The Cake House Read Online Free PDF

unasked questions. I tried to peer around Claude’s body to see what was inside it, but he was very careful to block my view.
    “What’s in there?” I asked.
    “Just office-type stuff,” he answered, taking out a pen and a sheet of white paper before folding it up again andlocking it. Sitting next to me on the couch, he wrote the house’s address down on the piece of paper:
    11509 Shangri-La Road, on the corner with Jupiter Lane.
    Shangri-La, the magical sanctuary hidden away in the mountains. My father and I had watched the old black-and-white movie together. Would it take a hundred years to escape this place? And when I did leave, would I shrivel up into an old woman? But in some ways it fit: the big pink house hidden away in the mountains, collecting an odd assortment of individuals over the years. But this wasn’t an idyllic land, and none of us were at peace.
    As if I were a six-year-old child, Claude made me memorize the telephone number as well as the ones for his cell phone and beeper.
    “This is stupid,” I said, but with an annoyed sigh I recited the address back to him.
    “Good girl,” he said, and took both of my hands between his much bigger ones. “I want you to do something for me,” he continued. “I want you to think of what you’re going to say to the social worker when they visit. We don’t know when they’ll come, but you should prepare now. Do you understand? You don’t want to cause any more trouble for your mother.”
    He wouldn’t let my hands go, his cologne so pungent I could taste it. I saw where he’d missed a spot shaving, under his chin.
    I knew then that it was the Child Services visit that had prompted the speed of the front room’s transformation, when, before, he’d let it linger, and that was the reason why Claude was home on a weekday. My anger rose again, but I nodded, and he let my hands go.
    “One more thing,” he said, rising to push the sliding doors open. I hesitated, but mirrored surfaces no longer scared me. The ghost wasn’t limited to a reflection. He could come and go as he pleased.
    I followed Claude onto the back patio, and there, waiting, was a brand-new bike. He wheeled it over.
    “For you,” he said, and I took it. My own bike, a girls’ bike, as pink as the house, with tassels and a basket and wide pedals for my feet. He pointed his finger in his over-the-top way, which I was beginning to realize was his normal way of talking. “Don’t you dare run away.”
    I steadied the bike by its handlebars, the perfect height for me. A cruiser, with a wide, cushioned seat.
    “What do you say, Rosaura?”
    My mother had come down from the third floor and stood inside. She had a pale silk kimono robe wrapped around her, and while her hair was loose and uncombed, it shone golden in the morning light.
    I didn’t want to say it, and she knew I didn’t want to. But I couldn’t see how to get out of it. I had never owned a bike before. I’d learned to ride on Sofie’s bike. It felt solid and real, like its weight belonged in my hands.
    “Thank you,” I said finally.
    He smiled. “You’re welcome.” He patted my head before going in. When he squeezed past my mother, she held herself still, then offered a cheek. His face softened, and he bent his head to kiss her before leaving the two of us alone.
    She stepped down onto the patio. “Are you going to ride away again?”
    There was a bitter edge to her question, and I was uncertain if she was still angry or not. She must have agreed to thechanges for the front room. I knew it was irrational to want to keep it stained and unusable, but I couldn’t help it.
    “Just around the block. If that’s all right with you?” I answered, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my reply.
    Her lips thinned. She seemed ready to yank me to her side again, but instead she lifted her hand and touched my hair, then dropped it to finger my T-shirt. Rings of lazy gray cigarette smoke floated around her head. She was holding a