How to Bake a Perfect Life Read Online Free

the suitcase on his shoulder, holds out a hand for the backpack. “Want me to carry that up, too?”
    Katie tucks her thumbs under the straps. “That’s okay. I’m fine.”
    “No problem.” He points at me. “Tell Ramona about the dog.” Katie still hangs at the door, as if she will run away the minute we turn our backs.
    “Dog?”
    “They made me leave my dog. In El Paso. At the airport.” Tears well up in her eyes. “He didn’t have the right carrier and they’ve got him in some container place, but I need to get him here. He doesn’t have anybody else but me, and he’s gonna be so, so scared.”
    “Oh! Your dog. I didn’t know you had a dog.”
    She lifts her shoulders. “I haven’t had him very long. I found him by the railroad tracks. His name is Merlin.”
    I struggle to keep my expression neutral. My cat will not be pleased. And a dog that’s been living as a vagabond might have all kinds of issues, not the least being he might consider cats a good protein source. “How long ago did you find him?”
    In a voice that’s too loud, she says, “The day my mom went to jail. He stayed with me all night, and otherwise I would have been alone. And I’m not leaving him.”
    I tell myself that the child has lost her mother to meth and her father to three tours of duty and she needs something. But I don’t have to be thrilled about it. “Tell you what,” I say. “Let’s call the airport and ask them what we need to do. I’m sure they can put him on another plane right away.”
    “Really?” Her eyes overflow, and the sight goes straight through my solar plexus. I have been this child, this lost and lonely girl. The person in my corner was my aunt Poppy, and I can try to be that person for Katie.
    “I promise I’ll make sure he doesn’t get in any trouble,” Katie says.
    “I believe you.” I gesture toward her. “You must be starving.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Let’s head upstairs, then, and I’ll fix you some lunch.” I point to the glass case, which holds a few loaves from yesterday. “How about some samples of bread?”
    “Okay. I’m really hungry,” she admits. “They only had stuff to buy on the plane.”
    And nobody thought to give you any cash. “Luckily, some bread just came out of the oven. Pumpernickel. Have you ever had it?”
    Katie winces. “Isn’t it all, like, black and stuff?”
    “It is. Let’s find something else.”
    “Wait.” Her chin juts out and she sends me a fierce look. “Is my dad going to die? Please tell me the truth. I can’t stand it when people lie.”
    “Okay.” I pause, considering. “Honestly, I don’t know, Katie. I don’t think so, but he’s badly burned, so it will be a little while before we know for sure.”
    “How bad?”
    “I don’t know that, either. We’ll know more when Sofia calls. She won’t get to the hospital until tomorrow.”
    “Is his face burned?” Her voice cracks.
    “We can ask.”
    “Okay.” Her arms ease, and she puts a hand on her belly. “I guess I can eat now, okay?”
    “Yes.” I wave my arm toward the bakery cases. “Pick some bread and I’ll make you a grilled cheese sandwich, how’s that?”
    “Good,” Katie says. “Thanks.” She dashes a hand beneath each eye, wiping at tears that have leaked out, and peers at the loaves. “Wow. What are all of these?”
    Some tension drains from my shoulders. Bread I know. Bread I love. Bread can hold this young girl in its cozy grip for a moment of peace. “Usually there would be more, but we had a problem outside.” I point, naming the loaves. “Sourdough wheat. The previously dismissed pumpernickel. Oatmeal and sunflower seed. And white.” It’s fresh, maybe still warm, and as fluffy as a cloud. I add a little semolina flour for texture and flavor. “Are you a white-bread kind of person?”
    “I guess.”
    I pull the loaf, light and airy, out of the case. “There’s a reason it has always been so popular.” Yes, I think. White bread will mist