Page 15 of Don't Leave Me
Three dollars and twelve cents of my precious savings. But now I knew Marie was actually here in the store.
“Did I hear you call the baker Marie? Is that the owner? Marie Campbell?”
“Yes, sir,” the girl, whose name was Candy, according to the tag over her right breast, replied cheerily. “She might be new at this, but in my opinion, she’s the best baker in town. Wait until you taste her coffee. She’s got a secret trick.”
“New at this, huh? I pictured a sweet, old grandmother doing the baking.”
I gave her a flirty smile and she turned pink. It was amazing how applying charm worked with people. It was a skill I had in high school, that somewhere I’d lost along the way.
“Oh, no sir, she’s the opposite of a grandmother. I’ll be right back with your bun.”
I watched her go through the swinging door and tried to catch an image of who was back there. I saw a flash of white apron and short-cropped hair, but that was it.
When Candy returned, she held out a white bag that proved warm to the touch. And a bunch of napkins.
“You’ll need them,” she said.
I nodded and considered my next move. I could simply ask to meet the owner, but thought that sounded forward. This Marie Campbell was a private person. Not prone to marketing herself, certainly. Not prone to providing any information that could be easily found.
So I took my coffee and my hot-out-of-the-oven cinnamon bun across the street to the park bench. One sip of the coffee confirmed Candy was correct. It was delicious. I didn’t know what the secret was, but it might have been the best damn coffee I’d ever tasted. Rich and strong, without any bitterness. How was that possible?
It didn’t compare to the bun, though. Soft, sweet, amazingly gooey. It was like biting into heaven, and I was pretty sure I was making humming noises as I ate it. God, when had anything tasted this good before? When had I ever felt so physically happy?
Then I remembered. In Vegas. After spending a night making love to my wife.
I took another sip of the coffee, tried to enjoy the rest of the sticky bun, and waited. The store hours were seven a.m. to two p.m. Sometime around noon, Candy left. The baking done, Marie was probably able to handle the front and back of the shop alone.
Then, just after two, another woman emerged. Short, thin, cropped red hair. Young. Her back was to me as she locked the store, but it was still evident. In her jeans, flowered T-shirt and Crocs. Too young.
Definitely not my mother.
Then she turned, and I caught a view of her profile and something instantly slammed me in the gut. Her chin, her nose. She looked like Ash, but of course, it wasn’t her. Just a young woman with short, red hair who looked a little like her. I watched her walk to her car. Nothing unusual there. She drove a nondescript, four-door sedan. As she got inside, her back again to me, I found myself wishing I could see her face full on.
If for no other reason than to prove she wasn’t the person I wanted her to be. She drove away in the opposite direction, preventing me from really seeing her.
She wasn’t my mother. There was no reason to pursue this any further. I needed to check this Marie off my list and move on to the next possibility. Only I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Tomorrow, I would have to cough up another three dollars and twelve cents just to get a look at this woman’s face.
* * *
The next day
Marc
“You’re back,” Candy said with a smile.
“The best cinnamon bun and coffee I’ve ever had,” I told her, and it was the truth.
It was later in the day. Just after noon. I’d hoped Candy would have followed the same schedule as yesterday and already be gone, so Marie would have to serve me.
“I told you,” Candy said. “Well, the sticky buns aren’t hot right now, but I could warm one up for you in the oven.”
“That would be great. Marie done baking for the day?” I asked with a smile.
“She is. She needed to go pick up some supplies for tomorrow.”
That explained Candy working later. No doubt covering for her. It also meant she wasn’t here.
