How to Bake a Perfect Life - Barbara O'Neal [82]
Back at the bakery, we have a lot of work to do to get ready for an extra day of sales. Katie is a great runner, dashing into the front with a tray of muffins, dashing back with whatever empties there might be. Heather is training her how to use the cash register, how to protect the breads and pastries when bagging them, how to make small talk. Customers like her, especially the old folks.
She’s making change for one of our regulars, a slim beauty in her sixties, when Sofia calls on my cell phone. “Hi, Mom. Is this a good time? Is Katie around?”
It’s hard to tell whether the news is good or bad. I glance over at Katie, wrapped double in a baker’s pale-green apron. “She’s here. Is everything okay?”
“It’s good. Um, Oscar’s awake. I wanted to tell Katie in person.”
“Oh, my God, Sofia! That’s fantastic! Let me get her.”
“Mom.” Her voice is serious. “There’s more to this. I’ll call you when you’re up by yourself, okay? Tonight.”
“Sure. Anytime, Sofia. Anytime you want to call me, I am always here.”
“Thanks, Mom. I know.”
“Let me get Katie.” Holding the phone to my chest, I duck behind the counter and crook my finger, then point to the phone. “Sofia is on the phone.” I smile. “Good news.”
Her eyes widen, and she pulls off her cap as if her hair is some magic protection. She takes the phone through the side door to the porch. “Hello?”
I leave her to it, rubbing the dull spot between my ribs where worry lives. What is the rest of the story? I hate it that Sofia is alone, pregnant and afraid. Maybe, I think, going back to the kitchen, I should close the bakery and go to her. Katie and I could help her—
Great idea, says some cynical voice, and what will you live on? The bakery might be in trouble, but at the moment we are still afloat, and it is the only revenue stream I have.
But I hate it that she’s so alone. It makes me feel helpless. As I return to the tasks at hand, I poke the problem from a dozen directions.
Katie bounces back into the kitchen. “He’s awake! My dad is awake!” she cries, and for the first time ever, she flings her arms around me. That’s when I realize that she’s grown taller than me this past week or two, and her arms are powerful with all the gardening and baking. I hug her back. “Sofia thinks it was my letter that helped him wake up.”
“Hooray!” When she lets go, I point upstairs. “By all means, you should write him another one right now.”
She leaps toward the stairs, then whirls around. “What time are your aunts coming over?”
Poppy and Nancy are coming down for dinner. “Five. I know it’s early, but I have to get to bed.”
“I know. I just wanted to get it in my head. Do you think I should put on something nicer?”
“Sure.” I smile through my worry. “We’ll make it a celebration of your dad’s awakening.”
“Thank you!” She whirls around and dashes for the stairs, and I think of Tinker Bell, moving like a dragonfly, feet barely touching the floor.
Katie
When Katie signs on to the Internet to write to her dad, there is an email from her mom. Katie’s heart leaps into her mouth, and she opens it as fast as she can, looking over her shoulder in case somebody comes upstairs and catches her.
TO: KATIEWILSON09872@NOMECAST.COM
FROM: LACEYMOMSOLDIER@PRT.COM
SUBJECT: GETTING BETTER ALL THE TIME
HEY BABY!! I WAS SO HAPPY TO SEE A EMAIL FROM YOU, SORRY THAT YOURE DAD IS WONDED, BUT HE IS STRONG, HE’LL GET BETTER FAST YOU WAIT & SEE. DOING GOOD HERE. ON THE STRATE ROAD FOR 23 DAYS NOW, WHICH IS THE BEST I’VE DONE FOR A LONG TIME. MET SOME NEW FRENDS HER AND HOPE YOU CAN COME SEE ME SINCE THEY AINT GONA LET ME SEE YOU ANYTIME SOON, MAYBE IF YOU CAME