Recipe for Enemies Read online

  Recipe for Enemies

  P.T. Winger

  Copyright © 2019 P.T. Winger

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  A squeal of brakes signaled the school bus had stopped in front of the house. In the sitting room of her old Victorian, Erin Samson put down her book and leaned forward on the couch to peer out the window. Ryan jumped off the bus first and trotted toward the house, his book bag overlarge on his small frame. Despite turning twelve two months ago, he was small for his age. Behind him, Alyssa stepped off and trudged up the driveway, head down.

  Oh no.

  Erin stiffened with anger and disappointment. The girl had worked so hard to make the cheerleading squad. Like Erin, the other mothers, most of them former cheerleaders, had worked with their daughters as if the tryouts were an Olympic competition. Each had been determined her daughter would be successful.

  And Alyssa had wanted it so badly.

  Erin moved to the front door and opened it. Maybe more energy drinks would have helped, or other types of stimulants some of the mothers used to keep their daughters practicing late into the night. Erin had done the same, but not to such an extent. Alyssa got her sleep every night. Erin was one of the better mothers, in her own opinion.

  “Hey Mom.” Ryan headed straight to the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”

  “Have a snack,” she said, eyes on Alyssa.

  Stone-faced, Alyssa met Erin’s gaze as the girl left the gravel driveway and continued along the mossy brick path leading to the front door. Clearly, she’d been trying not to cry. As she came through the door, though, her features scrunched up in anguish. “I didn’t make it.” She dropped her book bag, fell into Erin’s arms, and sobbed.

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. So sorry.” Erin held her, rocking gently and patting Alyssa’s back. “I know you practiced so hard.” Inside, anger surged through her heartbreak over seeing Alyssa so despondent. She may have been fifteen years old, but she was still Erin’s little girl.

  Damn those judges. They were probably friends of the mothers of the girls who made the squad. It was all rigged.

  “They picked Stacie Brown over me,” Alyssa said through soft, wet huffs. “She was last on the list. I’m just a runner-up.”

  “But you’re the first runner-up?” Erin asked. Maybe there was hope.

  Alyssa released herself from Erin’s arms and wiped her eyes. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean anything unless one of them drops out of the squad.”

  The cheerleading tryout results hadn’t changed in the years since Erin had attended that same high school. The girls were listed on the final cut announcement according to scores, with the girl making the highest score at the top of the list.

  “You never know,” Erin said. “It could happen.” Sure. One of them could break a leg, or get sick, or something. She gave her daughter another squeeze around her shoulders. “Listen, I’m making your favorite dinner. Why don’t you take a nice bubble bath before we eat?”

  Alyssa shrugged. “Maybe later.” She took a shaky breath, no longer crying, but still despondent. “I have an essay to finish for world history class.”

  “Okay, honey.” She watched as Alyssa picked up her book bag and lugged it upstairs to her room.

  Erin joined Ryan in the kitchen. He had grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry and stood stuffing them into his mouth.

  “Not too many,” she said as she opened the oven to take a peek at the roasting chicken. Moist heat wafted out, fogging her glasses. She wiped them with a towel and peered at the juices dribbling from the chicken into the pan. Almost done.

  She closed the oven and glanced over at her son. “How was school?”`

  Ryan rolled up the chip bag and tossed it back into the pantry. “Good.”

  “Do you have homework?”

  “Yeah, a little. I have to write notes on index cards for a report. Do we have index cards?”

  “Yes. What’s happening with that other boy? Jake?”

  Ryan frowned. “Nothing.” He trudged past her out of the kitchen.

  “Is he still bothering you?”

  “Yes.”

  Erin thumped her hand on the counter. “That boy’s a nuisance and I wish the principal would do something about him.”

  Ryan shrugged and kept going. “Where are the index cards?”

  She could wish all she liked that he would talk about it. “Look in the desk in the den.”

  He disappeared around the corner. Erin stood for a moment, head down, fists clenched. Damn them. Damn the people who manipulated her children’s lives, who made them feel inferior.

  Alyssa had every right to be on that cheerleading squad.

  Ryan had every right not to be bullied.

  At least Alyssa’s twin, Andrew, wasn’t having problems. An outstanding player on the high school football team, he was well liked and popular – and most importantly, happy.

  A pan of biscuits sat rising under a tea towel. Erin removed the towel, opened the oven door and pushed in the pan next to the chicken.

  Something had to be done about her children’s situations. But what?

  She opened the refrigerator and reached in, then paused clutching a head of lettuce. In her mind’s eye she saw one of the girls breaking a leg or becoming ill so that Alyssa could step in.

  One could only hope.

  Or one could make it happen. One could crush their dreams like...

  Erin’s fingertips drove into the head of lettuce.

  She brought it out and stared at the holes, dug all the way through the plastic packaging and layers of leaves.

  Good gracious. What was she thinking? With a nervous laugh, she tossed the lettuce onto the counter, where it rolled to rest against an apple pie she’d baked earlier in the day.

  She would never hurt another child, not even those who’d made the squad over her talented, capable daughter. It wasn’t the other cheerleaders’ faults the judges were biased. Most of the evaluators knew the girls’ mothers through volunteer efforts such as working the ticket or food booths at athletic events. The judges were former cheerleaders like Erin. Everyone knew each other. The trouble was that Erin had retained only a limited friendship with some of them, and now they had excluded her daughter because of Erin’s lack of interest in their lives. That had to be it.

  And the cheerleaders’ mothers…they lived in beautiful homes kept pristine from regular professional cleanings. They took care of themselves with nips and tucks and frequent visits to manicurists and hair stylists. Erin felt dowdy and unfashionable every time she saw one of them. She always had the feeling they looked down on her because she chose to let herself age naturally. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t get to the hairdressers often or get her nails done like the others did. But that was what she wanted, and besides, keeping her massive old Victorian tidy was something she chose to do herself.

  She opened the plastic wrapper and tore off lettuce leaves, tossing them into a cola
nder in the sink. Wishing Alyssa had made the cheerleading squad was useless. If Erin could do something about it, she would, but the decision had been made. Still, perhaps she could speak to some of the judges and at least ask them to recount the scores.

  As for the boy bothering Ryan, Erin would need to address it with the principal again. Maybe she hadn’t been assertive enough last time.

  Her gaze drifted to the pie. She’d cut the dough into small diamond shapes before baking, and golden filling oozed from the cuts.

  An image surfaced in her mind of herself as a child of eight, standing in this kitchen looking hungrily at a freshly-baked apple pie her mother had made. It had looked exactly like this one, as Erin had used the same recipe and cut the dough into the same diamond shapes. At that time, her great-grandmother, Rosalyn Clower, had been living with them, muttering and puttering around in the kitchen and getting in the way as Erin’s mother made meals. Erin didn’t like the thin, bony woman whose heavy rose-scented talcum couldn’t hide her sour body odor.

  On one particular afternoon, Mother had sat Great-Grandma Clower at the table in the center of the large kitchen, and then had gone into the butler’s pantry, where she fetched a small wooden box. Mother set the box before the elder woman, who liked nothing better than to sift through the recipes piled within.

  The afternoon sun through the kitchen windows made her frizzy hair a white halo as she opened the lid with its broken hinge. Gleefully, she’d pulled out the disorganized mess of recipes and spread them over the table.

  Why this memory hit Erin suddenly, she had no idea. Must be the act of baking the apple pie, although she’d made it many times. She glanced at the table – the same now as then – scarred and worn and at least one hundred years old. She half expected to see the old woman sitting there, poring over recipes. Generations of women in Erin’s family had sat at the table or moved around this kitchen preparing meals since the house was built in 1895.

  When the house was built, a tradition had begun to pass the home down among the daughters, not the sons, and it had been bequeathed to Erin at her mother’s death last fall. Alyssa would inherit it next. The tradition had vexed the men in the family who wanted the house, but, as Erin understood it, the reason centered on the innate power of women to keep the house alive. She’d never understood the notion of keeping a house alive, but she’d been happy to move in with her family and claim it as her own.

  The sound of a car in the driveway made her glance at the black-and-white cat clock with its pendulum tail swishing back and forth. Her husband, David, was home at 5:30, on time for once. She looked through the window and watched him park and get out of the car.

  He entered the kitchen through the back door, said hello, and continued toward the den without stopping. He used to kiss her when he got home, but over the last year, affection had become more and more rare. “How was your day?” he called over his shoulder.

  “Not too bad,” Erin said to his retreating back. “Except Alyssa didn’t make the cheerleading squad.”

  David disappeared around the corner without replying.

  Erin finished tossing the salad, then approached the den. The room had been reserved as a formal front sitting room long ago, but was now their main gathering space as a family, with couch and chairs, television, a desk and bookshelves. David had set his work satchel next to the desk.

  “She’s very upset, so we shouldn’t bring it up unless she wants to talk about it,” Erin said.

  “Who?”

  “Alyssa. She didn’t make it as a cheerleader.”

  David settled into his recliner. “That’s too bad,” he said as he picked up the television remote and clicked the power button. On the screen was an ad for a schizophrenia drug. A couple ran happily on a beach while a woman’s cheerful voiceover listed side effects including dizziness, constipation, vomiting, and drooling.

  No thanks. Erin’s goal was to keep herself and her family healthy through wholesome food and a healthy lifestyle. Prescriptions were only for circumstances beyond one’s control.

  She waited a moment in case David had anything else to say, but he seemed absorbed in the ad. She turned to head back to the kitchen.

  “Bring me a beer?”

  “Okay,” she said. “How was work today?”

  “Fine,” he said, and turned up the volume on the television.

  Their conversations went like that every evening when he returned from work. His job as a business and marketing expert didn’t interest her in the least, and he didn’t talk to her about his work. What did interest her was that he was screwing Jessica, the marketing manager. David had no idea she knew, and she kept her rage and disappointment reined in lest she blow up at him. Children of broken marriages could suffer greatly, and she didn’t want to cause any anguish by confronting her husband about his affair. If he found out she knew, he might leave her.

  When the children were grown and had left home, she could act on her plans to divorce David. Until then, she must keep her family happy.

  She opened a bottle of beer and brought it to him, then returned to the kitchen to peel and mash the potatoes that had been cooling in a bowl after boiling.

  The meal was on the dining room table at 6:30 sharp, as it was almost every single day.

  Erin glanced at the clock in the kitchen before bringing in a pitcher of iced tea for the family and a glass of wine for herself. Andrew was late coming home from football practice. Her lips pressed tight together in irritation. The boy knew she had a strict dinner time when there wasn’t a game or some other evening activity. Practice should have ended by six.

  Alyssa, her face pink and puffy from crying, was already seated. Ryan dropped into his chair, took a biscuit from the basket on the table, and bit into it. David sat opposite Erin at the antique oval table. He glanced at Alyssa and then heaped mashed potatoes onto his plate. Sounds of chewing and ice tinkling in tea glasses were the only sounds for several minutes.

  The front door banged open, and Andrew’s voice called out, “Sorry I’m late.”

  Erin set down her fork. “Wash up and come to the table.”

  A moment later, Andrew sat at his place opposite Alyssa and filled his plate. Tall and blond and green-eyed like his sister, they both looked like their father. Ryan took after Erin with his brown hair and brown eyes.

  “How was practice?” Erin asked.

  “Fine. The new cheerleaders left a crapload of streamers and balloons on the floor and we couldn’t start practice until it got cleaned up. They were all celebrating.” He looked at his sister. “Heard you didn’t make it.”

  Alyssa’s face scrunched up and her lower lip disappeared into her mouth, but she didn’t cry.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” Erin said.

  Andrew took a bite of biscuit. “It’s not the end of the world.”

  Alyssa stared at her plate. When she spoke, her voice was tense. “You don’t understand. It is the end of the world. My chances are zero for things like being voted most popular when they do the yearbook superlatives, or being voted homecoming queen….” She looked up at her twin. “I’m finished! Don’t you get it?”

  “You’re way too weird,” Ryan said, and laughed.

  “Ryan, that’s enough,” Erin said.

  Grinning, Ryan waved his hands in the air. “Oh no! I’ll never be voted homecoming queen!”

  “Ryan!” Erin slammed down her fork. “Knock it off.”

  David looked at Ryan. “Be quiet and eat.”

  “May I be excused?” Alyssa asked. Her face had turned bright red.

  “You’ve hardly eaten,” Erin said.

  “I’m not hungry.” Alyssa took her plate to the kitchen and set it on the counter. Then, her footsteps receded through the parlor and up the stairs. Seconds later Erin heard her bedroom door slam.

  “Let’s not bring that up again,” Erin said. “She’s very upset and sensitive right now.”

  Ryan shrugged. “She’s a girl.”

/>   “She’ll grow out of it,” David said.

  Her younger son didn’t get it and neither did her husband. Alyssa was right. Not making the cheerleading squad really wasn’t the end of the world, but it did close certain doors to popularity. She might still be liked and respected, but wouldn’t be on a pedestal as she would have been had she made the squad.

  Erin picked up her knife and fork, cut off a piece of chicken and put it in her mouth. The food had lost its taste. She spent the rest of the meal making light-hearted conversation, but inside she seethed.

  Her talented daughter should not have to go through this hell. Erin’s eyes narrowed. Something needed to happen. Something that would result in Alyssa being asked to join.

  Later, she took a slice of apple pie up to Alyssa’s room. Her daughter was sitting up in bed, book on her lap and cell phone in her hand.

  “I don’t want any,” Alyssa said. “It’ll make me fat.”

  “You deserve it,” Erin said. “You’ve worked so hard these last few weeks.”

  Alyssa sneered. “Yeah. And look where it got me.”

  Erin set the plate on the nightstand and sat on the side of the bed. “Would it help if I talked to a couple of the judges?”

  Alyssa stiffened. “No, Mom, don’t do that.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, I’d be finished.”

  “It might help—”

  “No. Promise me you won’t.” Alyssa grabbed Erin’s arm. “Promise.”

  Erin looked at her daughter’s stricken face. “Okay, I won’t. I just wish there was something I could do.”

  “There’s nothing you or anyone else can do.” Alyssa let go of Erin’s arm and reached for the pie. “It’s done and I don’t care anymore.”

  Her face said otherwise. Erin sighed, chatted with her daughter while she ate, and then took the empty plate and went back downstairs.

  David had settled into his recliner and leaned back with his legs propped up on the support, remote in hand, flipping through channels on the TV.

  Erin leaned against the door frame. “Did your project get completed today?”