Short Story Contest Second Place Winner!

Hey guys! I was supposed to post this Monday, but . . . life happened XD. I'm eager to present you all with our SECOND place winner, though!!

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G. K. ELLIOTT!

G. K. crafted a gorgeous story full of lovely descriptions, an intruiging character, and a creative use of the prompt! I found it hard to put down, and it kept me hooked till the end! I almost felt like I could step into the story and be there right along Evangeline, making that apple pie. Congrats, G. K! I'll be reaching out to you over YDubs to discuss prizes ;)

Now for her story!

Ingredient 11

The cold snapped at Evangline through her gloves, fuzzy socks, and combat boots, teasing her little cold heart. Eva huffed old Jack Frost away with a warm breath. She refused to pay him mind.

Her fingers wiggled like shivering worms in the pockets of her knitted cardigan, nearly screaming at her to go back inside, to where the fire blazed so warmly. But no, not yet. She was almost through the apple orchard to the tree where she would find the most golden-sweet apples. They tasted like sundrops from heaven. And the cold was almost distracting enough to tear her mind away from the sadness lingering in the corners of her heart. The melancholy simply refused to go away.

There, the tree was ahead of her. She stomped over wet tendrils of dry grass, through the trees dripping sunlight from their fiery leaves to a large tree in the midst of the smaller ones. This tree's leaves weren't red or orange, they were bright yellow. The few apples still lingering on its branches were perfectly golden and solid. Monica had asked her how the tree was faring yesterday, but Eva had neglected to respond.

She picked the apples in haste, their freezing dew shocking her hands. After rubbing some of the dew off on her tattersall wool skirt, she shoved the apples into the pockets of her dark blue cardigan. Since the pockets no longer had room for her hands, Evangeline fingered the tufts of white on the cardigan which resembled the moon and stars as she made her way back home.

The orchard opened up to a little lawn of unmowed and dying grass, complete with an oak tree spilling leaves and acorns. It waved her on towards the small blue house, the back door left ajar. Inwardly cringing at her own forgetfulness, Evaneline hurried to shut it. Heaps of cold would have entered the house by now. Even the fire couldn't combat that.

Evangeline hopped inside and pulled it shut, the red and white patterned curtains on the window flying up in a whirl with the force of her slam. Pumpkin decorations had taken over their home as soon as the first leaf had fallen. That was what greeted Evangeline as soon as she exited the mud room, slipping off her boots, a fresh batch of mini pumpkins on the table, begging to be carved and painted.

Looking around for her mother, the source of all the pumpkins, Evangeline spotted the cookbook on the counter, and was bitterly reminded of her task. Her little brother had requested apple pie.

But the only recipe she could find was in . . . that book.

Grimacing inwardly, Evangeline dug the apples from her stretched pockets and dumped them on the countertop, shepherding them into a pile as they made a frantic rolling escape. It would have been easier if it wasn't just her, Evangline thought. Much easier.

She glanced at the cook book open on the counter, its pretty pages a collage of fall colors and cute notes. Peel the apples . . .

Alright. Simple enough. She then cut them into slices, and took the dough from the fridge. The assembly was a bit complicated, and she finished with a chewed lip and echoes in her mind.

Just like that, Monica would have said. Perfect. You agree?

Absolutely. It's a piece of messy art.

Then Monica would have given her a high five. They would have watched their favorite autumn show together until it finished baking. Then they would have eaten it through giggles, teasing, and unrelenting smiles.

Rolling her eyes to spite the tears that threatened to fall and freeze on her cheeks, Eva continued her baking, dusting the pie in cinnamon and sugar, completing the lattice atop the pie. The cook book was a gift from Grandma, who'd found it at an old thrift shop on the coast. It had been Eva and Monica's mission to complete every autumn recipe in it before Monica left for college.

She glanced back at the cookbook.

. . . and, once finished, add a dash of ingredient 11.

Ingredient 11?

She looked back to the ingredients, counting them down until she found the last one, ingredient 11. Tears of joy.

What the heck? What kind of ingredient was that? She almost burst out laughing at the stupidity. In frustration and anger, Eva slammed the book shut and pushed it away. It slid to the edge of the counter, nearly falling. She grimaced, and trudged away from the kitchen, towards the front door where she tugged her trench coat off the hook and pulled it on, squeezing out the door.

The sidewalk was still dark from the spattering of rain they'd received that morning, and the Sun was slowly descending, spewing rays through the trees. Acorns tumbled out of trees and were strewn across the road. Before too long, Roach hopped over a fence to join her.

Roach, the neighborhood cat, was black as night, and she always knew when Eva was sad. She skittered between Eva's legs, showing affection whether Eva wanted to pet her or not. Thankfully, Roach was rewarded with scratches and pats. She mewed.

"I miss Monica, too," Eva sighed quietly. "I can't believe she left us."

Crouching on the sidewalk, Evangline set her head in her hand. A tear of joy, huh? Who were they to ask that of her? She groaned. Roach jumped and skittered away at the sound, leaving Eva alone. She rolled her head to the side, watching the mountains towering above the houses in the distance. Fog ate away at them, and the sun was rolling towards them too quickly. Another day had sped away from her. Another day without Monica.

But the Sun was still shining.

Eva sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve, shaking her head in disdain. It shouldn't continue, not while she was still in the past. The world was leaving Eva behind.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

At least . . . nothing she wanted to do about it.

Eva trudged home.

When she clonked back through the door, her pie was still waiting patiently on the counter for its last ingredient. Sniffing, Evangline approached it and bent over the cook book once again. The page was coffee-stained, and the recipe had been scribbled in someone's own hand. Pictures of the apple pie were glued to the other side. When Eva turned the page, she found it empty. Each page after that was the same.

She pursed her lips, then plucked her phone off the counter. Perhaps it was time to catch up with the world.

"Monica?" she asked after the line stopped ringing.

"Hey, Ev! Nice to hear from you. What's up?"

Eva smiled. "I just wanted to let you know . . . I'm making that apple pie recipe. The one from the cook book."

Monica gasped. "Without me? Girl, you better send pictures!"

Laughing, Eva rolled her stinging eyes. "Of course I will. You know me."

"I do know you, maybe too well." They laughed.

"Listen, there's a bunch of empty pages at the end of the book. When you're here next we should add some new recipes!"

"Oh my goodness, absolutely! That's a great idea!"

"Glad you think so." Eva went quiet for a moment.

"I miss you, sis. See you at Thanksgiving," Monica said.

"Yeah, see you."

And the line went dead.

She set her phone down softly, sighed deeply, and despite herself Eva smiled. She smiled as she remembered all the time Monica and her had spent together, and she smiled to think of the time that was to come. It was alright to miss her.

Eva sighed, hardly noticing the happy droplets racing down her cheeks until one reached her mouth. Eyes widening, she gingerly wiped them away and let them drip atop the pie. Who knows, maybe it would make the pie taste better. Perhaps that truly was the secret ingredient.

She slid it into the oven, and watched it turn golden and bubbly.

"That smells wonderful!" Her mother said, waltzing into the kitchen as soon as she pulled it out.

"I need a piece," her brother begged, wafting the smell towards his nose.

Eva laughed, waiting until it was cool to cut them both pieces.

Her brother gasped. "It's so good!"

"What's the magic ingredient?" her mother said through bites. "Eva, this is the best apple pie I've ever had!"

Eva chuckled as she cut a slice for herself. "The secret ingredient? It's joy."

Outside, frost tickled the windowpanes, but the kitchen glowed safe and warm.