Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
And even if I didn’t have powers, if I could find some way to cure myself of my Selective Mutism, wouldn’t that be amazing? Maybe I could live a more normal life and be less of a shut-in if I could actually talk to people when I went out.
I remembered the easy way Rath had spoken to the waitress at the diner and how he’d waved at various people around the town. He was clearly a natural extrovert—I envied that about him. I wanted to be able to talk to people without the words sticking in my throat like a lump of indigestible food.
“Well, maybe this tincture stuff will help me do that,” I muttered to myself.
Going down to the greenhouse room, I went down the list of ingredients, carefully gathering what I needed from the various plants and jars. By the time I was done, I had an armful of things which I brought to the kitchen table to carefully sort out.
I made the tincture first but I didn’t try it right away. The recipe said to let it steep for at least an hour, so I put it on the back of the stove, covered it and left it to steep.
Next, I made my piecrust. I’d put my butter in the freezer the minute I got in the door, so it was nice and cold by now. I had put my flour in the fridge as well—the secret to good piecrust is getting all your ingredients as cold as possible.
Next, I got a big glass of ice water and set it to one side while I started cutting the frozen butter into the cold flour. When I had it to just the right consistency, I began mixing in the ice water, a little at a time.
I didn’t need to follow my Grandma’s recipe to make piecrust—I could make it in my sleep. People don’t realize what a difference homemade crust makes. The store bought stuff has an odd, metallic aftertaste—at least to me. It also has way too many artificial ingredients and it’s never flaky enough.
I finished the crust, divided it into two and wrapped both halves tightly. Then I put them in the fridge to rest while I got to work on the apples. When I finished peeling, coring, and cutting them—it took a long time—I squeezed some lemon juice over them and mixed in the sugar and all the spices but the cinnamon, which I was still waiting for. I put them in the refrigerator next to the wine and the crust and started looking through the cabinets for the biggest pie plate I could find.
Luckily, Grandma had a really big one—like twice the size of a regular pie dish. I figured that this one must be “Creature-sized.” She’d probably kept it on hand just to make pies for Rath, who seemed to have been a little bit like her honorary Grandson there at the end.
That would also explain the big, heavy chair at the dining room table that had puzzled me so much yesterday. None of the other chairs would hold the Orc’s muscular weight, I was sure. Grandma must have gone out of her way to get some furniture Rath could sit on while he was visiting her.
I was glad that she’d had company near the end of her life—I just wished I had been there too. I still didn’t understand why my mother had taken me away—or why she felt it was necessary to bind me and bind my magic. (Again, assuming I had any magic.)
It seemed like a cruel thing to do but my Mom hadn’t been cruel. She’d been loving and kind and patient with me. I remembered how she had gone to the school and fought for me, refusing to let the teachers punish me for my inability to speak in class. And she had cried with me too, and held me when I came home upset because I’d been bullied for being mute. Surely she wouldn’t have caused my mutism herself—would she?
I had too many questions and not enough answers, I decided as I put the oversized pie plate on the kitchen table along with a rolling pin I had found in the upper cabinet. Thank goodness I’d made a double batch of pie crust!
Somehow the day had slipped away and the next thing I knew, I heard a knocking on the front door.
“Coming!” I called, suddenly wishing I was wearing something more flattering than yoga pants and a t-shirt. But I could change once I got the pie in the oven, I told myself.
I went to get the door and Sebastian came with me. He hissed and arched his back when I opened the front door and Rath was standing there.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Sebastian is still upset about yesterday, I think,” I said, feeling embarrassed.