Free Swinging on a Star by Janice Thompson Page A

made me think of Brock Benson. He was a great guy, clearly. But I had the strongest feeling God had led him here to Galveston Island for more than just a wedding. He was at a fork in the road. I could sense it. And God wanted to do something fresh and new in his life. I spent the next few minutes praying for him, then focused on the message.
    After church, I found Brock in the kitchen, looking at Guido’s cage. “What’s with the white cloth over the cage?” Brock asked. “Is he being punished?”
    I laughed, then did my best to explain. “Not exactly. That’s a prayer cloth.”
    “Prayer cloth?”
    “Yeah.” No doubt he’d find this interesting. “See, Rosa has a theory that whenever Guido’s under the covering of her prayer cloth, he’s one bird—calm, cool, and collected. Then, when the cover is removed, he’s another.”
    Brock quirked a brow. “I think I’d just leave him under there 24-7.”
    “Right.” I sighed. “But then there’s Laz. He’s nuts about Guido. Probably because Guido actually belongs to his old friend Sal, who lives up north. Sal had a stroke a few months ago and is in rehab, so Laz is watching over Guido for him.”
    “Oh, man. Now I feel sorry for the poor little guy.” Brock lifted the edge of the prayer cloth, and Guido hollered, “Wise guy!” Dropping the cloth, Brock said, “But not that sorry.”
    He went off to find Rosa, and I headed upstairs to my parents’ room. I rapped on their door, surprised to find Mama taking a nap. “Oh, sorry.” I shrugged. “I need the keys to Twila’s car. I can’t leave it at the wedding facility all week. Bad for business.”
    “Where are you going to park it?” Mama’s pursed lips let me know that parking it in the driveway was out of the question.
    “Oh, not to worry. D.J. said he’d drive it over to his condo. I don’t know why we didn’t think of that sooner.”
    “Great idea. To be honest, I’m a little relieved that the people from the Food Network won’t see it. The kind of car in a person’s driveway makes a vivid first impression. Not that I’m out to impress anyone, but a 1983 Pinto, well . . .”
    “Say no more. I’ve got this under control. Just need to get the keys from you.”
    “From me?” Her brow wrinkled. “What makes you think I have the keys to Twila’s car?”
    “She told me yesterday that she would leave them with you.” I paused, deep in thought. “Or maybe she said Rosa. Let me check.”
    I practically sprinted to the kitchen, anxious to get this over and done with. I found Rosa hard at work counting out the pans for Marian’s wedding cakes. In the midst of all the chaos, I’d forgotten she’d agreed to make the cakes for the big day.
    I glanced over at the small television, Rosa’s constant companion while she cooked, to see Giada De Laurentiis on the Food Network. “Oh, it’s Everyday Italian , your favorite show!”
    “ Every show on the Food Network is my favorite.” She giggled. “Last night I watched Ace of Cakes to get in the mood for baking. And then I watched a great cake-decorating competition. Cute show. Oh, but speaking of the Food Network . . .” She dove into a long-winded story about Iron Chef Bobby Flay. Turned out she’d started to suspect this whole Food Network gig was really just a ruse. Maybe Bobby was coming to the house to challenge her to a throw down. Now that would really be something!
    We got so caught up in our conversation about food that I almost forgot the reason I’d come to talk to Rosa in the first place. “Rosa, do you have the keys to Twila’s Pinto?”
    “Keys? Hmm?”
    “To the Pinto.”
    “Bella, I haven’t driven since the ’70s. You know that.” She went back to work, muttering under her breath about not having enough pans.
    “Yes, but I thought Twila said she would leave her keys with you so we could move her car before the wedding.”
    “Ask your mother.”
    “I did. She doesn’t have them.”
    Rosa shook her head. “Me