Cake Delivery

“Make sure you get that cake delivered, ok Sherrie?” Mr. Canapolous watched the young delivery girl he’d hired as her fingers flew over her phone’s key board. He wasn’t sure if she had heard, wasn’t even sure if she knew he was in the room, actually. “It’s an important one to me. The most important one of the year you know.”

This seemed to catch her attention, at least enough for her eyebrows to rise.

“Why’s that Mr. Can?” she asked.

He replied, “This one’s going to Barbara Masleton. Now I have been sending a cake to Ms. Masleton every year on her birthday since 1972. I’ve never missed a year and young lady you make sure you’re not the cause of the first, you hear?”

“Thirty-eight years? For free? Why would you do something like that? You got something for this lady? She was looking at him now and he smiled at the thought that after a month he’d finally said something interesting enough to draw her eyes away from her gadget.

“Thirty-seven years for free,” he replied. “I charged her for the first one. That was when she walked into my shop in August, 1972. She was a pretty one for sure. So, used to have something for the lady is probably more appropriate.”

“Got to be more to the story than that. A quick fling doesn’t usually lead to thirty-seven free cakes, Mr. Can.”

“True enough. Ms Masleton is special. We had a relationship you might say for a while. After that, we’ve connected a few times over the years. But, life happens and timing is everything, right? For me, I guess I think of it as a long-term series of fun times, good memories, and a few missed opportunities. Anyway, you know I love to bake cakes. No better excuse to bake another one that I can think of.”

“Got it,” she said. Cake to Ms. Masleton. Failure not an option.” She grabbed the box and walked out the shop door.

On the bus, cake in her lap, Sherrie thought about idea of the old guy baking a cake each year, wishing for something he didn’t have. She was dating Sam. If Sam’s in her life, she thought good for her and good for Sam. If he goes well then suck it up and move on. She laughed to herself at the thought of delivering cakes to Sam after they broke up until she’s sixty years old.

She arrived at the 51st street address and rang the bell to be let into the building. The voice over the speaker asked how they could help.

“I have a delivery for Barbara Masleton in 413,” she said.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Masleton no longer resides at this location,” said the faceless speaker.

“Crap,” she said into the mic. “Do you know where she might be now?”

After several minutes, the man came back on. “It seems Ms. Masleton moved into the Regions Group Center.”

“And do you know where that is?” She asked.

“Nope.”

A look up on her phone told her Regions Group was on the other side other side of town. So, she was looking at forty-five minutes to an hour to get there. Failure not an option, she remembered saying. Her watch told her it was 4:30. Enough time to get there and still meet Sam for a beer. She’d only be twenty or thirty minutes late.

Sherrie walked into the lobby of Regions Group Center. It reminded her of visiting the old person home that her grandma was in when she was young. The antiseptic smell of medicine was pervasive and everything just seemed to be moving in slow motion. There were the people in nurse’s uniforms who seemed cheerful enough. There were the obligatory plastic flowers in vases on the counter and the bulletin board with a hundred crayon drawings from well meaning children trying to brighten up these people’s day.

“I’m sorry,” she said when Sherrie asked. The nurse had a strained look and then seemed to make a decision. “Four days ago, Ms. Maslton was checked into Grant Hospital. Its three blocks down the road. The thing is, we’ve heard she may not be coming back.”

Sherrie was thrown off by that one.

“So, you mean she’s dying?” She asked

“I really don’t know. I haven’t heard otherwise. Its just that I don’t think you should leave the cake here.” She said.

Her quitting time was supposed to be 5:00 pm. She’d been across the entire city now trying to get this cake delivered and yet it was still here in her hand. She thought about Mr. Canapolous and his commitment to baking this cake for thirty-eight years.

Sam would understand. He was a pretty good one as far as boy friends go.

It occurred to Sherrie that after three hours in New York in August, Ms. Maslton may not want anything to do with what was left in the box she was carrying. Still, she knew this was the right thing to do and it wasn’t that often she could feel as if she had the chance to do something a little special. The world was typically just so ordinary.

She walked into the intensive care and the machines were everywhere. Her gray hair, what was left of it, fell loosely over her pillow. You could tell the machines where helping her breath and chemicals being pumped into her veins were helping keep her body working for her for a little while longer.

As she approached the bed, the woman’s eyes opened slightly. She couldn’t tell if she was aware of Sherrie’s presence.

“Is that my cake?” Ms. Maslton asked. Shocked by this question, Sherrie looked closely at the woman and at the cake she held in her hand.

“Yes,” she responded. Mr. Canapolous sends his best.

“Good.” The woman responded in a quite, raspy voice. “It’s my birthday. But, I thought this year, I might miss my cake.”