A Taste of Magic - By Tracy Madison Page 0,1

even see the headlines in the Chicago Tribune:

DEATH BY CAKE!

Highland Park Baker Chokes to Death Swallowing Every Last Vestige of Pride

While Baking Ex-Husband and Mistress’s Wedding Cake!

Yep, that’s right. My job today was to create a culinary work of art for the next soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Stevens. Marc and Tiffany. Otherwise known as my cheating ex and the young, beautiful woman he’d left me for exactly one year ago. And if that wasn’t hell enough, it also happened to be my thirty-fifth birthday. Now, for the second birthday in a row, Marc was front and center in my mind. Something just wasn’t right about that.

I pulled in a deep breath, pinched my cheeks again for good measure, and returned to my grandmother. “Sorry about that,” I said, avoiding her gaze.Grandma Verda squeezed my wrist. “I want you to be happy.”

Blinking, I said, “I know. I’ll get there. Why are you here so early, anyway? Won’t you be at Mom and Dad’s tomorrow night?”

My family was celebrating my birthday the following night, since it was a Friday. It was easier for everyone to get together.

“Of course I will. I never miss a chance to see all my grand-kids. But this is nice. A few minutes alone with my granddaughter on her actual birthday. We haven’t done that for years.”

This was a better subject. “I miss those lunches, but I’m glad you came by.”

A smile wreathed her face. She pulled two envelopes out of her purse, one purple and one white. Holding one in each hand, she looked at them. She looked at me. Finally, she tucked the white envelope away and handed me the purple card.

“Open it now.” She clapped in excitement, much as a child would.

Curious, I slid my nail under the flap and lifted the card out. Glitter flew up at me, and the heaviness in my chest disappeared. I laughed. “You’ve been putting glitter in my cards since I was little.”

“Birthdays are about magic. Magic is fun. So is glitter.”

She’d always said that. Always told me that on one of my birthdays, she’d have a very special gift for me. I glanced up and saw her pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. Maybe it was this birthday?

I turned the card face front and laughed again, this time at the picture of a bikini-clad woman wearing a birthday hat popping out of a cake. Maybe more apropos for a man, but after all, I did bake cakes for a living.

I opened the card, and a twenty-dollar bill swirled to the floor. Inside, my grandmother’s flowing handwriting said:

It’s time to believe in magic, Elizabeth.

Open your heart wide and be true to yourself

so the gift can find you.

Happy Birthday, my darling girl.

Love, Grandma.

P.S. Have fun!

The writing seemed to shine brightly for a second. Bizarre. I blinked and rubbed my fingers along the ink strokes. What-ever I thought I’d seen was gone. Chalking it up to the early hour and my insufficiently caffeinated system, I knelt down to retrieve the twenty.

“This is great, Grandma. Thank you,” I said, tucking the money back into the card.Her eyes narrowed, and she glanced from the card to me. “How do you feel?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Oh, just wondering. I’m your grandmother. It’s important to me that you’re happy.”

Hmm. Something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. A glance at the clock told me I had no time to figure it out, either. “Come with me to the kitchen. I need to start work.”

“Oh, well, I should probably leave.”

Grandma Verda grabbed her coat. After I unlocked the door, she gave me another hug. “Sweetie, I want you to have fun. I want you to think about the things you really want, what you really wish for, and then—you never know—they might just come true.”

“Life doesn’t work that way,” I mumbled.

“You’re wrong. Life can work that way.” Amusement flitted over her features. “You’ll see. Your time is here, Lizzie-girl.”

And then she was gone.

My mind played over the conversation as I returned to my office, and it still didn’t make sense. Grandma Verda had her own way of doing things, not to mention her unique outlook on life. And, most peculiar, the things she wanted always seemed to come true for her.

And, at times, for me.

I twisted my shoulder-length brown hair into a knot on top of my head and secured it with a band. Smiling, I remembered a summer I’d spent with her as a child. Even though I knew better now, I still considered that