dollars?”

“Really?” I asked. “How much did he pay for it?”

“You won't believe it.”

I set the empty plate down on the coffee table. “How much? Like a hundred dollars?”

“Two dollars and fifty cents!” Stan slapped his knee and laughed. “Can you believe that craziness?”

“Is he going to keep it or sell it?” I asked.

“Ahhh, see, you're like me. You want to know more. And to me? That's the most important part of the story. Sure, finding a treasure is exciting, but
what are you going to
do
with the treasure?”

“Well?” I asked. “What did he do?”

Stan started laughing again. I liked his laugh. When he laughed, it was like his whole body laughed, not just his mouth. Like he felt the happiness in every bone of his body.

He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead with it. “Well, he said he's going to keep it. Because just looking at it and thinking about it, like where it's been and how it's survived this long, is an amazing thing. He said he can always sell it if he needs the money someday. But for now, the treasure makes him happy.”

I nodded as I thought about that. Owning the sword made him feel good. And that was enough.

“Stan!” I said, jumping up. “That's it! We need to get my mom to understand that it's not about the money or success or any of that. It's about the
treasure
. It's about having a cupcake shop and sharing with the people who visit every day. Who cares if Beatrice's Brownies sells more than we do? It doesn't really matter, does it?”

He smiled. “I think you're right, Isabel. I may not be living in a mansion, and I'm sure there are plenty more successful barber shops than mine. But who cares? Mine is perfect for me.”

“Can I borrow your phone? That's why I came here, actually. I need to call my grandma, to tell her to meet me downstairs in the morning. I didn't want my parents to hear, because it's a surprise.”

He pointed toward the kitchen. “Help yourself. Have another cookie if you'd like too.”

As I walked toward the kitchen, he said, “Knock-knock.”

“Who's there?”

“Sherwood.”

“Sherwood who?”

“Sherwood like to have a cupcake shop downstairs!”

“Me too,” I told Stan. “Me too.”

I talked to Grandma, and she agreed to come over at nine o'clock, bringing something with her that I needed. I asked Stan to be there too and to bring a little something as well.

When I left and went back home, I knew I had done everything I could.

Now it was up to Mom.

I bet it's scary sometimes,

traveling in a new place.

But you take along maps

and a cell phone,

and you know help is there

if   you need it.

—IB

T
he next morning I woke up early. Like six a.m. early. I got dressed, then grabbed my keys and the envelope of babysitting money I'd been saving. I reached inside the envelope and pulled out the small pile of bills, fanning it the way I'd seen thieves do it on TV. Except I wasn't a thief. I'd worked hard for that money, hoping to see something besides the
sidewalks of Willow, Oregon. I felt a little twinge of pain about giving it up, but a little voice inside me told me I would travel someday. Just not today.

Besides, I'd been thinking it was just like Stan said. Maybe it wasn't really going places and seeing things that mattered. Maybe it was just doing your best to enjoy the people around you. Like that day with Lucas and Logan. While the pool filled with water, I should have taken my shoes off and gotten in the pool with them. I should have splashed and laughed and stopped thinking about those books and what I
didn't
have, and instead just been glad for what I
did
have.

I tiptoed out the front door and down the stairs and went around to the front door of the cupcake shop.

What I saw when I walked inside the shop made me smile so big, my cheeks felt like they were going to crack to pieces.

All night long Lana had stayed up, painting a mural on one of the walls to look like a rolling countryside with green hills, a big tree in the corner, and a bright blue sky. No matter how rainy it might
be outside, people would feel like they were sitting next to a sunny countryside inside our little shop. It was perfect.

“Lana,” I squealed. “It's so beautiful.”

She wiped her hands on her overalls and carefully walked down the ladder. “The tree isn't finished yet.” She looked at her watch. “I should have it done by nine, though.”

I couldn't stop looking at it. “Beatrice's Brownies might have Dixie cups full of milk, but they have
nothing
like this.” I turned and looked at her. “You must be so tired. Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“You're welcome, Isabel. I hope your mom likes it. I hope it makes her excited to be in the cupcake business.”

I handed Lana the envelope of money. “I know you probably get paid a lot more than this. But it's all I have.”

“No worries,” she said, taking the envelope. “I'm happy to help you guys out. And you can pay me the rest in cupcakes, how's that?”

I reached out my hand. “Deal.”

I sat and watched Lana paint for a while. But I
didn't want to make her nervous, so I went back upstairs and put on the coffee. While it dripped into the pot, I wrote in my passport book:

People travel to see beautiful things.

But really, beauty is everywhere,

isn't it?

—IB

Dad came out, and I'm pretty sure I was still smiling like a chimpanzee, because he asked me, “What are you up to, young lady?”

“You'll see,” I said. “Do you think she's going to show up?”

He went in the kitchen and pulled a mug out of the cupboard. “I don't know, honey. I hope so.”

I went downstairs to wait. Lana was cleaning up, so I helped her carry the paint back upstairs to her apartment. It was good to have something to keep me busy.

At 8:50 Grandma showed up with the pink ribbon and the thumbtacks like I had asked her to. She was dressed in pink from head to toe for the occasion.
Literally. Pink suit, pink hat, and pink shoes.

When she walked in and saw the mural, her hand flew to her mouth as she let out a big gasp. “Oh, Izzy, it's incredible.”

“I know,” I said, stepping back to admire it again with her. “Lana, our neighbor, did it for us. Do you think Mom will like it?”

She came and gave me a hug. “She's going to love it. That was so sweet of you.”

We strung the pretty ribbon from one end of the store to the other, straight across, about waist high.

I looked at my watch. Nine o'clock.

“You want me to go check on her?” Grandma asked.

I shook my head. “She has to do it on her own.”

9:05. 9:10.

Grandma paced the floor, her heels clicking on the parquet floor as she walked.

I heard the door open and quickly turned around.

“Hey, sorry we're late,” Stan said, with Judy next to him. “Is she here yet?”

I shook my head. “Not yet.” My shoulders slumped. “Maybe she's not coming. Why should today be
different from any other day? I'm so stupid. Just because I go in there, hand her some books, and tell her I have a surprise for her, I think that's going to make a difference?”

Grandma came over and put her arm around me. “Why should today be any different? Because, my dear Izzy, you just never know. Maybe reaching out to her yesterday, in the special way that only you can, is just what she needed. Why, I remember one time, I was feeling down about the state of the economy and worried about your grandfather's business in the worst way. And about that time, I got the nicest letter from Patricia Nixon. You know, President Nixon's wife? I had written her a letter because I wanted her to know I was thinking about her while her husband was going through a terrible time. Well, she wrote me back, and that letter did wonders for my spirits. It was a simple gesture. But it meant so much.”

I heard a noise and looked up. The door opened slowly, Mom's face visible through the glass at the top of the door. I held my breath, waiting for her to see the wall behind me.

Dad came in right after her. When she walked in, she looked at me, and then I watched as she noticed the rolling hills and the blue sky. I moved to the side so she could take it all in. Just like Grandma, her hand flew to her mouth in shock. Then her eyes got crinkly and tears started to form.

I ran to her and gently grabbed her elbow. “Mom, don't cry. Don't you like it?”

“Oh, Isabel, I think it's just about the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. You did this for me?”

I looked around the room. “Well, I think I did it for all of us.”

She nodded and turned to give me a hug. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “I'm working on an attitude adjustment, I promise.”