by Matayo, Amy
I frown. She came back to the bakery that late?
“You’re welcome.” I change the subject. “You know, staying in a downtown hotel probably wasn’t the best idea. I thought of that around 2:00 a.m. when a bulldozer dumped what must have been twelve tons of broken concrete right outside my room.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I probably should have warned you, but I didn’t.”
“Thanks for that.”
“No problem.” She holds the coffee pot up a little. “Want some?
“I want all of it.” I slide onto a barstool between the two other patrons. “And before you ask, I forgot the mug. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”
I catch her smile just before she turns for an empty cup. “You better bring it back. Otherwise, it’ll cost you four dollars and ninety-seven cents. I’m tired of buying new ones.”
“People have been stealing your Mae-ke Me A Cake mugs, have they? Cute name, by the way.”
“Thanks. And I’ll have you know there’s high demand for my mugs around here. Someone grabbed two just last week.”
About twelve different quips try to claw their way out of my mouth, but I swallow them down. Smarter to pick up the coffee she’s just poured and take a long drink, even if it does burn my throat.
“Two stolen mugs are practically a felony.”
“It is. Plus I broke three, so there’s that.”
I smile. “So really the lack of mugs is more your fault than anyone else’s?”
“That’s not important.”
I laugh over the top of my mug. “Still want to leave around ten?” I called the officer’s number earlier, but he didn’t answer. Our best bet at this point is to show up at the police station and ask for information, even if we’re forced to wait a while. I highly doubt Riley will be okay with it, but for today it’s the only option we’ve got.
“Yep, I’ll be ready in just a few minutes. First, I need to take care of the customers.” She reaches for the coffee pot. “Mr. Joyner, can I get you a coffee to go? Maybe wrap up a scone for you to take with you?”
Scones. That’s what I smell all over the room. I assumed she only made cupcakes, so the addition of a different option surprises me. The scent of butter and cream hovered over the sidewalk outside, and my stomach began to growl before I walked in the door.
“I’d appreciate it, if you don’t mind. And a cupcake. I’ve been looking forward to seeing what you have for me today.”
There’s a flash of something in Riley’s eyes I can’t quite make out. It looks a bit like worry, but all I feel is surprise. With everything going on around her…she’s continuing to make cupcakes? I assumed last night was a one-time thing since they were left over from before the storm. With relief trucks lining the streets, soup kitchens and FEMA handing out freeze-dried meals and packaged crackers to help ward off hunger, the idea of Riley baking cupcakes seems slightly unnecessary. More than slightly—just under insane. Cupcakes are a luxury. Scones are as well. This is hardly the time for luxuries, and she has enough work to do already.
Riley works up a smile. “I will absolutely bring you a cupcake. Can you wait a few minutes while I work something up?”
Mr. Joyner nods. Something about it seems sad and forlorn. “Got no place else to go, Miss Riley. Not today.”
His tone is a slow cut to the heart. Maybe a cupcake isn’t such a bad idea after all.
“What about you, Amanda? Would you like one, too?” Riley’s voice is shaky but determined.
I assume Amanda is the girl with the book, but I don’t turn around to see. She must have said yes because Riley smiles. It’s a watery one; I see the unshed shimmer in the corners of her eyes.
She makes eye contact with me before disappearing into the kitchen.
Only a few minutes pass when she comes back out, a plate in each hand and another foam to-go container tucked under her arm. I hope she has plenty of these because something tells me she’s going to need them in the coming days.
She sets the first plate down in front of Mr. Joyner. “Here you go. I hope you like it.”
He laughs quietly, so I sneak a look over his shoulder to see what she’s done. A vanilla-frosted cake sits in the middle of the plate, decorated with a picture of a red boxing glove. Though I don’t know Mr. Joyner’s situation, the picture explains what she’s trying to communicate. He’s a fighter. This town is made up of fighters. They’ll make it, even if it takes every round to win.
“Thank you, Miss Riley. That means a lot.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Joyner. And here’s your scone, warmed up the way you like it. I put some butter inside the container in case you need some.”
He thanks her again while Riley walks the second plate over to Amanda.
“Here’s yours, sweetheart,” Riley says. This time I turn around in time to see Amanda’s small smile. It’s the only acknowledgment she offers, but for Riley, it’s enough. She pats Amanda’s shoulder in a show of camaraderie and walks away. On top of her cupcake is a stack of three books. I’m not sure what the message is, but it means something the two of them understand.
“Not everything has to change, Amanda.”
That’s all she says, but there’s a message in the sentiment. When chaos reigns all around, the simplest things can keep you grounded if you let them. Amanda may not have much, but she still has her books and a place to read them.
“Awfully sweet of you, Miss Riley,” Mr. Joyner says softly. He picks up the foam container and sniffs. “Everyone needs one of your scones. A bit like being in England without the hassle of flying.” He offers her a sheepish nod. “And your cupcakes brighten even the worst situations. I hope you don’t mind that I wandered in earlier. Just wasn’t sure what else to do.”
She sets a lidded coffee cup in front of him and shakes her head. “Of course, I don’t mind. And I’ll tell you what? Why don’t you come back in the morning and I’ll see what else I can offer you? If you don’t have anything better to do, that is. You’re both welcome here, okay?”
The girl looks up and blinks, then slowly nods her head before returning to the book and slowly picking up the cupcake. She licks the frosting but doesn’t say thank you. Riley doesn’t seem to need it. I watch her as she wanders around the room, picking up wrappers and pushing in chairs as she goes. The place is in shambles, but the mess doesn’t stop her from trying. Eventually, she stops in front of me and refills my coffee. The steam wafts upward, engulfing me with a sense of home. I miss it, but it strikes me that I’m already content here. Riley sets the coffee pot back on the burner.
“Awfully nice of you to open your shop in the middle of this mess,” I say. “I thought yesterday you said you were closed for repairs.”
She fingers an empty straw wrapper and shrugs. “That was before they came in. And of course, you and Bella. Speaking of, are you ready to go?” She pulls off her apron to reveal a graphic tee shirt that says “Frankly My Dear” across the front. She doesn’t turn around, so I’m unable to see if that thought comes to fruition on the back.
“What about—?” I frown at the room and the people still in it.
She looks out and raises her voice slightly. “I’ve got to close up now, but I’ll be open tomorrow at nine. Alright, guys?”
Both Mr. Joyner and Amanda hastily stand up. While he smiles and shakes Riley Mae’s hand—bringing her knuckles up to plant a kiss on them—Amanda simply picks up her book and walks out without a word. I wait until they’ve both left to say anything.
“What is up with the kid? I know she’s hurting, but a thank you doesn’t cost anything.”
She doesn’t look at me while she turns off the light, doesn’t say a word until we’re on the sidewalk.
“Two days ago she lost her mother and the home she grew up in. As for Mr. Joyner, his trailer home blew off and landed in the lake. They’re both in shock and don’t know how to handle it. I don’t need a thank you. It’s my privilege to have them. If I didn’t let them come back in, where exactly
would they go?”
I feel it, the weight of judgment sitting on my shoulders—not Riley’s, but my own. It’s my go-to, the way my mind automatically leans, even if I’m just now starting to recognize what it looks like in the mirror.
There’s a special name for someone who comes to assist with tornado relief and then proceeds to judge the victims. When I figure out what it is, I’ll let you know.
“But I was told to come down here when I called earlier. I spoke to a…Betty Sue?” Dear God, the names here are worse than in Nashville. There, at least, everyone sticks with just one name. “Can I speak with her now?”
The woman in front of me doesn’t look up from her computer. “I’m Betty Sue.” My heart leaps a little at the news. “But I’m afraid I can’t give you any information about the child. She’s a minor.”
Of course, she’s a minor; we established that bit of information when I called this morning. I rap the counter with my fist as Riley clears her throat next to me, a sound meant to remind me to stay cool. I spare her a brief glance and temper my tone more than I intended to. “Then why did you tell me to come down here? Just so you could give me the disappointing news in person?”
Betty Sue still hasn’t looked at me. “I told you to come down here because that’s protocol. See? It’s written right here on the sign.”
Puzzled, I glance past her shoulder and read the words she’s pointing to. Sure enough, there’s a list thumb-tacked to the wall two feet beneath the clock. One, greet the customer in a friendly manner. Two, never deliver personal information over the phone. It’s a stupid rule, and an even stupider list.
“So you’re not willing to tell us anything at all? Not even if she’s safe?” A hand touches my wrist and tugs backward, Riley’s way of telling me to back off. The smile on her face is one I’ve seen before, full of patience and kindness, but a little too enthusiastic. She aimed it at me when she told me she was coming with me this morning. I can testify firsthand that it’s very persuasive. I back up and let her move forward.
“What my friend is trying to say is, we’re really worried about Bella. That’s the little girl’s name. You see, we found her last night and took care of her at my bakery for an hour and—”
“Ma’am,” Betty Sue interrupts. “I don’t care if you gave birth to her in the back seat of your car. Unless you have proof that you’re a relative, I can’t give you any information about her. Now, if you’ll please step back so I can help the man behind you. Next.” She waves a hand and looks around Riley to the next person in line. And just like that, we’re dismissed. So much for persuasive.
That enthusiastic smile disappears faster than a magician’s bunny at a kid’s birthday party.
Riley walks with heavy steps and sinks into a chair. I lower myself next to her and sit in silence. We tried. What else can we possibly do?
“She’s so mean. I can’t believe she won’t tell us anything. People act like it’s a crime to care about a kid. This is what’s wrong with the world today.”
I resist the urge to smile at her dramatics. Riley Mae has nothing on my great-grandmother.
“I think she’s just trying to keep her job.”
Riley sighs. “Maybe someone should fire her.”
“Settle down, grandma. I don’t think she’s out to get either one of us.” So much for resistance. When she sticks out her tongue at me, I laugh.
“You’re no help.” She stands up with a longsuffering sigh. “I have to get to the bakery, anyway. Will you call me if you find out anything else? I hate not knowing what happened to her…”
The words sound so sad and helpless, sending a little pang into the center of my heart. I stand and shove both hands in my pocket. “I’ll call, or maybe I’ll stop by later if that’s okay.” There’s awkward, and then there’s me. Riley pulls the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder and gives me a soft smile like she’s a little bit shy. It’s unexpected and cute.
“Sure. I should be there all day.”
I open the door to the police station and follow her outside. “I’ll see you later. Tell your customers hi for me.” It’s an odd thing to say considering none of them know who I am. Still, the words are out, and I can’t stuff them back in. If I had a memoir written about my life, that might be the title.
We part ways then, me in all my awkwardness and Riley in her silence.
The inspections are the hardest part, not to mention the long lines of the hopeful and displaced. It’s this way every time I show up to help. I’m followed, building owners tagging along and pointing out every flaw, every broken appliance or splintered board to ensure I see every damage. Most of the time, I don’t blame them. I’m the person who decides how much a person will receive when claims are filed. I’m the guy who serves as the deciding factor on whether a building should thrive or be considered a total loss. Like I said, normally I don’t mind.
But when a building is clearly unsafe, having tagalongs makes me anxious. Especially when I repeatedly request for someone to back off and they don’t listen. Like now. Mr. Daniels won’t leave my side, no matter how many times I ask him to. He thinks I might need help or that I could miss something crucial. It doesn’t seem to matter that this is my job, the primary reason I’m here. It doesn’t matter that I know what I’m doing, that I know what to look for. Some people need to help despite the damage it could be doing to their physical and mental health.
I should know. I’ve been doing this for years. And insurance adjusting has very little to do with it. Still, I’m no longer certain if I should be doing this for the rest of my life. I know I’m helping people in the best way I can. I just doesn’t feel like enough anymore.
“You need to be a hero. It’s the only way you’re going to make something of yourself.”
“Alright Mr. Daniels, I think you’ve helped me with everything you can for now. So, if you could go back and wait outside, that would probably help speed up the process. Plus, it would make me feel better. We want to get you your money as quickly as possible so that you can get to work rebuilding, okay? It might put a kink in the process if you wind up getting hurt.”
The man next to me silently nods his head. Shell shock, that’s the only way to describe it. Nothing rattles a person more than suddenly being faced with a new reality, one they never asked for or saw coming. Nature is a force to be reckoned with. It does not discriminate or play favorites or give special concern to the status quo. It doesn’t care if you’ve walked this road before or if this is your first time in its path. It pays no attention to neighborhoods or finances or social classes. Nature is one of God’s best blessings. But just like that, it can become His deepest curse.
Not that God caused this. This was the work of atmospheric pressure and incompatible molecules. Still, it sucks. Losing everything in a split second isn’t something a person gets over quickly.
“Okay,” he says. “If you’re sure you don’t need my help?”
The man must be eighty, at least. His knees crack and pop with each step, and his labored breaths indicate this walk is a difficult one. I have nothing but respect for the elderly, but there’s no way he could run fast enough if things went wrong inside this building, and I would feel obligated to stick around and save him. I’ve felt responsible for a lot of things going wrong in my life; I don’t need Mr. Daniels adding to that list. “I’m sure. Just wait for me outside, and I’ll finish up in a few minutes.”
He hesitates, but finally does what I ask and leaves me to work in peace. The most helpful among us usually can’t see the times when their selflessness is a detriment. The pull to assist others is so strong that they can’t resist it even when it’s in everyone’s best interest—not a flaw, but occasionally a hindrance.
Finally, able to continue the inspection, I examine every visible rafter, beam, and electrical wire, making notes on a checklist as I go. Upon first glance, the building appears to be in good shape. Look deep inside, however, and you’ll see a mangled mess of something b
arely salvageable. It can be repaired, but it will take time…time I’m not sure Mr. Daniels will want to give. The building houses a radio station, a daycare, and a pediatrician’s office all in the same long strip. The sick kids are the only ones this place will service for the rest of the year. The radio station may never be up and running again, not at this location.
I finish up my assessment and walk outside, immediately greeted by a nervous and pacing Mr. Daniels.
“Well?” he says, spotting me on his third pass and halting in place. I get the nerves, the anxiety—but there’s nothing I can do to make things better when the weather declares its wrath. I give it to him straight.
“There’s good news and bad news.”
“Tell me.”
“The south side of the building is in decent shape. The north side, though… It’s nearly totaled. It will need all new wiring and support beams, and the flooring is trashed. I’m assuming the radio station was personally insured?” When Mr. Daniels nods, I keep going. “I can’t see much in the way of useable equipment, but they’ll have to determine that with their own agents. As for me, I’ll file my report later tonight, and the insurance company will be in contact with you soon. You’ll have to decide how you want to proceed. If you think it’s worth fixing, then go for it. We’ll cut you a check either way.”
“For how much?” It’s the most important question, without fail. Decisions can’t be made without hard and fast numbers. Again, I get it. I only wish I had answers.
“I can’t tell you that. But you should definitely know something by the middle of next week.” I pull out a business card and slip it inside his palm. “Call me if you need anything at all. I’ll be here for at least another week.”
He nods, pocketing the card. I offer my hand, and he takes it, his grip firm despite the uncertainty of everything happening around him. Mr. Daniels walks away, and I check the time. Only ten minutes until my next appointment.
I’m back at this police station because I’m nothing if not persistent—with jobs, with women, and now apparently with checking on the well-being of a four-year-old child. I’ve been called a lot of things in life, but uncaring isn’t one of them.
