Lacey's Arc

Chapter 8 of 8

The sausage rolls were still warm when Billy parked outside his family's house. Lacey held the paper bundle on her lap. The glossy buns had leaked a little grease through the wrapper. Beside it sat a box of iced cakes and the wheat money, counted twice. Billy didn't move. His hands stayed on the wheel. "They already know something's wrong," he said. "My uncle made sure." He let out a slow breath and opened his door. His parents waited on the porch. His mother stood with her arms crossed. His father held a phone, the viral clip paused on the screen. Lacey saw her own floured hands frozen there. The golden dog trotted up the steps ahead of them, tail swinging, and pushed his dark muzzle against the father's knee. The father scratched the dog's ears without thinking. It softened the moment a little. "You gave our wheat away," the father said. His voice was tired, not loud. "To a girl we never met. And the whole town watched before we did." Billy's ears went red. "I should have told you first. I know." He stepped forward. "I was wrong to hide it. I'm not hiding anymore." Lacey couldn't stay quiet. She set the bundle on the porch rail and unwrapped it. Steam rose off the rolls. "Please," she said. "Taste what your wheat made. Then yell at us." She held one out. Her hands shook. The mother took it first. She bit in and chewed slowly. Her crossed arms loosened. "The bread's good," she admitted. "Soft." She looked at Lacey's layered jewelry, her flour-dusted skirt, and something in her face eased. The father ate a roll, then a cake. He wiped his mouth. "This is what people are paying for?" "Every day now," Lacey said. "More than the market." She pulled out the envelope. "This is your share. All of it. Billy wanted you paid before he even bought groceries." The father counted it. His eyebrows rose. He handed it to his wife. "That's a real number," he said quietly. The mother studied Lacey a long moment. "You made my boy brave enough to confess," she said. "Took him twenty years to tell us anything." She almost smiled. "You're welcome at this table. Both of you." Billy's shoulders dropped. He reached for Lacey's hand and squeezed it. The dog flopped down between them, pleased. They stayed for supper. The father asked how much wheat she'd need for the new cafe, now that the orders kept coming. Lacey hadn't thought that far. The renovation money was enough to open the doors. It wasn't enough to keep the shelves full for months. "More than one field gives," the father said, half joking. "You'll outgrow us by spring." Driving home, Lacey held the empty envelope. The family loved her. The debt was paid. But the father's words sat in her chest. To keep the cafe fed, she'd need a steady supply, and she didn't have one yet.