Page 176 of Bone Deep
Bette smiles. “He's been coming back by himself.”
“What?” I ask.
“He brings fun hats and scarves that he made,” Betti says. “And he plays cards with us.”
Bette nods. “A good egg, that one.”
Spence blows out a breath through his nose. “I really shouldn't be surprised.”
I bump my shoulder into his. “He's had a good influence in his life.”
That earns me a look.
Betti reaches up and squeezes my forearm. “I have something for you.”
I look down at her. “What is it?”
“Stay put.” She pats my arm. “I'll be right back.”
“I'll be right here.”
She disappears down the hall.
A few minutes later, Spence heads to get coffee while I sit with Bette. We spend the time telling stories, remembering Betty. The time she pranked the residents she didn’t like by telling them it was ‘Disco Day’ in the community center—and to come dressed appropriately. The time she hid another resident's hearing aids because he complained about her blasting Dean Martin at top volume. The time she threatened to take me out back and whoop me after I beat her at cards. By the time Spence returns with coffee, we’re laughing through tears.
When Betti returns, she's carrying a box. It's beautiful—turquoise with gold flecks swirling through it. She sits beside me and carefully slides it across the table.
I stare at it, confused.
“Open it,” she says.
My heart starts beating harder. I glance at Spence. He looks just as curious. Slowly, I lift the lid.
The first thing I see is an envelope. My name is written across the front in shaky handwriting. Below it sits a stack of recipes, handwritten on recipe cards, notebook paper and scraps of parchment. Dozens of them.
I swallow hard. Carefully, I lift the envelope out. Inside is a single recipe. The title at the top reads:
BETTY’S POLISH COFFEE CAKE.
A sob catches in my throat. Tears immediately spill down my face.
Beside me, Betti wraps her tiny hand around my wrist. “She gave us strict instructions,” she says softly, “that when her time came, these were for you and only you.”
I can't speak. I can barely breathe. I just nod, over and over. When I go to slide the recipe back into the envelope, a small folded note slips free and flutters onto the table. I unfold it carefully.
The second I read it, I lose it. Not with tears, with laughter. Big, loud, uncontrollable laughter.
The note reads:
Ryan,If you share this recipe with anyone, I will haunt you until the end of time.I love you,Queen B
Tears stream down my face as I laugh. I set the note on the table. Bette, Betti, and Spence all lean forward to read it.
A beat passes. Then all four of us erupt into full-bellied laughter—the kind that hurts, the kind that heals, the kind that comes from loving someone enough to miss them.
Around the room, several residents look over at us like we've completely lost our minds.
And honestly? I think Betty would have loved that.
