Page 100 of Resilience

She’d also forgotten the errand her mother had asked of her that morning: to run by the Sun-Flour Bakery and pick up something for dessert. So Athena backed out of the driveway and headed off again.

The Sun-Flour was only a few miles from the house. Jerry Ravelle, the owner and head baker, was deaf, so he, his wife Ann, and their son Pete were all fluent in ASL.

Though she didn’t speak, Athena could shop at stores where the staff didn’t know ASL. She had an app in her phone that pronounced an array of common statements for an array of scenarios, including shopping, and she kept her notes app handy for anything a canned statement couldn’t help with. For the understanding-them part, she read lips. It was a pain in the ass, and hit or miss whether she was getting it right, but it was something—and now that she had Blanche, there was no more initial awkwardness where the clerk didn’t know Athena couldn’t conduct her business exactly like everybody else. Blanche’s work vest said HEARING SERVICE DOG DO NOT PET, so as soon as they saw the dog, clerks knew Athena wouldn’t hear them.

Thus, she wasn’t limited only to Deaf-friendly businesses—good thing, since there weren’t many. But there was nothing like going into a shop and knowing she was not only welcome, but she was the normal one there. Shops like the Sun-Flour were inside her happy bubble of normal life.

It was late, and the shop was about to close—literally; Mr. Ravelle was carrying the little café chairs and tables off the sidewalk as Athena pulled up. He saw her and grinned as he set his burden down so he could greet her.

“Hi Athena! How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, Mr. Ravelle. How are you? How’s Mrs. Ravelle?”

“She’s wonderful as ever. She’s inside and will be glad to see you. It’s been a minute.”

“Yeah. I’ve been crazy busy this fall. I’m sorry to come so late, but we’re having friends over for dinner. Mom asked me to pick up dessert, but I forgot. Is there anything you’ll still sell me?”

“Sell you? I don’t know about that. By now, everything’s a little aged, so you can have whatever you want. Come on in and see if there’s anything left you like.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll pay. You should get paid for your hard work.”

Mr. Ravelle grinned. “Just hire me to do your wedding cake when you find The One.”

Athena laughed. “If I ever get married, it’s a promise.”

She hadn’t thought she wanted to get married, or have kids, or do any of the white-picket-fence stuff, but with Sam ... maybe. The marriage part, anyway. Maybe. Or they could just live together forever. That would be okay, too. The forever part was for sure. The rest of it was negotiable.

Following Mr. Ravelle into the shop, Athena took a deep, enticing sniff. Coffee and pastries: few scents could beat that one. Mrs. Ravelle was hunched behind a glass case, wiping the shelves. She saw Athena through the front and grinned, then stood.

“Athena! How are you, crumb bun?” Mrs. Ravelle had silly food nicknames for most of her long-time customers, particularly the ones she’d first met as children.

“I’m good, Mrs. R. You look great. I like your new cut.”

Mrs. Ravelle patted her hair. “Thank you. Are you looking for something sweet?”

“She needs dessert for her mama’s dinner party,” Mr. Ravelle told her. “She forgot to come by earlier.”

“Well, we can’t let a dinner party end without a sweet touch, can we? Let’s see what we’ve got left that’s worthy.” She turned and studied the mostly empty pie spinner. “There’s a pecan, a pumpkin cheesecake, and an apple—no! I have it. We’ve got one maple apple pie left. Your mama ordered that last year, and I think your dad really liked it.”

“I remember. He did. A lot. We all did. That would be great!”

As Mrs. Ravelle packaged the pie in a pink box, Mr. Ravelle returned to the front to keep pulling the seating in from the sidewalk.

Mrs. Ravelle finished the packaging off with a piece of paper tape covered in pink sunflowers and a rose-gold foil sticker on the top with the shop’s logo. Then she asked, “Can your baby have a treat?”

Athena glanced down at Blanche. She was working, but Athena could give her treats on the clock. She also realized that the Ravelles hadn’t met her dog yet.

“Yes, thank you! This is Blanche.”

“She’s beautiful.” Mrs. Ravelle opened the glass canister of baked dog treats and withdrew one shaped like a fall leaf. “Peanut butter.”

Athena took the treat, turned to Blanche, and asked her to shake. She sat promptly and offered her shaggy paw. “Good girl!” Athena signed and gave her the cookie—and Blanche thought that was one of Athena’s better ideas.

“Please let me pay for the pie,” she told Mrs. Ravelle. “It’s too beautiful to be free.”

“It’s a gift. Don’t make a gift about money, crumb bun.”

“Sorry. Thank you.”

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