The Baker

The Baker

By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets

Erica was not one of the popular kids growing up. She was taller, heavier, and harrier than most of her classmates, boys included, and she had protruding moles on her chin and cheek. She found it difficult to make friends, which she believed was due to kids asking about her moles too frequently, combined with her aversion to sports or scouts, or anything social for that matter. She was tired of being judged by the perfect kids and preferred to work alone. She practiced piano and clarinet throughout her awkward preteen stage and finally made a place for herself in high school. Her clarinet earned her first chair in the orchestra and by her senior year Erica was chosen to play piano accompaniment for the choir. Her hard work was paying off and it seemed like her wishes were coming true. Erica was in heaven when the music director announced the fall play, “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat”. After three years of straight theater her school was finally doing a musical. Erica would get her chance to shine in front of everyone. She was a shoo-in to play piano for the show. She would get to spend hours practicing with the leads, maybe even become friends with them over the six weeks of afterschool rehearsals. “This will look awesome on my Berklee application!” she told her mom. All walks of life auditioned for the show. Cheerleaders and dancers vied for the part of the Potiphar’s wife. Jocks, skaters and band geeks tried out for Joseph, the Pharaoh, and the cast of characters from the book of Genesis. The entire school was buzzing. As Mr. Able walked into homeroom the screeching of tuning instruments abruptly stopped. The students had their eyes fixed on the aging music teacher, captivated by his every word. “So, I’m sure you’ve all heard about the fall musical. I will hold auditions for pit orchestra this week so please practice the following piece.” Mr. Able handed out sheet music for “Any Dream Will Do” and posted a signup list. When Erica walked into her audition, she was surprised to see an attractive Asian girl sitting at the piano. “Where is your clarinet, Erica?” asked Mr. Able. Her face blushed and she lowered her head, “I thought you would need me on piano, sir… I’ve learned the entire show…I can’t wait to…”. “This is Yatsumi,” Mr. Able interrupted. “She’s new to our school and she’s dynamite on the piano. You’ll be playing your clarinet Erica, and since no-one else has auditioned, congratulations and welcome to the pit orchestra!”

Two weeks after the show closed, Erica got some devastating news. “Your mother has stage three breast cancer. She will not be able to return to the bakery for a while. She needs immediate surgery and extensive chemo and radiation to beat this. It will be a long road, but I know that you and your mom are strong.” Dr. Daily handed Erica some pamphlets about reconstructive plastic surgery and cancer assistance programs in the area. Six months before graduation, Erica packed up her clarinet, withdrew her application to Berklee and put on her apron. Running the bakery was cake for Erica. She had been helping her mom at the shop since she was seven years old. She knew the secret family recipes for carrot cake, red velvet cake and her favourite, chocolate cake. No one could figure out that her chocolate cake was so moist and delicious thanks to a few tablespoons of sweetened apple sauce, and she never revealed her secret recipe. “Death by Chocolate” was her bread and butter. Since her mom’s absence, regular clients were placing orders less often and business was waning. Erica thought that a promotion was in order. The bakery was directly across the street from her high school. “If I can attract the students, I can make bank,” she declared, as she hung the banner. Erica began selling individual slices of “Death by Chocolate” to stoners, nerds, and the rich kids. Hundreds of teens lined up every lunch hour to get a piece. Working twelve-hour days, Erica could not make enough cake to feed the masses. Her nights got longer and longer, but still she could not keep up with the demand. With the extra income from the promotion, she decided to hire some help. Pedro was an attractive 18-year-old immigrant from Brazil. His bronze skin was complimented by luscious dark brown curls and sparkling hazel eyes. He spoke broken English, and Erica tutored him as Pedro taught her to speak Portuguese. Pedro was charming, reliable, and fantastic at baking and frosting cakes. Erica needed him, and she was falling for him. They became close, working long hours in tight, hot quarters. One night after closing Erica asked Pedro if he would like to join her for a movie. To her delight he said yes. They walked hand in hand downtown to the Galleria to catch the last showing of “The Count of Monte Cristo”. They ate popcorn and jujubes and sipped Coca-Cola. When the movie started getting intense Pedro put his arm around her. Erica nestled into his shoulder and felt like she was in paraiso. After the show they made plans to go back to Erica’s. Pedro approached the intersection and pressed the walk button as Erica hung back to check her phone for any updates on her mom who was now living in a nursing home. She was relieved to hear that mom was fine. She had felt a pang of guilt throughout the entire movie. Erica wasn’t used to being happy, yet she was enjoying the butterflies in her stomach. She thought Pedro may kiss her tonight, so she reached into her purse and pulled out a brand-new lip shimmer she picked up at the drug store. She applied a thin pink coat to her mouth, took out her ponytail and ran her fingers through her dark brown locks. As she studied her reflection in the mall window, she heard the squeal of brakes and the collision of metal on metal. She stepped out from under the awning and collapsed with grief when she saw Pedro’s limp body pinned between a Dodge Ram and the light pole. The driver stumbled out of the vehicle, unharmed, and Erica immediately recognized the kid from her school play. He was a senior who drank too much and played the almighty Potiphar in the show. As tears streamed down Erica’s blotchy cheeks, blood was oozing from Pedro’s every orifice. By the time the paramedics arrived, sweet, caring Pedro, seu amor verdadeiro, had taken his last breath.

Three nights later, Erica received a call from the nursing home. “It was a blood clot honey…we tried every life-saving technique. The paramedics were here in minutes. They did everything they could. I’m so sorry Erica, but it was just her time. Your mother is awaiting transport to the funeral home. You will need to contact the director to see to her final arrangements.” Stoic Erica placed a “closed for family emergency” sign on the bakery and followed her mother’s final wishes to a tee. Earth burial, not cremation. Rosemary and lavender, not lilies or orchids. No organ or choir, just a lone guitar player singing Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”. Closed casket, no viewing, no reception, just a brief graveside service with a few remarks from the minister. Erica thanked the last of the attendees and settled-up with Father Bob before the tears streamed down her reddened cheeks. She placed her hand on her mother’s casket and said a little prayer, “Dear God, please give me strength to face the day and see the many blessings it contains…”. While she was trying to gain her composure, her phone buzzed. “This is Officer Deets, I am sorry to inform you that your bakery has been ransacked and vandalized.” When Erica arrived, she didn’t need to unlock the door. The shop window had been smashed in by a cinder block. As she crunched through shattered glass, she found the cash register in pieces, the display cases ruined, and her inventory of cakes smeared across the floor. “At least we can get shoe impressions from these,” encouraged Officer Deets. The ovens were seemingly untouched, so Erica breathed a sigh of relief, “thank God these didn’t get destroyed.” Erica filed the insurance claim and started to put the pieces back together. Ten days later she received a visit from Officer Deets, “so based on the security cameras, the shoe impressions and their identifying markers, we were able to nab the bandits! Four seniors who claim they were pissed because they couldn’t get their slice of “Death by Chocolate” decided to retaliate. I’m so sorry this happened Erica, especially while you were burying your mom, but they will be punished…and pay restitution.” As Deets drove off the word bounced around Erica’s head, “restitution…”. She thought back to her mom’s cancer diagnosis… dropping out in her senior year… withdrawing her application to Berklee… losing seu doce Pedro… and losing her brave and independent mom. She raised her head and wiped her soggy tears with her apron as Mr. Able approached the bakery. “Erica, I am heartbroken to hear about your mother… and your shop. These are the times that try our souls, but I know that you are strong. Here’s a little ray of light. Did you hear that Yatsumi received a late acceptance to Berklee? Evidently someone being considered withdrew their application. Isn’t that great news! I’ll be sure to tell her you send your congratulations, and by all means, let me know if you need anything.” Erica worked diligently to repair her shop and when the insurance money finally came through, she replaced the front window and the cash register. With some fresh paint and new display cases the bakery looked fantastic. The grand re-opening was a huge success. The new banner offered extra thick slices for half price to all graduating seniors. Erica baked night after night, and day after day they lined up at lunch time. Greedy fingers reaching out for their slice of heaven, “Death by Chocolate”, with a secret lump of apple sauce… and a special dash of strychnine.