Chapter Twenty-Four
Lori
“I’m not sure how helpful that was,” I told Sam as we got into the car, “apart from showing us that we’re almost certainly doomed.”
“I don’t know if doom is the right word, but clearing out the entire bakery within the next week isn’t going to be easy. Tomorrow, I’ll start calling around looking for a new space. I’m sorry, I just don’t feel up to it tonight.”
“Nor do I. Let’s go home and make some quinoa.”
“I don’t even feel like I worked particularly hard today,” said Sam, “apart from the cake for Sharon Abelson’s bat mitzvah, but I feel so emotionally exhausted.”
“You know what I would love?”
“Hmm?”
“I’d love to go home and kick off my shoes in the knowledge that I won’t have to get up in the morning. And I’d like to spend tomorrow on the couch buried under a pile of blankets watching Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries.”
“It’s very tempting,” said Sam as she turned onto the freeway. “If we didn’t have so much to get done within the next week, I would be all for it. I just get frustrated that Jack and Phryne’s relationship never seems to advance beyond making eyes at each other. It’s been stuck in a holding pattern for three seasons now.”
“I can relate.”
“Of course you can,” Sam smirked. “The last time a guy tried to sleep with you, you pushed him away and ran off.”
“For your information, I didn’t run off. I made him leave so I could close up the store. He was the first one out the door.”
“Right. Very conscientious of you.”
“I don’t want him stealing our macarons. Anyway, wasn’t he great tonight? So kind and loyal and—and supportive.”
“I didn’t particularly notice,” said Sam, still grinning. “But I’ll take your word for it.” When I glowered at her, she added, “I’ll admit that he and Sean were both very helpful. Sean especially.”
“Now you’re just trying to get on my bad side.”
“What?” she said with a laugh. “Sean was very helpful. And I’m sure Miles or whoever was very supportive of you and whatever you’re going through.”
I reached over and slugged her in the arm. “His name is Marshall, as you very well know. I might ask him on another date soon, one where there are no lawyers present. Do you think that’s appropriate, girls asking guys on dates?”
“I don’t see why not, as long as you don’t throw him out of the building this time.”
“Well, I can’t make any promises,” I replied. “You know, it’s odd—I can’t picture him sitting through a whole episode of Miss Fisher or Crime Brulee, or even accompanying me to World Market. We have so little in common, and yet somehow it works. We have fun together. How does that happen, that you can have so much fun with someone who is so different from you in every way?”
Sam shrugged, as if not wanting to contemplate the mysteries of love and lust at this time of night. “I suppose it’s chemistry, or libido, or whatever you want to call it. You and Brad have a connection, and it transcends your narrow obsessions.”
“Okay, now you are doing it on purpose!” I exclaimed, laughing in spite of myself. She flattened herself against the driver’s side door to avoid my fist. “Brad? You must not think very highly of me if you think I would date someone named Brad!”
“Thank goodness!” Sam muttered under her breath.
***
Yet in spite of the work we still had to do that week—or perhaps because of it—I found myself struggling to get out of bed the next morning. The first time my alarm went off, I hit the snooze button and rolled over, staring gloomily at the ceiling as though holding it personally responsible for the fact that I had to go to work. The room felt cold in the early dawn light, and I burrowed even deeper under my fox-print comforter to keep warm.
At a quarter to eight, I heard a light tap at the door, and Sam entered carrying a plate full of waffles and a glass of mango lemonade.
“Hey, hon,” she said, seating herself on the edge of the bed. “You ready to get up?”
I mumbled something from under my blanket.
“I feel the same way,” said Sam, “but I suppose we owe it to the community to finish out the week. Soon we’ll have moved into our new location, and we can take a few days off. But until then, ‘once more unto the breach,’ as they say.”
Feeling cheered by the Shakespeare reference, I sat up in bed and began eating the waffles. “You brought me probably the only two things that could convince me to sit up this morning. How did you do that?”
Sam shrugged. “The magic of being your sister, I suppose.”
“Whoever marries me is going to have his work cut out. Nobody else knows me quite as well as you do.”
“If he’s smart, he’ll be phoning me every day.”
I downed the last of my lemonade and changed into my work uniform. The storm had subsided, but the sky was still overcast, making me feel lazy and sleepy. Or maybe it was just my depression. I hadn’t felt like doing much of anything since finding out that we would have to move. Customers would come in, and I mouthed words without really paying attention to what I was saying. They congratulated me on the new look of the dining area, and I didn’t have the heart to tell them that in a few days we would be tearing it all down.
“It’s one of those days where I almost wish we could do magic,” I told Sam. “Not because I want to be particularly powerful, but because it would make certain mundane tasks a lot easier.”
I didn’t specify which tasks, but I could tell she knew what I meant. “I’d much rather be a magical housewife than a regular housewife,” she said as she handed Alvin his apple berry juice. “Think how much labor Mrs. Weasley managed to avoid because she could chop onions and sweep floors with magic!”
“I think it’s a bad idea, personally,” said Alvin. “Pastor Gustman says magic is seductive because it gives us the illusion of control over the world around us. But in reality, we’re allowing ourselves to be controlled by demonic forces.”
My skin prickled at the mention of Pastor Gustman. “Alvin, when did you start attending services at SCHOP?” I asked him.
“I just really like the teaching over there,” he replied. “They stand boldly against the spirit of the age. Brian has tried to talk me out of going because he thinks it’s dangerous, but I think he’s just mad because our church is losing so many members.”
“I heard that Pastor Gustman claims he has the ability to cure sickness, predict the future, and raise the dead,” said Sam. “To me, that sounds a lot like magic.”
“Not necessarily,” said Alvin. “It all depends on what the source of the power is.”
Sam flared up as though wanting to argue, but I shook my head discreetly. There was no use trying to talk Alvin out of a position once his mind was made up.
“Can he really do that?” asked Cheryl, who had been listening eagerly.
“I mean, it wouldn’t surprise me.” Alvin shrugged. “This weekend we had four people come up onstage saying they had been cured of deafness when Pastor Gustman prayed healing over them.”
“Fantastic,” she said in an awed voice. “For decades, I’ve been saying this was going to become more and more common as we approached the dawn of the new age.”
Alvin looked flustered. Despite the fact that they were basically saying the same thing, Cheryl’s language made him uneasy. “What makes you so sure?”
“In my twenties, I was a devoted student of Carl Jung—the renowned psychologist who discovered the concept of archetypes. Based on his study of astrology, he taught that we were leaving the age of Pisces, which had lasted for two thousand years, and were entering the age of Aquarius. In the present age, the supernatural is only contained in a few vessels, but in the new age, every man and woman will be able to work miracles, see the future, and do amazing things.”
“Well, that sounds a lot like what the Bible says,” said Alvin, thoughtfully sipping his berry juice. “But I don’t believe we’re entering a new age; I believe we’re entering the last days.”
“Call it whatever you like,” Cheryl replied.
When we closed the register for lunch, I followed Sam into the back office.
“You know how much those two used to get on my nerves?” I asked her, pulling my Caesar salad out of the fridge and carefully removing the almonds. “But I was sitting there listening to their discussion, and the thought occurred to me: I’m really going to miss them.”
“I don’t see why,” said Sam, who was eating a tuna salad sandwich. “We’re only moving a few miles down the road.”
“Yes, but what if this doesn’t work out? What if we’re not able to afford the cost of a new place? What if there are no spaces available, and we both lose our jobs?”
Sam didn’t seem particularly concerned. “We’ll think of something—even if I have to sell cake and coffee out of our own home. Has it ever occurred to you how important our work is? All the stuff we provide: breads, books, baked goods. It isn’t just a luxury; it’s a necessity. And I’m not giving up on it.”
I had never thought of it in quite that way, and it made me feel better about what we were doing. “Then I suppose we have to hold on—not just for ourselves but for the good of the town.”
“Exactly,” said Sam. “You wouldn’t want the library to close down and for no one to have access to those books. Cakes are important, too. Food is important. And I think there ought to be spaces in this town where we can gather to hang out and read or talk or whatever we want to do.”
“I just hate the idea that soon we may not be able to provide that,” I said sadly. “It may not be the end of the world, but it sure feels like it.”