CHAPTER
forty-one

It had drizzled for three days straight, and Hugo and I both felt more than a little stir crazy. I’d cleaned everything that could have possibly needed a scrubbing and he’d filled in every page in the coloring book I had for him. There was nothing worth watching on television, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to do with the boy to keep him entertained.

We needed to get out of that house. There was no way around it. But with the rain coming in downpours like it did, I was at a loss for special places to take him.

“Is there any place you’d like to go today?” I asked, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. “Anything you’d like to do?”

“Can we go to the bakery? Please?”

“The bakery? You really want to go there?” I narrowed my eyes. “What would we do there?”

He shrugged. “See Grandpop.”

Even though he’d started calling Pop that a few weeks before, it still warmed my heart every time I heard it in his little voice.

“Well, I suppose,” I said. “You better put your book away.”

He popped up, picking up the book, and dashed to the shelf to put it away. I didn’t think I’d ever seen a child so excited to go watch a few old men work.

I thought maybe the hope of a couple of cookies didn’t hurt matters at all.

I parked as close to the bakery entrance as possible. The ability of my plastic rain bonnet to protect my freshly set hair was questionable at best, even if the downpour had slowed a little since we left the house.

“Let’s run to the bakery real fast, all right?” I said, turning toward Hugo. “Don’t forget to close the car door.”

I got my umbrella up as fast as I could after opening my car door, and I waved Hugo to come out my side so he wouldn’t get wet. But instead of rushing to the sidewalk, I stopped in my tracks.

Across the street, where the old fabric store had long before gone out of business, was a sign posted in the window.

Future Home of Lazy Morning Bakery!

“Oh, the nerve,” I barked. “The nerve.”

“What’s wrong?” Hugo asked.

“Nothing.” I turned, putting my hand on his back and leading him to Sweet Family. “Let’s just get inside.”

We dodged puddles and managed to make our way inside without getting completely drenched. It didn’t hurt that Stan saw us coming and held the door when we got near.

“Well, would you look at who came for a visit,” he said. “Pop, we’ve got some troublemakers out here.”

Pop hobbled out from the back and clapped his hands together, knocking a dusting of flour from them.

“Well, you’re just in time,” he said. “Hugo, wanna try to make some bread?”

“Yes, please,” Hugo said.

“Maybe you could teach your Aunt Betty once you get it figured out.”

“Now, I have no desire to ever learn to bake,” I said, swatting the air in front of my face. “That’s why I married into this family.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Pop asked Hugo. “All the women in this family are headstrong and sassy.”

Hugo looked at me to see if I would laugh. When I did, he covered a small giggle with his hand.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, kiddo. Come here,” Pop said, leaning down and faking a whisper, winking in my direction. “I wouldn’t want these women any other way. Now, come on. Let’s get our hands in some flour.”

They headed to the back, Hugo keeping pace with Pop even though he could have gone faster. Just as they went through the doorway, Hugo turned and looked up at Pop, a grin on his face that nearly melted my heart.

“You see what’s going in over there?” Stan asked, nodding to the Lazy Morning sign. “They just bought the place yesterday.”

“How dare they?” I shook my head and even thought of raising my fist.

“That’s business.”

“What are you boys going to do?” I asked.

“Just keep baking.” He winked at me. “It’s all any of us knows how to do.”

Hugo stood on a step stool pushed up to the counter where Pop had showed him to sprinkle flour on the kneading board. The spare apron we’d hung around his neck and tied behind his back reached well past his knees, halfway to his ankles.

I wished for all the world that I had brought my camera so I could have gotten a picture of that.

“There’s nothing in the world as soft as flour,” Pop said, taking a pinch of it between finger and thumb, rubbing it, letting it sift through back to the board. “You try it.”

Hugo did and smiled.

“Isn’t it nice?” Pop asked. “Now this is what’s going to keep your dough from sticking to everything.”

He nodded at a bowl with a puffy lump of dough.

“Can you lift that out of the bowl?” Pop said. “Just grab the whole thing and plop it on this flour. Just like that.”

Hugo dug his fingers under the dough, pulling it from the bowl and lifting it.

“It’s sticky,” he said, making a face.

“It won’t be after you knead it a little bit. Now put it down. That’s it,” Pop said. “And sprinkle just a little flour on it.”

The front door opened, letting in a cool rush of air. I turned to see Hazel Crawford, the minister’s wife, walking in. She shook the rain out of her umbrella before folding it closed and dropping it into the bucket by the door.

“Betty,” she said, feeling of her hair with both hands and walking to the counter. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Hi, Hazel.” I put my hands in front of myself, clasping them. “I must have missed you at church on Sunday.”

“Were you there?”

“I was.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “The reverend and I have been worried about you.”

“Well, thank you for your concern. I’m doing all right.”

“And the little boy?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Hugo? He’s all right.”

“He’s Clara’s, isn’t he?”

I nodded.

“What’s she up to these days?”

“She’s away.” I put a hand to my stomach, where it seemed a rock had settled. “Hugo’s staying with me for a little bit.”

“How nice.”

“Yes, well,” I said, pulling my mouth into a smile.

It was the same smile I’d used when I was a girl and someone asked after Mother. It was the smile I’d always hoped was believable enough to convince others that everything was fine.

Clearing my throat, I let the smile drop. I was so tired of straining to keep it up.

“Did you come in for some bread today?” I asked. “Or some rolls?”

She nodded. “You know how Jim likes his baked goods.”

It had been years since last I’d stood behind that counter and helped a customer buy a few loaves of bread. Surprisingly, I remembered how to use the cash register and make correct change.

Loaded down with her purchases, Hazel met my eyes.

“Betty, I want you to know that we’re praying for you,” she said. “I know people like to say that to make someone else feel better. But Jim and I really are. If you need anything—anything at all—please let us know.”

I told her that I would and we said our good-byes.

Minutes after the door closed, I heard uproarious laughter from Pop and a belly giggle from Hugo.

“I guess that’s one way to knead the dough,” Stan said. “Pop, where’d you put that ladder? Or do you just want to wait for it to fall down?”

A thunk and another bout of chuckles.

“Well, that answers your question,” Pop said. “All right, Hugo. Let’s try that again.”

The rain was letting up, and I walked around the counter and to the photo of Mom and Pop on the day they opened the bakery. I wondered what she would have thought about everything going on in our lives right then.

When the doctor told her she didn’t have long to live, she didn’t cry and she didn’t get angry. Instead, she got up the next day, went to work, and smiled at everyone who walked through the door. She gave cookies to the children who came in with their mothers, whether they behaved themselves or not. And she let people talk her ear off, complaining about troubles that weren’t half as severe as her own.

She didn’t do all of it to convince everyone that she was all right. She did it because she wanted to squeeze every last joy out of living.

Eventually she was too sick to get out of bed, and I spent as much of my time with her as I could, spooning broth into her mouth when she could stomach it and dabbing her forehead with a cold washcloth when the fevers flared.

“You’re going to be all right,” she’d said to me just a few days before she passed. “No matter what happens, you’ll be okay.”

“It’s going to be hard.” I tried to hold in my tears but failed.

“Of course it will be.” Her eyes were dull by then, her words thick. “But not too hard for God.”

The picture of her on the wall had captured her undying determination.

Goodness. How I missed her.