Free A Tangle of Knots by Lisa Graff

had all been so wonderful.
    Until, suddenly, it was anything but.
    “I went to Africa once,” Toby finished at last.
    Beside him, Cady let out a breath, leaning back against a tall stack of suitcases. “I’d love to go somewhere someday,” she said.
    Toby scooped the last bite of cake onto his fork. “How about today?” Here was his chance. They’d call it a bit of travel, and she’d never have to know the real reason for escaping this dreadful place. “We can go anywhere you want. Europe, Ecuador, Ethiopia.” He tensed his fingers excitedly around the cake plate. His skin felt warm, tingly, at the very idea. “We could be on a plane in an hour if we hurry. Start a new life anywhere at all. What about Switzerland? Wouldn’t that be nice, just you and me and some goats?” Cady fingered the knotted red flowers on her apron. “Or maybe something more metropolitan?” Toby suggested. “Wouldn’t you just love to live in Paris? You could see the Eiffel Tower from your bedroom window, what do you think of that? You must be sick of living in this old place already. The grumpy old man alone is enough to make someone want to leave forever.”
    Cady bent to pick up the fork that had fallen off Toby’s cake plate.
    “Cady?”
    She looked up. “Well . . .” she said slowly, “we can’t go tonight, can we? Because of the bakeoff.”
    Toby shifted his face into a smile. “Of course,” he said. “Tomorrow, then. I mean, assuming it all goes well with Miss Mallory.”
    “Do you think . . . ?” Cady’s voice grew so quiet, it was almost a whisper. “I do want to stay, you know,” she said. “I really like it here. At the Emporium, I mean.”
    Toby let her take his empty cake plate. There were too many things, too many people, who could so easily ruin the life he and Cady had started together. But there was no easy way to tell her all of that. “I really should get back to my work,” he said instead. “Thanks again for the cake.”
    “You liked it?”
    He smiled again, a sincere one. The smiling was getting easier, this week. “I loved it,” he told her.
    Toby might have failed at being a father once, he thought as Cady headed back to the kitchen, but there was no way he was going to fail again. He’d do whatever it took, but he was not going to fail.

18

    The Owner
    T HE KID WAS OUT THE DOOR WITH THE TOOTHPICK BEFORE THE Owner had even realized what happened. The Owner’s first instinct was to chase after him, but then his eyes fell to the powder blue suitcase on the bed. What did he care about a lousy toothpick when his whole life might be in that suitcase?
    Number thirty-six.
    The last suitcase of them all.
    The Owner positioned himself directly in front of the suitcase, ran his fingers over the three dimples by the left clasp. This was the one, he was certain. He flipped open the first latch, then the second.
    Utensils. Dozens and dozens of knickknacks and gadgets were inside. Rolling pins. Eggbeaters. Thermometers. Scoopers, scrapers, slicers, slotted spoons. Toast tongs. Mashers, peelers, corers, mincers, pitters, graters, grinders. Whisks and bags and brushes.
    The Owner flicked them onto the bed by the handful. They littered the bedspread and clattered to the floor. In one of the suitcase’s inner pockets was a black ceramic bird, its yellow beak angled up and open. Useless.
    With one smart jerk, the Owner ripped the faded flowered lining down the seam. He held his breath and felt inside.
    Nothing.
    He checked again.
    Nothing.
    Letting out a terrible roar, the Owner snatched the suitcase off the bed, stormed to the hallway, and chucked it down the stairs. It landed with a thud on top of the circular wooden counter.
    Fifty-three years. He’d spent fifty-three years searching, tracking down every St. Anthony’s suitcase ever made, and it wasn’t there.
    His mother’s peanut butter recipe wasn’t there.

19

    Cady
    C ADY HAD JUST DROPPED TOBY’S CAKE PLATE IN THE SUDSY sink when she