Crumbles

"Now you promise you'll be there? You're not just saying one thing to placate your mother and are going to break her heart later, are you?" Marylou twirled the phone cord around her finger.

"I already cleared it with my boss. He will let me take Tuesday off, but I have to cover for Marsha on Friday instead." 

In the grand scheme of things, Hilda was actually doing her friend a favor. She was making plans for a long weekend with her husband before Hilda could even hang up the phone. It'd be an overnight trip into the city to see the Times Square. To finally feel some adrenaline rush that she couldn't get behind a bank counter, depositing cash for those too stubborn to use the ATM. 

"Don't forget to bring a plate of cookies. Brenda loves those sugar cookies of yours."

Brenda could buy them for two fifty at the local grocery store, but she wasn't going to admit to that.

Marylou was the type to pride herself on homemade food. She'd been the wife of a chef for years, and had learned to prove herself in the kitchen. He had long passed, and she had moved on to her new boyfriend. They seemed happy. A sweet old couple with a habit of throwing get togethers for all their retired friends.

And apparently her grown up daughter, because she had insisted on not just dropping off a tray of cookies on her way into work. Her mother could be needy, asking her to stop by often to join them for dinner because she had 'accidentally' made too much again. Granted, Hilda was single and lonely. But she could boil a pot of pasta, and knew the number to the pizza parlor by heart. 

She also knew every inch of the pizza man's face by heart, but that was more habit than adoration. Pizza was a Monday night ritual. Extra mushroom, black olives. He'd taken to calling her Embo girl, recognizing her phone number on the caller ID.

"Embo?" he would ask upon picking up.

"Yes please."

It was a bit of a surprise when she opened the door to her mother's house that Tuesday afternoon to find him sitting in her favorite arm chair. He glanced up, and upon seeing her, smiled and called out. "Hey, it's Embo!" 

Marylou took the plate of cookies from her and set it on the coffee table with the others. There were a few plates of chocolate chip (one so original as to use chocolate chunks instead), peanut butter, and oatmeal. One of the gingerbread caught her eye.

Huh, it looked just like her.

Wait, all the cookies looked like they matched a party guest. Please tell her it was a coincidence that the pizza guy cookie's hand was touching hers. Please say this wasn't all a set up by her mom to get her to go on a date with him, They were good friends, but his skin matched his pepperoni pies, and not to be shallow, but she'd never looked at him and gotten butterflies in her stomach.

Just hunger pangs.

"You didn't mention last night that you'd be here." She took a seat on the sofa, bumping the plate of gingerbread. That was better, cookies apart. 

"I didn't know Marylou was your mother." To be fair, they looked nothing alike. She had taken after her father, with her fire red hair and freckled face.

Her mother grinned. "Thought I'd surprise you with your little friend."

The freckles vanished as her cheeks colored to match her hair. Her mother was trying to set them up. She knew it! The other guests milled around making small talk. It had seemed that her mother had invited all of her friends in town. It was quite the crowd to entertain alone.

"Where's Tyrone?" He was usually at these things, bending to his girlfriend's whim, refilling the wine glasses and such. Well, milk glasses, as this was a cookie party.

"He had something he needed to take care of." Maybe she was invited to help out then. Maybe it was all in her head, and her mother just wanted a second set of hands. "Don't fret."

She hadn't been until her mother had said that. There was something in the way her smile wavered that didn't quite settle with her. Or that was the leftover pizza she had eaten at breakfast, having gobbled it up in monster sized bites. Her pooch had been eyeballing her, and she wasn't going to lose her breakfast to him. Not this time.

Her phone buzzed.

SO

So? Marsha wasn't the type to text at work, let alone something so cryptic as the word so. What was she asking? She replayed the memory of their last interaction. It was possible she was asking about the party. Hilda had promised they'd talk it over during lunch the next day. It wasn't like a cookie exchange was such a big deal that she'd be wanting the details now.

Unless she was in on this whole pizza guy thing. Had she been in cahoots with her mother?

Nah, she hardly knew her. They'd met once, for all of a minute.

"Hilda, do you want to take home any macaroons? Any fortune cookies?" Marylou was standing at a second table that she hadn't even noticed. She glared at her daughter's phone. 

"Surprise me."

"Alright sweetie. Now put that phone away and mingle." 

She obeyed orders, tucking her phone back into her pocket. It buzzed a while later. Then another buzz. Another buzz.

By the time the party had wound down, she had four missed calls. They were accompanied by a six text messages. She sat the box of cookies on the seat of her car. 

Hilda, there's been robbery.

Marsha was shot.

She is going to the hospital.

Made it to the hospital. 

This does not look good.

Call me.

Hands shaking, she hit the call button. Marsha's husband picked up.

"Hilda?" It was hard to make out his voice through all the blubbering.

"Is she alright?"

"Can you come to the hospital?"

She sped off, cookie box falling to the floor. Her head was spinning. If she hadn't taken the day off, that could have been her. She could have been the one on the hospital bed.

Oh no. 

SO

It had been an SOS. 

Man, fate had a funny way of working out. 

She raced into the waiting room to find his head in his hands, a packet of tissues on his lap. The woman next to him noticed her hovering. She helped him stand up.

"Did she make it?"

He shook his head as he collapsed into her arms. 

"What happened?" 

"She got shot by someone robbing the bank. I called the ambulance and followed her here. Didn't want her to be alone." The woman grabbed her purse. "I reckon I better get going now. My condolences."

"Thank you. You didn't happen to see the person who shot her, did you?" 

"Some older man, about six and a half feet. Glasses, grey beard, slight limp to him. Couldn't tell you who though, Honey."

Hilda's blood went cold.

That man sounded identical to Tyrone. Something he needed to take care of...could it have been the robbery? Had her mother known, and invited everyone near and dear to her to keep them all out of harm's way? 

She was supposed to go to Times Square. She was supposed to get her adrenaline rush.

Being at the bad end of a gun was not supposed to be that rush.

But that's just the way the cookie crumbles.