Light Me Up. Isabel Sharpe

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      “You could have injured yourself seriously.”

      “It was just an irritation this time.” Melissa turned her face up to the sunshine, more precious than gold in Seattle, though August was generally dry and warm. Most likely this latest setback with her shoulder would have healed on its own, but Gretchen did have a point. Babying it shortened recovery so Melissa only had to skip Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s yoga classes this week, not months of them as when she’d ignored the pain last spring. Then, she’d missed not only yoga, but her workouts in the pool and weight room and her dance and tennis lessons. Luckily she’d still been fine typing, because Au Bon Repas, the national cooks’ supply company where she worked as a human resources specialist, had initiated a change in benefits, and she’d been crazy busy.

      “Have you been checking your blood pressure every morning?”

      “Yes, Sister Mommy.” Melissa rolled her eyes, ambling through the park up to Broadway, where she’d turn north toward her car. She didn’t generally amble; she strode. But yoga made all things non-type-A possible for her.

      “And?”

      “And I’m not dead yet.” Melissa loved that Gretchen worried about her, and she also hated it. Finding out this young that she had high blood pressure was the worst thing that had happened since her mom died of cancer when Melissa was thirteen. “Slow down,” Dr. Glazer had said. “Relax.”

      Slow down? Relax? What did those strange terms mean?

      Melissa had been trying. She’d given up her French lessons, her ceramics class, her jazz-dance class and her astrobiology continuing-education class at the university. Which left her a life consisting of work and working out. Period. What kind of bland, empty existence was that? At least she could help organize Gretchen’s end-of-the-month wedding, trying to keep her sister’s expenses as low as possible. Gretchen was a great sister, friend and person, but planning was not her forte. To put it politely.

      “Your blood pressure’s gone down?”

      “Yoga is my salvation. I hold on to that calm feeling for hours after class and even through the week. It’s really helping.”

      It was sort of helping. The doctor had threatened medication if she didn’t improve her numbers.

      “You avoided the question.”

      Melissa sighed. “Gretchen, sometimes I wish you didn’t know me so well. No, I’m not much lower, but I’m working on it. What’s new with the wedding plans?”

      The one topic sure to distract her sister from whatever Melissa didn’t want to talk about. Gretchen and Ted had been inseparable since they were sixteen, which made Melissa very happy for her sister and utterly claustrophobic even thinking about it. The couple practically breathed in sync; it was amazing to watch them together. Mom and Dad had been like that, too, which was why Dad had gone into such a tailspin after his wife’s death.

      Melissa had dated here and there, but no guy seemed to hold her interest for long. She was happiest when she was learning and growing, and men didn’t seem to be able to bring her that same stimulation.

      Of course there was that other stimulation only men could bring, but given her experiences in that arena, she thought on balance a good class did more for her. Maybe she had a low sex drive. She hadn’t been eager to compare notes with other women.

      In any case, she was only twenty-five. She could take the next ten years to enjoy herself, if that’s what she wanted, before she got herself tied down. Gretchen, however, didn’t have that long. When Ted asked her to marry him two weeks ago, no one had been surprised, but Melissa nearly blew a gasket when they announced the date. Who could plan a wedding in five weeks? Certainly not Gretchen and Ted. Big sister would have to try.

      Breathing deeply, ambling along, listening to Gretchen ramble excitedly about her and Ted’s plans—or rather their intentions not to plan—Melissa finally said goodbye to her sister at the corner of Broadway and Olive, by the Come to Your Senses building, home of the enticing A Taste for All Pleasures bakery. Most days she forced herself to walk past, being an admitted control freak about her calorie intake, but today her stomach felt positively concave with hunger. Besides, she was working out again since her shoulder had healed, and needed those extra calories. Right?

      Absolutely.

      She mounted the steps to the building and went inside, then pushed open the bakery door, which triggered a familiar tune she couldn’t place. A pretty woman about Melissa’s age, maybe a couple of years older, was just putting out a tray of chocolate chip scones that smelled so amazing in a room already full of amazing smells that Melissa wanted to dive in and suck down a dozen of everything. Did the store do wedding cakes? Gretchen wanted to make her own, but last time she’d baked—a chocolate layer cake for Dad’s birthday—Melissa, their father and Ted had pointedly turned the conversation to Olympic discuses, Frisbees, barbell weights, train wheels … until even Gretchen had broken down laughing.

      The woman heard the chime, looked up at Melissa and did a startled double take.

      “Oh. Hi, there. Hello.” The woman was staring now. “What—Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

      “Yes.” Melissa gestured to the bakery case, wondering if she’d turned orange or sprouted antennae. “I’ll have one of the chocolate chip scones, please. And a cup of coffee. To go.”

      “Yes. Sure.” Holding a square of waxed paper, the woman picked out a scone and put it into a white paper bag. “Anything else?”

      “Well …” Melissa eyed a rack of perfectly domed cupcakes. Maybe instead of a traditional wedding cake, multiple tiers of cupcakes? She’d try them out. “One chocolate, one spice with buttercream and one yellow with strawberry frosting, please.”

      “Have you been here before?” The woman rang up the purchases, glancing at Melissa every few seconds. “You look awfully familiar.”

      “I’ve passed by on my way home, but haven’t come in.” She pointed in the direction of the park. “I’ve been taking an early yoga class at Cal Anderson.”

      The chestnut head shot up. “You take yoga in the park?”

      “Uh. Yes.” Melissa took a step back. This had officially become weird. “Why, is it dangerous?”

      “No, no, no, of course not, I’m sorry.” The woman offered her hand over the counter. “I’m Angela Loukas.”

      “Melissa.” Something about Angela’s eagerness made Melissa protective of her last name. You never knew. Angela could be a cult member who recruited yoga devotees and turned them to the devil.

      A group of young mothers came in with kids and strollers, saving Melissa from having to come up with reasons not to sign a pledge to Satan. Angela hesitated, glancing between Melissa and the moms, then moved reluctantly away. “Nice to meet you, Melissa. The coffee is on the counter, help yourself. And … why don’t you walk around the other businesses on the floor before you go? You’d enjoy … everyone. Especially at the end of the hall, there’s—”

      “Excuse me?” The mom of a fussy toddler broke in impatiently. “I’m sorry, but my child is about to lose it. Can we order?”

      Melissa СКАЧАТЬ