Free Finding Casey by Jo-Ann Mapson

serious boyfriend’s visit, her mother, Halle, and Bart were coming to Santa Fe for the long weekend. This would be their first stay at their house, now sufficiently remodeled to accommodate houseguests. She leaned in to turn on the shower and the baby kicked hard. Of course, as soon as she pressed her hand on her belly to feel it, she stopped. Eddie sat on the bathroom rug and looked up at her.
    â€œWill you stop worrying about me?” she asked the Italian greyhound. From the day she first felt nauseated to the present, Eddie had followed her from room to room as if he was personally responsible for her safety. He sat on the bed while she dressed, and then preceded her into the kitchen as if she needed him to show her the way.
    â€œJoseph?” she called out.
    â€œIn here,” he said, coming out of the pantry with a box of Mexican cocoa. “I made you eggs, bacon, sausage, and Mami’s torrejas.”
    She groaned. “That sounds so good. I’d love to eat all of that,but I think I’ll just have eggs. Dr. M says I need to eat more protein. It’s supposed to help with my blood pressure.” Recently her blood pressure had soared into unhealthy numbers, forcing her to take early maternity leave—unpaid.
    Joseph handed her a plate with two perfectly fried eggs and a side of steaming green chile from his dad’s farm in Hatch. Then he set a platter of bacon and a bowl of torrejas on the table. “In case you change your mind,” he said.
    â€œJoseph, I’m turning into a blimp.”
    â€œYou are not. You’re gorgeous.” He pushed the torrejas closer to her. “Just try one bite. I have to get the recipe perfect for the cookbook.”
    â€œAll right,” she said, knowing she couldn’t resist the Mexican version of French toast, made with authentic piloncillos (brown sugar cones), cinnamon, cloves, and bolillos, a kind of Mexican bread roll fried in a mix of eggs and butter. “What’s different about this version?”
    â€œI used the Madagascar vanilla beans I stored in sugar for six months. I scraped out their innards and put the pods back into the sugar. I’m done with bottled extracts. Too much variation. You can’t count on them. And I cut out two-thirds of the piloncillos when I made the syrup, but I cooked it nearly to the candy stage. Look at the surface where it’s hardened. Perfect for cracking open with a spoon, and it keeps the syrup warm.”
    â€œI think I just gained five pounds listening to all that.”
    He ignored the comment. “Tell me truthfully, is it better? If I don’t get the cookbook to the printers on Monday it won’t be ready for Christmas.”
    She cut a piece with her fork and examined it. The crunchy crust was perfectly browned. The bread floated in the sea of syrup like a sleepy canoe. Once cracked open, that sea revealeda mouthwatering amber caramel beneath the surface. It was funny how pregnancy changed the taste of food. Glory had always favored sour tastes, like pickles and cabbage, but now she craved sugary foods like hot cocoa and marshmallows. The first bite made her smile. The second bite made her groan. After the third bite, she said, “You have to make this for Halle and Bart, Joe. They’ll love it.”
    â€œYes!” He pumped his fist in the air, and the wooden spoon in his hand dripped syrup, which Eddie immediately intercepted. “Excellent. Now I can finish up the cookbook.”
    â€œI’ll miss tasting a new recipe every week. What ever are you going to do with yourself?”
    â€œOh, this is only volume one, my love. There will be others. I have to take a break from writing for a little while. Actually, I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to talk to you about something that happened at Candela.”
    Joseph was on the board of directors of the innovative women’s shelter. Unlike other facilities, which offered brief sanctuary