CHAPTER
fifty-one

The elementary school was close enough for Hugo to walk all by himself—just around the block and at the end of a dead-end street—and he knew the way. Still, I went with him on that first day, holding his hand not because he needed me to reassure him.

I was the one who was nervous.

“It’s only half a day,” I said, more to comfort myself than him. “You’ll be home before lunch.”

“I know,” he answered.

We reached the sidewalk that led to the front steps of the building. “You remember where your classroom is?”

“We saw it last week.” His forehead wrinkled. “Are you scared, Aunt Betty?”

I sighed and smiled.

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said.

Bending my knees, I met eyes with him and put my hands on his shoulders.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” I said, straightening his collar.

I looked right into his smiling eyes and wished that Clara could have been there to see her brave boy.

“One last picture?” I held up the camera and caught his handsome smile. “Thank you.” I turned his little body toward the building. “Have a good morning, Hugo. I’ll be right here waiting when you’re done for the day.”

He looked at me over his shoulder once as he raced his way to the school.

My heart only ached a little.

I made it to the bakery just a few minutes after leaving Hugo at the school. But in those minutes of driving, I’d boo-hooed more than I’d expected to.

No one had prepared me for how hard that morning was going to be.

Harder yet was trying to find a parking spot. It seemed most of the town had shown up for the grand opening of Lazy Morning.

Tenderheartedness turned to feelings of being betrayed turned to downright frustration when I had to park two blocks away.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid Lazy Morning,” I said.

But only in my car and quiet enough that no one would be able to hear me through my rolled-up windows.

“How’d our guy do?” Stan asked when I finally rushed in through the back door. “First days are always a little scary.”

“He had no problem,” I answered. “I’m proud of him.”

“Glad to hear it.” He nodded at the back wall. “Marvel washed your apron so it would be ready for you.”

There on the wall, hanging from a hook, was the apron Mom Sweet had made me years before when Norm and I first got married. It was a pretty pink color—nearly coral—and had a frill along the bottom in white. Along the neck, Mom had embroidered a swirling stem in green that unfurled into a little daisy.

I traced that embroidery, remembering how excited Mom had been to give it to me and how touched I’d been to receive it.

I’d been delighted to own something so pretty.

I put the apron over my head, surprised to find that the strings still reached around my waist after all those years.

If I pretended hard enough, I could almost imagine it was a hug from Mom.

Pop was out front, standing on the other side of the display case with Mrs. Brown. She was the only customer in the store, and when I looked out the front window I could see a line coming out the front of Lazy Morning.

I wondered if Mrs. Brown had come to Sweet Family after losing patience with waiting.

“Now, you know Orville better than I do,” Pop said. “But if I’m right about what bread he likes, that’s a new one he should try. Nice and crusty on the outside and chewy on the inside.”

“He just might like that,” Mrs. Brown said, taking her change purse from her handbag. “How much would you like for it?”

“Tell you what, Betty there’s going to get it wrapped up for you.” He nodded at me. “How about you and your husband try that for your supper. No charge. If you like it, I’ll let you buy the next loaf.”

“Well, I can’t let you do that,” she said, but she dropped her change purse into her handbag just the same.

“Sure you can,” he said, watching me put the loaf into a brown bag. “I know you’ll like this so much, you’ll want to buy one every week. Maybe even twice a week.”

“I’m sure that I will.” She took it from me when I extended it over the counter, giving Pop her thanks in return.

When she walked out the door, he sighed, turning to go back to the kitchen.

“She would have paid for it,” I said, calling after him.

“Oh, I know, Bets,” he said, stopping in the doorway and holding the jamb for support. “But do you think she’ll get that kind of treatment across the street?”

“I don’t think she would.” I tried for a smile, but all I could manage was a soft sigh. “Did you know that years ago, when my father, Clara, and I first moved to town, Norm gave us a loaf of bread every week?”

“Said it was part of the rent?” Pop asked, grinning. “Yes, I knew about that.”

“Was it?” I asked. “Part of the deal?”

“Nope. It was not.” Pop shook his head. “The boy insisted on paying for every loaf out of his own pocket change even though we told him he didn’t have to.”

“Why did he do that?” I asked.

“He said it was something he wanted to do by himself.” Pop’s eyes grew every bit as watery as mine. “That’s his mother in him, you know.”

He went to the back, and I heard the squeak of his office chair when he sat down.

I never thought the man gave himself enough credit.