The Old Fashioned Owl

A simple cake donut with a dash of something secret

That Monday night, the last night of summer, Mattie helped Aunt Molly clean empty donut trays and load them into the gleaming donut case. They had officially sold out.

“So . . . there’s no sign of your owl friend, huh?” Aunt Molly asked.

“Nope,” Mattie shook her head.

Molly reached into the donut case and clicked the display light off. Then she thunked a Strawberry Iced Classic into the palm of Mattie’s hand. “Well, just in case things turn around, why don’t you leave this out? You said they’re his favorite, so I saved one.”

Mattie couldn’t tell how much Aunt Molly really believed about that owl and how much she thought Mattie made up. The donut in her hand was not so much proof of Aunt Molly’s believing but of her love.

Aunt Molly smiled and turned around on her squeaky sneakers to arrange stacks of empty pink boxes with little slips of paper taped to them. They’d sit on the back counter until the next morning, when Molly would have twenty more double decker donut box orders to fill.

Aunt Molly double-checked each order form, not slowing down for a second, not looking suspicious.

“I’ll be home after we close up,” Aunt Molly said. “Go get to bed. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Martín swished past Mattie with the mop.

“G’night Martín,” Mattie said.

He spun the mop around, swishing it all around her until she giggled. “Feliz noche, Mattie,” he said. And he was right, it was a great night.

Mattie walked home alone. The wind pricked up the hair along her arms. The crickets hummed, and a very serious toad was serenading the sky from somewhere down in the river. The redwoods soared upward like dark towers, but there was still no sign of Alfred.

Mattie turned back to check the shop. The outlines of Martín and Aunt Molly at closing time were like dancers who did the same routine every night. Mop the floors, shine the case, take out the trash. Even though they were indoors, it was like they could hear the music of crickets and toads and pounding Big Sur waves. Mattie turned and walked home, feeling like her steps matched that music too.

In the trailer, Mattie had everything lined up for the next day. She had a rainbow of pencils with perfect pink eraser tops. She had three highlighters, four notebooks, a calculator, a protractor, and a florescent pink ruler all packed neatly into her sparkling turquoise backpack. Aunt Molly would slip her favorite lunch into it in the morning. A pesto, cucumber, and cheese sandwich, potato chips, guava juice, and her favorite donut: The Old Fashioned Owl.

Mattie hadn’t really ever thought about how that donut got its name before. Aunt Molly insisted that Mattie’s mom had named it and that Grandma and Grandpa liked the idea since it matched that old sign they’d found. Mattie loved knowing the secret ingredient. A dash of nutmeg.

She slipped on a fresh pair of pajama pants and the soft old T-shirt that had been her mom’s. Then she snuck out onto the deck, balanced the pink donut on the rail, and listened.

But Alfred’s swoop was silent.

Mostly.

He landed on the rail and hopped several times to catch his balance. Crump-crump-crump. Mattie giggled. Alfred bent toward the donut and clacked his beak with pleasure.

“I thought about bringing you a Slug Bar,” Mattie said with a crooked smile. Alfred rustled his feathers, mildly offended. “Aunt Molly made a bunch for the double decker boxes. But those are mostly for tourists, and we’re both home.”

Alfred leaned closer and twitched his ear tufts upward.

Saying the word home made a shiver race down Mattie’s back.

“Did you come to wish me good luck for my first day of school tomorrow?” Mattie asked.

Alfred blinked yes.

That’s what it felt like, anyway, and sometimes the way something feels is the way it is. The glittery gold of Alfred’s eyes reminded Mattie of the school bus, but she wasn’t afraid of that anymore. With the donut shop saved and Sasha back in her best-friend corner, Mattie knew she was ready to ride up Highway One for fifth grade with Sasha . . . and Christian. Beanie was going to ride with them too, but she was only a second grader, which Sasha said barely counts.

There were only two questions Mattie had left to ask Alfred. Questions she didn’t even know she wanted to ask before. Mattie edged closer to Alfred, and he rustled his feathers.

She’d decided to keep going. To grow up and go to fifth grade, because Mom wouldn’t have wanted her be afraid of moving forward. But if she kept growing up, would Alfred still be her friend? She didn’t know any grown-ups who talked to owls. It was something that was starting to worry her.

Mattie took a deep breath.

“Will you . . . will you ever stop talking to me, Alfred?”

Alfred swiveled his head away, to watch the sliver of ocean shushing below the cliffs. The stars twinkled, and a car swooshed around the bend and didn’t stop. When he looked back, Mattie stared at him until he pressed his ear tufts down and clacked his beak.

Of course not.

Mattie smiled. “I’d never stop talking to you either, Alfred. I promise.”

Alfred edged toward the pink donut.

“Just one more question,” Mattie said. “Do you think I’ll ever stop missing her?”

This time Alfred did not look away. He clacked his beak and hopped so close to Mattie that his feathers brushed her arm.

Mattie blinked at the stars and wiped at her face.

They stood there together, just enjoying the night, listening to the cars whoosh by on the highway. Side by side, standing watch over their home. Mattie was glad to be where she was. With Alfred and Aunt Molly and Sasha and Beanie. She didn’t feel bad loving Big Sur so much anymore. She could love it and miss her mom too. At the same time.

Finally, the sign for Owl’s Outstanding Donuts, which stood watch over them all, flickered off for the night.

“Goodnight, Alfred,” Mattie said, backing toward the trailer before Aunt Molly could come clanging out the back door of the donut shop.

Alfred hooted deeply, clutched the pink donut, and swooped across the parking lot. He beat his wings, banked, and flew over the highway. Against the inky sky, the pink treat in his talons was like a shooting star from a dream. His hoots echoed through the trees and past the highway and out over the ocean. Who-who-whooooo . . .

That night, Alfred knew that Mattie would fall asleep with the sounds of Big Sur echoing in her heart, a sound that Alfred could hear nearly a mile away. Maybe farther. A sound that Alfred knew he would never stop listening for, whether Mattie remembered her promise or not. But Alfred believed with every feather that she would.