Free The Secret Ingredient of Wishes by Susan Bishop Crispell

Rachel’s skin at the thought, making her shiver. If Catch could do that with secrets, maybe she could make the wishes disappear too. Leaning over the counter for a closer look, she tried to appear nonchalant as she asked, “How does it work?”
    Catch pushed the rolling pin across the dough, a hasty back and forth in the shape of a V . The edges of the circle were scraggly, uneven. “Why? You got a secret to tell?” She eyed Rachel over the table and chuckled.
    â€œJust curious,” Rachel said, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. “So you make magic pies and people think it’s completely normal?”
    â€œOh, they’ll swear it’s not real right up until the day they need my help.”
    Of course people pretended Catch’s magic wasn’t real. It was safer to deny something that couldn’t be defined by the laws of nature than to be branded as crazy. Rachel was living proof of that. But they believed Catch when it mattered. And maybe that made all the difference in whether or not Catch’s magic worked on them.
    Rachel had convinced herself long ago that even having someone believe her about Michael when he first went missing wouldn’t have made a difference. But now she couldn’t help but wonder how differently things might have turned out if just one person had.
    â€œWhy do people still eat your pies? I mean, they have to know the person feeding it to them is trying to keep them from telling anyone what they know.”
    â€œIt’s a give-and-take kind of thing. If they keep someone’s secret, that person will keep theirs when the time comes. My pies are just the insurance.”
    Catch pressed the dough into a tin pan and used a rubber brush to paint words on the bottom in butter. She closed her eyes, her lips moving but no sound escaping, and then wiped her hands on her navy polka-dot apron. Handing Rachel the bowl of peaches, she motioned for her to dump them into the pie crust.
    Whatever Catch had written to bind the girl’s secret had spread out into a thin layer of butter, hiding all traces of the letters. Rachel tipped the bowl down. The slices of fruit marinating in sugar and their own juice tumbled out and mounded in the dish. She took the wooden spoon Catch waved at her.
    She still couldn’t quite wrap her brain around the fact that Catch’s pies were a normal part of life in Nowhere. Would people have accepted her ability as easily if she’d grown up here instead of Memphis?
    Spreading the fruit into an almost even layer, she said, “So, no one thinks you’ve lost your mind?”
    â€œJust because it sounds strange doesn’t mean it’s not true. I’ve baked a pie for nearly everyone in Nowhere at some point in their lives. Some, like the girl we’re making this one for, come to me pretty regular. Ann Louise, bless her heart, couldn’t hold her liquor if she were a cup. And she can’t seem to turn the boys away when she’s a couple drinks in. So I’m thinking maybe it’s not such a bad thing that what I can do helps keep everybody out of her business.”
    â€œMaybe she should just stop drinking,” Rachel said, guilt over her mom’s heavy drinking making her voice go sharp.
    Catch’s head whipped around, ready to put Rachel in her place, but whatever she saw on Rachel’s face caused her own to soften. “That’s not for us to say.”
    Hands shaking, Rachel mumbled, “Somebody should. Before it’s too late.”
    â€œThat may be. But she came to me for pie, not a lecture, so that’s what I’m gonna give her,” Catch said. She slid the pie into the oven, the glass dish scraping over the metal rack in a high-pitched squeal, and set the timer. “If and when she gets to the point where she’s ready for help, she’ll stop coming to me and go to someone who can give her what she needs.”

 
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    Rachel