Under The Boardwalk

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_b6260e8e-51c5-568d-978a-338b652ed1ba)

VIRGINIA HAMILTON PARKED Betty’s red wagon in front of the Midway Bakery, where Gus stopped working, wiped her hands on her apron and leaned across the counter, smiling at her visitor.

“All ready for opening day?” Virginia asked.

“You tell me,” Gus said. “How many customers do you think we’ll have?”

“Depends on the weather, of course, and the local schools are still in session a few more weeks, but I’d say we can count on ten thousand or so. A lot of regulars come for opening day every year.”

“Ten thousand cookies coming right up,” Gus said, laughing. “The rest of the special cookie cutters I ordered should be in tomorrow. I think you’ve already seen the carousel horse, but wait till you see the roller coasters—especially the new Sea Devil—on a cookie. My favorite is the Starlight Point skyline. We plan to ice those cookies in dark twilight colors so the coaster lights will really pop.”

Movement on the midway caught her attention. Jack Hamilton rode slowly past her shop on an old tandem bicycle, one of the employee loaners. The vacant seat made him look like a man dancing alone on an empty floor. He waved and continued down the midway, a rubber band around the leg of his suit pants.

Virginia waved to her son and turned back to Augusta. “I know you’re busy, but can I borrow a minute to talk about my summer project? I’d like to get the plans going right away.”

“What can I do?” Gus asked, striving for a neutral tone.

“I was thinking,” Virginia said. “All these young men and women will probably be parents someday. Most of our older employees already are.” She reached across the counter and laid her hand on Gus’s arm. “Family is very important here at Starlight Point.”

And they have no idea how lucky they are. Virginia had lost her husband, but she still had three children close at hand. As an only child with parents who moved often because of her father’s job, Augusta craved the sense of family and belonging that everyone else seemed to have. But she did have her aunt and a fledgling business—otherwise she’d still be adrift.

“Of course,” Gus said as she forced her thoughts back to Virginia’s summer project. “It’s a family amusement park, gotta love families. But what would you like me to do?”

This was getting scary. Was she supposed to teach them about family values? Natural childbirth? Installing a car seat correctly? Sibling rivalry?

Betty snored loudly in her wagon. She’d seen lots of summer improvement programs come and go. Maybe dog grooming had been one of them.

“What is an important thing that all parents should be able to do?” Virginia asked.

“Um...tie shoes? Sing the alphabet in two languages? Apply Band-Aids?”

“Make a birthday cake!” Virginia exclaimed. She smiled broadly and clapped her hands together once, leaving them joined.

“Oh,” Gus said. “That was my next guess.”

“Every parent should be able to bake and decorate a birthday cake for their child.”

“I think so, too. But they can also get one from a bakery,” Gus suggested, grinning. “I could recommend a good one for anyone looking.”

“But not every year, dear. Moms and dads should bake a cake, frost it, make it look pretty and be able to write their child’s name on it. And their age.”

“I think most people figure it out,” Gus said. “I learned how to make a birthday cake from my aunt.”

“Unfair advantage. Not everyone has an aunt Augusta,” Virginia said. “Some people never figure it out and they disappoint their kids every year.” She dropped her large purse onto the counter and dug through it, finally pulling out a packet of wallet-sized photos in a yellowed cellophane holder.

“See this picture? This is Jack’s fifth birthday.”

Gus took the photo, which showed an adorable dark-haired and dark-eyed boy at a kitchen table. Disgracing the table in front of him was the ugliest birthday cake in the world. It was an uneven round shape, covered in lumpy chocolate frosting. Canned frosting. A squiggly red line—probably from the dreadful white tubes sold in grocery stores—made a crooked border. In the center, uncertain writing appeared to spell out Happy Birthday, Jack above a disproportionate and crooked number five. The only things that pulled the scene together were the five flaming candles and the happy family behind him.

His father, looking much like Jack did right now, held a girl who appeared to be about three. Virginia, much younger, had a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“That’s our middle daughter, June,” Virginia said. “She’s in New York City working as a dancer in a Broadway production. Our younger daughter hadn’t come along yet when that picture was taken.”

“It’s a beautiful picture,” Gus said.

Virginia looked at her, both eyebrows raised.

Gus laughed. “Okay. All except for the cake.”

They both laughed, and the sound echoed under the steel awning. Betty climbed out of the wagon. She licked her owner’s hand and wagged her tail. Maybe she knew the word cake or she just liked a good party.

“See my point?” Virginia asked. “With your talent, you could improve the birthdays of hundreds, even thousands of children.”

“That many? That’s a lot of birthdays.”

“We have two thousand employees here this summer.”

Gus’s shoulders sank. “You want me to teach two thousand people to make a fancy birthday cake?” Right now, all she could think of was baking enough cookies for one day—opening day, only seventy-two hours away.

Virginia took a long, slow breath. “Not all two thousand. Always made it a requirement in the past—didn’t want people to miss out on a good thing. But this season is different. Life’s too short to make people do things they don’t want to do. Or have time for. So I’m making it voluntary this summer. My STRIPE program is getting soft in its old age—that’ll shock some of our longtime employees, I know. People who want to learn to make a cake can do it.” She shrugged. “The rest of them will miss out.”

“I understand that the STRIPE clause is in the contracts,” Gus said.

Virginia shrugged. “I’ll take it out. My son, Jack, is officially taking over, but I’m still his mother and have some influence. Besides—” she paused and smiled “—I don’t think anyone’s going to fight me on making it voluntary.”

“I still don’t know,” Gus said. She wasn’t sure she could handle the STRIPE program, but her thoughts swung to Virginia’s influence. Could she be an ally in contract negotiations?

Doubtful. Blood was thicker than water.

“You’ll probably have only a couple hundred students at the most. And you’ll have help. I always get volunteers.”

“I’m just worried about spreading myself too thin, running these three bakeries while my aunt handles the downtown one.”

In answer, Virginia held up the picture, raised her eyebrows and pointed to the ugly cake in front of her adorable son.

“Oh, all right,” Gus said.

Birthdays tugged at her heart. They represented permanence, family and tradition. No matter what part of the country or world her father’s job took their little family to, birthdays were celebrated the same. How could she pass up the chance to make hundreds or thousands of birthdays brighter?

Virginia squeezed Gus’s arm. “I’ll be your first student. Jack turns twenty-seven on June first, which is also my birthday. Best present I ever got. Maybe you could help me surprise him with a cake. My daughter June will be here that weekend and of course so will Evie. Think you could give her the day off?”

“Sure. She’s going to be my account manager and supervise the Lake Breeze bakery, but family birthdays are more important. I’ll help you learn to make a perfect cake, but only because I love a challenge.”

Virginia laughed. “I need people like you and your aunt to cheer me up. This is my first summer without Ford in more than thirty years.” She tried to cover her tears by leaning down to scratch under Betty’s chin. “I wonder sometimes how all this can go on...but my Jack has a will of iron.”

“I’ve heard that,” Gus commented.

“But a soft heart,” Virginia added. She picked up Betty, plunked her in the wagon and rolled away.