Diner Love

Jim stood on the porch, hunched over fiddling with the keys to his restaurant in the black, frozen morning. Finally, he found the right one, stuck it in the lock and turned the handle, "Damn that's cold" and pushed the door through. Inside he hit the kitchen lights and in the back of the restaurant, the lights shook and then illuminated to show him the way through the dark dining area.

Walking through the dining area, Jim couldn’t help but notice it was cold but not as cold as outside. He shuffled across the dry linoleum floor that still smelled of cleaning agent, from the night before

Sheri came in shaking the cold off, a few minutes later, “ooh it’s cold” she shivered, unwrapped her scarf, pulled off her hat and headed back to the kitchen.

"Hi, Jim"
"Hey Sherri, cold enough"
"Uh, huh" hanging her coat up. She walked to the sink and washed her cold, red hands off in the warm water and then turned to help Jim with the preparing for the mornings breakfast.

Jim was working on the pancake batter and Sherri started in on the asparagus for the special, Cheese and asparagus omelets. As they worked they took inventory, Jim kept a list of the things they needed.

The kitchen was still cool, but warmer than when Jim first came in. The floor was tile and it too smelled of cleaning agent. Against the back wall the grill was heating up, slight smoke arose from remnants of the last meal cooked last night. The kitchen was disorderly, like a teenager’s room, but they knew where everything was, so as far as they were concerned everything was in place. Bread drooped down over the shelves and the center counter, where they did most of the preparation, was filling up with food as it was pulled out.

An outsider would almost think they were doing a dance together. Not necessarily gleefully but purposefully, a dance they had performed for years together, fluid, rehearsed with moments of spontaneity. Never bumping into each other and always fixing the ingredients once, rarely using measuring utensils.

"Could use some milk, we've got this and two in the fridge". She said pointing at the gallon of milk. Her sleeves were rolled up now.

"Ok, looks like we got a few things to get. I'll make a run after the first wave. It's Thursday so it shouldn't be too heavy", He was crouched down holding a bag of salad leaves he pulled out from the drawer. He made note "Salad leaves" for this afternoon’s lunch.

The bell on the front door rang as the door closed. "Man its cold!" Kathy, the morning waitress, announced.

"Hi Jimmy, Sherri"
"Hey Kath" Sheri replied. Kathy was the morning waitress and was definitely a morning person. Her hair was put up but not neatly, but good enough for breakfast and lunch and then class in the afternoon. She was studying to be a nurse and the mornings were perfect for her because there were enough customers so tips were good and they were mostly half asleep so they weren't too particular. She lived in an apartment in the little city not far from the restaurant. She was ready to get out of this town, just like everyone else who grew up here. Once she graduated, she would quit the job and head south, to Florida.

It was Jimmy's restaurant; it had been in the same place for nearly 20 years, the same hours and with exception of a few diversions, like Asparagus Omelet’s, the same food. He was here most days, taking only two weeks off each year to go to the Outer Banks, NC. During the early years, he and his wife would try out different places each year along the narrow strip of sand until they settled on one; a brown shake cottage, with green shudders that opened from the bottom and were held open by a stick. It was beachfront, small and quiet, away from the all the business, but not so isolated that if he had to he could walk to the store. And that is where he went every year for two weeks.

He lived in the apartment above the restaurant in which he moved into a few months after his wife’s death. She was killed in a car accident on an icy night along a two lane strip of road on Route 6 on her way home from Bible study. The roads were covered with the snow and ice that fell since the afternoon. On her way out the roads were clear for the most part, but coming back it had gotten noticeably slicker so she drove slow and tense.

Large 18 wheel semi trucks rarely drove on Route 6, it wasn’t as efficient has I-76 but if there were any problems on I76 or if they had extra time, some would venture on it. On her way home that night, she passed a couple of 18 wheelers, which meant 76 was backed up, because there was no reason an 18 wheeler would be on 6 this late in this weather. Route 6 wound along the banks of the Susquehanna River and for stretches along the road it dipped down into the gorge, level with the river. She came around a bend in the gorge, walls of rock to her right and homes and the river to her left. The snow and ice smattered against her windshield, the grinding from below as her tires crunched over the snow and ice unnerved her slightly so she squeezed the wheel a bit tighter.

Up ahead the road was straight and then just two more curves before she was home. The semi’s lights were visible at the end of the straight-a-way and she watched them come closer. For a second they looked to be on her side of the road, but she thought it couldn’t be. The closer the lights came she started to slow down because they stayed in her lane; she glanced to the side to see if she could pull over, but she couldn’t the snow was piled high against the gorge cliff and there were homes to her left along the river. As the truck got closer it suddenly jerked, the driver had woken up, and it began to tip but quickly settled as it slid towards her and turning sideways, the driver then spun the steering back towards her to compensate for the skid, but it was too late, his front punched the drivers’ side in of her car and she was killed instantly.

A car stopped about 100 yards down after passing the rig. A man got out and walked towards the accident. The driver of the semi was walking towards him in the middle of Route 6, in a daze no one in particular for a phone “I need a phone, got to call my dispatcher. Got to call my dispatcher”. His words were slurred and he eyes were blank. The man grabbed the trucker by the shoulders and steered him to the side of the road and asked him if was alright. The driver mumbled “uh, huh – call my dispatcher”. The man told him to wait and then walked to the accident to see if anyone else was there.

As he walked down, faces peered out through the windows of the river homes; the crash must have been loud enough to wake them from their TVs, he thought. Finally a woman came out putting on her jacket

“What’s going on?.” she hollered.
“Not sure” and the man pointed down the road 50 years at the large, black shadow that was the truck; it was an odd sight, the enormity of the machine angled and bent in the middle of the road, with it’s yellow cab lights still on with the door ajar, the faint sound of the CB could be heard. The emergency lights blinked and there was a quiet hum from the cooler or some part of the rig.
“Was there an accident?” an elder lady in her night gown peeked through her down.
“Yep” replied them man, waving her back into her house.
He turned to the lady that came out and said: “Look, you go back and help the driver. He’s pretty shaken up, see if you can get him inside and call 911. She nodded and took off to the driver.
The man turned to the crash and walked towards it; as he got closer the hum and the CB from the rig were a little louder. It sounded as if the dispatcher was trying to get a hold of the driver.

He walked around behind the rig, massive black, bent steel and ice and didn’t see anything. He then moved down towards the cab again on the other side and saw a set of red lights that looked rear lights, “what the…?” he said to himself. As he got closer he saw the license plate and then the rest of the car. It was crushed to about two feet wide and was pinned between the truck and the canyon.

When Jimmy got to the hospital he listened to the doctor and the police, only hearing pieces of what they said. “She’s dead” “It was immediate” “Didn’t feel a thing” “It wasn’t her fault” “The truck driver fell asleep”

He interrupted them and said he wanted to see her.

"Jim, I don't know if that's such a good idea" Police Chief Jake Simmons advised, putting his hand on Jim's shoulder.
"Jake, you don't understand, I have to see her"
"Jim, you don't want this to be last thing you remember her by. Let it be the last time you saw her, alive and well. You don't want this, believe me." Quietly he pleaded, looking into Jim’s eyes.
"No, I have to.” Jim looked back. “We’ve always said good bye to each other. In the morning I’d awake her with a kiss and she'd say 'drive carefully'. And I'd touch her head and go to work."
They were both silent for moment and then Jim said: “I have to say good bye.”
"Ok." Jake said and opened the door to her room and walked Jim in.

The room was cold and metallic with grey tiles and near the center lay table with a white sheet and a light over it. It wasn't the only light on, there were overhead lights, but they seemed useless, the room was dark, grey and empty, as Jim was sure it always was and will be. There was an odor of metal that permeated through the room. They walked towards the table and if there was a body under the sheet in didn't look like it, there was no length to whatever was under the sheet, just bunches of clothe, disheveled.

They stopped at the table, Jake looked at Jim again and with his eyes asked if he was sure, Jim nodded. Jake reached for the corner of the sheet and pulled it towards him. He had to “unstick” the sheet a couple times as he pulled it back. When enough of the sheet was pulled back and Jim could see what lay beneath he almost vomited. He looked away, bent over and gagged. A sickness flowed through him, and he turned to catch his breath. Breathing heavily he stood up and looked back at her again. She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen and now she was a mass of torn flesh. Tears swelled in his eyes, how unfair and cruel, she was too good for this. A rush of anger overwhelmed him and he wanted to scream but instead he put his head down in his hands, crying. Jake put his hand on his shoulder and said "Let's go". Jim looked up, eyes swollen, wet, reached his hand out to her face. He carefully pulled the blood soaked hair away from her mangled cheek. He rubbed her hair, gently in his fingers, the way he did each morning before he left, and said "I love you".

A few dependable customers sat hunched over the counter stirring, chewing, reading the paper. Edward Buchman wasn’t, however, he had Jimmy’s ear on something about land use or development. The temperature in the diner had gone up a degree or two which made it more comfortable and now the radio was on. The morning radio team beamed with some game or contest; no one cared in the diner, but they background noise was familiar so it was necessary.

Ed was worked up already and sipping his second cup – a drop dribbled down his lip as he railed on about builders and farms being plowed over with homes . Jimmy listened and nodded, not committed on way or the other, homes means family’s and that was good for the city and good for Jimmy. It also occurred to him over the years as the city grew, that these neighborhoods seeped in like vines across the country sides. Something necessary, but rude or worse sinister?

Ed had good reason to be upset; his family had owned a farm for over 100 years until he was forced to sell it about ten years ago. His parents died from Lyme disease when he and his older sister, Mary, were teenagers. Lyme disease is rather common for this area, but to have both die from the same disease six months apart was unusual. Edie remembers his mom first started complaining of the soreness and that it never got better. Eventually she couldn’t get of bed and she slept all the time. At first his dad was frustrated with her, there was a farm to run, but soon he became sick, very sick. Edie remembers him lying in his bed, in the summer, shivering, with layers of blankets over him – the left side of his face drooped and he spoke in slurs. The doctor stopped by a couple times a week, to check in on them. It wasn’t too long after they both got sick that the alerts for a potential outbreak rang out in the papers, Ed and Mary’s parents for a moment were famous, drawing attention from papers, doctors and even the government, who sent a team of scientist to study them and the area. All along, with the commotion and peaks of panic, Mary and Ed stood by the parents and did what they asked for them. Occasionally neighbors would come by to help but mostly their attention and their time was spent on keeping the farm working.

In the end, the hysteria died, no epidemic was proven and it was quiet again. The only visitor was the doctor who stopped once a day, to check up on them – not to cure them but to see if they were dead yet, Ed thought. Ed and Mary were at their bedsides when each passed away, mother passed in the early winter and father passed in early summer. Both died in sick pain.

Ed and Mary were on their own and for a number of years it ran well, making money, growing the number of cattle heads, they even bought a new tractor. Neither complained it never occurred to them or think of a different life instead they carried and protected their fathers pride and their mother’s servitude. But it was a grueling and isolated life, what rest they had was interrupted abruptly with the next chore; they were their only friends and the only contact with the outside world was the trips into town and the state fair.

Eventually though, they were consumed by “progress” the rest of the world was rejoicing in and that they were oblivious to. They were losing the farm and they didn’t know it. It was in the red a few years before they both felt it worth mentioning to each other. And then when they finally talked about it they agreed they’d work harder, times will change back into their favor; hard work would get them through, changing or God forbid selling out was to admit defeat and neither was about to do that.

Defiantly the worked through each year and each was worse than the last but it only emboldened them; they would never sell out the farm. What they were missing was the changes or “progress” farms were going through, most were going away, others succumbed to the conglomerates and the remaining few became cute, quaint, sightseeing vegetable stands for tourist and neighbors to pick pumpkins or strawberries or buy jam. Their farm was prime for “progress”, and there many willing to help them “progress”; builders who were swallowing any spare piece of land they could get and the conglomerates looking for more land for more crop for more money. Ed would tell you to “piss of them all, damn bastards, like buzzards or hyenas; prowling and sneaking around like we smelled of a dead animal.” Mary would just nod.

Their farm sat in a valley, with a 100 acre flat stretch and a couple hundred acres ran up the hills on either side and behind the frame. On top of the hills, through the trees lay acres of mostly flat land where they grew corn. A grass road led the way up to the top of the hills. The stretch that lay in front of the main home was cut in half by the dirt driveway and on either side where about 100 head of cattle. Three barns joined together to keep and milk the cattle. They weren’t the original barn, that lay to south and only the foundation was left, the rest was sucked in by the land. These barns were built by their grandfather or hundreds years ago but were now broken and deformed and dirty brown mud rose up from the bottom. To look at them one would think if they were to lean up against them, they’d tip but to Ed they were standing which meant they were stable enough that they didn’t need repair. Even if they did need to fixed, they didn’t have the money fix them. There was an open tractor barn at the base of the north hill, behind the home where all the tractor and heavy equipment was sheltered. Just couple hundred yards from the main home was a chicken barn that had about 50 chickens, this was a main source of food for Ed and Mary as the years worsened.

Except for a day or two when the temperature was right and the wind cuts through canyon between the two hill and hit hits the front porch, flows up stairs and past the stairs into the kitchen and out the screen door. But most days it was either cold or hot and when it was cold their bones cringed and when it was hot they moved slower and never slept much. They couldn’t afford to run the electricity, so the fans hung still in the summer, and in the winter the fire stove in kitchen might as well been a lit match. But always the stood fast by each other and the farm, fending off the builders and the bankers, even the neighbors – Buchman’s couldn’t stand sympathy. And by the end of the worst years they had sold off all their cattle which left them with a couple hundred acres of corn, one horse and a dozen or so chickens.

It was one of the final winters and Mary sat alone in the frozen kitchen, she had on a down jacket, dotted with puffs of cotton popping from the holes, a blanket wrapped around her legs and she was rubbing her hands. Eddie was out working in the shed. She stared at nothing and was still, except for her hands, they ached more than before. Her breath hung in the air. Eddie came hobbling in from the barn.

“Damn snow was deeper than I thought”, he said taking kicking his boots on the kitchen door step. His rubber boots were undone and frozen ice and snow hung to the buckles. He didn’t take anything off; instead he went to the sink and brushed his hat off.
“What are you doing Mary?” still facing the sink he turned his head to look at her.
She just sat there. He could see she was breathing and her eyes open, but she looked dead; a nervous feeling over came him.
He sat down next her. “Mary, you ok?” She sat still.
Then he put his arm around her and shook her slightly, “Mary?”
She turned her head and looked at him, smiled and looked down.
“What’s a matter?” Eddie leaned into his knees, facing her. His face was hard like leather and was red from the cold. He had a runny nose and sniffed.
“Eddie – this has become too much for me.” She paused and still looking down: “I can’t do it anymore.”
“What? What do you mean?” he said pushing her chin up with his fingers.
She didn’t resist and when she looked up he saw she had tears in her eyes.
“I’ve been thinking I can’t take livin’ like this anymore.” Her lips quivered, he looked at her.
“I’m tired of been cold, I’m tired of the pain, I’m tired of working, I’m tired of worrying, I’m tired of fighting…I’m just tired and my body – the pain – can’t do it anymore.” She looked down and he leaned back. The pain in her in her joints, throughout her body was unbearable and relentless and not just in the winter anymore. For the past year, she always felt the burn on your skin after being the cold, in her joints and throughout her body. Rubbing helped, which is why she was always kneading her hands but it was only temporary, she hadn’t slept in months and there was still more months too come of winter.
“Eddie, I just need to rest.” She looked up at him, he still held her hands.
“Mary, you can rest. You can rest all you want; I’ll take care of everything and when you’re done, you can work again.” Ed had the solution.
“No, that’s no what I mean. I mean I can’t do it anymore, ever again.” She was open now, not closed as they both had lived there lives. She didn’t care anymore, she didn’t feel the need to act a certain way because it was proper. She felt unencumbered, clearer. “Eddie, I can’t rest here; I can’t stay here. My body hurts too much, I don’t sleep, I shiver through the night and day – I can’t rest here. You know, I don’t do as much work, look at this kitchen.” Dishes lay untouched on the counters and the sink, the floor was dirty with footprints, the refrigerator was empty and the cupboards were dry. She also hadn’t keep with the chores outside, she may do a few things here and there throughout the day, but not like before. The farm was dying around them and they were dying to, being sucked into the ground like the old barn.
“Eddie, I’m dying – I’m dying faster than I want and should.” They had never talked about death, even after their folks passed.
“Dying, wha, what are you talking about, dying. We’re old, but we ain’t dying.” He let go of her hands.
“Eddie I see this farm and it’s falling down and I feel we are too; we might as well be the studs in the walls. And Eddie, I don’t want that” she pleaded.
“Studs, hmmph. So are going to do? You talking about moving? Because that’s about the only thing you can do.” He said certain she would never move.
“Yes” tears flowed heavier. Eddie was struck and then he slumped and rested his arm on the table, she kept rubbing her hands, looking down.
“Well, well…where you gonna go?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere were my body won’t hurt and I can rest.”
“Good luck!” he said sounding surprised.
“I thought about cousin Janey.” She looked up at him, the tears stopped.
“Janey, the one in Florida?”
“Yes, she’s got a home down there.” Nervous to proceed she said rubbing her hands “In her last letter she talked about the how warm it was. How friendly everyone was. Everything was close and there were lots things for them to do. She said she had an extra room.”
“Crazy, it sounds crazy. Never much liked that side of the family. You know they’d sell their soles to the devil; just like they came after mom’s stuff, remember? Florida won’t be too hot will it?” he said sarcastically and with a hint of desperation as he now he faced the table, instead of her.
“Too hot, no, well it gets hot down there, but she’s got air conditioner. All the homes down there have them.” Why did she feel she was asking him if she could go? Because she was, because he depended on her, he’d never admit, but he did and she knew it. She loved him and worried for him, worried because she was changing their relationship together, over 70 years, never apart, never married, never much cared for anything outside of the farm. She was certain he never expected this, never planned for it and was probably afraid right now. But she was open now, no more limitations and she was never more certain about something than this, she had to go.
“What are you going to do? Knit? Play those damn games with cards? Look you belong her with this farm, with me. It’s ours. It’s been tough but it’ll get better” He said defensively.
“Better?” she paused, more certain, “better? How will it get better? In the past five years over a dozen farms have gone under, the Henderson, Chipwacks, Monroes…the ones left standing, that are still making money have signed away to the big companies or their own little stores. We won’t sell out to the big companies and we don’t have the money or even the location to have a little store. What…how can it get better?”
“Right”, frustrated Eddie shook his head “well dammit Mary, you don’t just give up. This is our farm, it’s us, our family, our legacy.” Now he was angry “you know, you don’t just give up, you keep fighting…”
“Eddie, were fighting a battle we can’t win. You have to see that, we can’t win because we keep doing it the same way every day and expect some day it will get better. It won’t get better, six years have proven that.”
“Then we’ll change”
“Change what, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll do something”
“Eddie, that’s not good enough. I can’t – I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m going to do this.” She paused and said “You can come with me.” Reaching out to him.
“Hell no!” defiantly, he would never admit defeat. Eddie’s pride was too much; he also felt he was responsible for carrying on the family’s business. But what didn’t occur to him, but it did to her, carry to where? But knowing it was pointless to go there again, she just said:
“OK”. The room was silent and cold.
“Eddie, I love you.” And she did, so much so that would defy her new found openness and said “ I won’t go if you don’t want me to and we’ll live out our lives here. But I’m telling you I’m dieing fast here, faster than I think I’m supposed to.”
He looked up at her his eyes were red, shiny, not the dull red like they had become. He reached out to her hands and rubbed them and said: “No Mary, you go, go and rest. Lord knows you’ve earned it.”
He held her hands and squeezed tight as he had done each night when the sat in the frozen living room at the of the day; he knew it relieved the pain.

Jimmy waited desparately for Eddie to pause, take a breath about the ever expanding neighborhoods and when he did, Jimmy jump at the chance to break free: “Gotta check with Sheri”.
“OK, Jim” Eddie said waving him off.
“Can I get you anything while I’m back there? Eggs?”
“OK” Eddie said in a defeated way. Then he said as Jimmy turned away “bacon and potatoes too”.
Walking into the kitchen, Jimmy caught Sherri in the middle of making the second batch of pancakes. She had a slash of flour on her forehead and strings of hair hung over eyes as she looked down beating the batter. He had noticed Sherri’s look the day she came in looking for work. But her skin was more beautiful this morning than it did when she started a number of years ago. Back then it was smoother and softer, he knew this because it was what he noticed first about her. That and her voice, her voice was pleasant – soft and confdent – sexy. She was sexy.
“Damiit, Jimmy, just don’t’ stand there, get back here and help me.” She said without looking up from the batter. He smiled and walked to her.

Six months after his wife’s death, Jimmy sold the home they bought together and for he next several months he drove from town to town, park to park without a plan, except a map. Some doctor probably would say he was “driving away from his previous life...trying to start a new”. Maybe, but he didn’t think in those terms, he thought in his terms, which were much simpler. He wasn't driving expecting to find some place to settle down, that wasn't his intentions. No his reasons were simple, he wanted to see other places, places he found on the maps he studied, land that jutted out into water or towns that were interesting or known for something like crab cakes, or fishing or mining or sun…During his travels, at night in his hotel room he planned his next destination: Port Clyde ME, Presque Isle PA, Wachiapreaque VA, Ocracoke NC, Ponte Vedra FL, Key West FL, New Orleans LA, Big Spring TX…. He drove from town to town, park to park, staying in hotels mostly, but once he did camp out. Each place had meaning to him, either to re-kindle some memory from the past or an interest to see a new place he had read about, but never been.

And as he drove he thought of his past life and his wife. He thought that they didn't have enough time and felt regret for not doing all the things they had talked about doing. He felt selfish that he didn’t love her they way she needed but only the way he could. He didn't blame himself for not trying; he could never live up to her. But he always felt comforted around her and that she always loved him. He never doubted that.

On his way from west to east, he reached the edge of one of the towns and stopped. Across the street he saw an “Apartment for Rent” sign in the window of an old, white house with a large porch. It was early spring and the trees and flowers were just starting again; small buds appeared. He pulled into the driveway off the house and parked. As he walked up the walk, a lady’s head popped up, like a groundhog, and smiled. She stepped out of the bushes, careful to not step on the tulips, taking her gloves off. She met him on the walk and held her hand out.
“How do you do?” she said looking up at him. She had a large straw hat, yellow pants and a buttoned up white collared shirt. He skin was wrinkled, but sweet and soft. She was short but not shriveled. Her glasses were thick and when she took them off to clean them she squinted.

“Fine, mam, thank you”, he leaned down and shook her hand.

Now wiping her brow, “You know it’s hotter than they say. I’ve been pulling weeds since this morning and look at me.” She raised her arms up to show the sweat circles and then wiped her brow.

Naturally Jim looked and then quickly away at the tulips or some flower.

“I’m surprised they’ve made it, but after last weeks snow they’re still here” she said pointing at the tulips. “Not blossomed yet, the buds were just starting to push their way out. It wasn’t a heavy snow, just an inch, but in March it caught everyone off guard.”

Looking back at me with her hands on her hips: “Strong flowers, tulips, strong flower. But you didn’t stop to talk about the damn flowers did you?”

“Well, mam I saw your Apartment for Rent sign, and I’d like to have a look.” She squinted through her glasses and leaned in; her feet anchored.

“I saw the sign in your window.” He said pointing to the rent sign.

“Oh yeah” looking back at the sign, “well good, let’s go have a look at your room.” She said turning towards the front door.

“Mam, I didn’t say I wanted it, I just said I wanted to look at it.” He said as politely as he could.
She turned to him, squinted and pointed at him “What’d you say your name is?”
“Well, I didn’t, but it’s Jim, Jim Caselle” smiling.
“Well, Jim Caselle, I’m Berta. I won’t tell you my full name because I just met you, we’ll save that for later. Anyhow, please to meet you; now let’s go see your room.” She grabbed his arm and they walked through the door. Jim just smiled and shook his head.

The lunch crowd was light. Edie had stayed much later than usual, but since he sold his farm and moved into the apartments on the outside of town, he never liked going home much anymore. Mary is still in Florida and asks Edie to come down in every letter. He never has. With the light crowd, Jimmy took care of the remaining customers. He let Kathy go early; she had a test that night. Sheri step out to do the shopping, they were low on a number things, things they had to get themselves and not from the food distributor. Jimmy preferred to buy local and fresh.

She and Jimmy split the shopping, but she preferred to do it. She always got the better deals and was much more efficient. Anytime Jimmy would do it, it was usually a social event. He would sit and talk with the Randy Mitchum, of Mitchum Brothers Meats and any, God forbid hunters that were there too. Eventually he’d end up paying twice as much for the meat and sausages. The same was true at the bakery too, but instead of hunters it was old lady’s and mothers with kids. Why kids she never knew, but she knew the bakery was his favorite part; he always had a story, mentioned how friendly the ladies were or how big the kids were getting. He also was partial to bakeries, loved the “smell of dough and cinnamon” he would tell her.