Lost to be Found

Cinnamon spice and dusting sugar swirled in the air at Hollow Creek Confections. Sylvia wiped off smears of chocolate ganache from the stark white marble tables. A limp smile parted to let out a loud sigh.

"Everything okay?" Ruby asked. She kicked up her heels and plopped them down on an accompanying chair.

"Tired. I think the entire town must’ve come in today." 

"Yeah, we’re sold out. There’s just enough flour for cinnamon rolls tomorrow. I’m gonna have to run out and get some more tonight." 

Sylvia joined her friend. "Thank you for doing that. Where would I be without you?"

"Covered in powdered sugar."

"Or hiding under the espresso machine."

"Either way. You’re stuck with me, kiddo," Ruby laughed. She grabbed her purse and motioned for the door. "Tomorrow morning. 5 A.M.?" 

"Yup." 

Ruby skirted out of the shop with a kick of her heel and cinnamon sugar in her hair.

Sylvia spotted a red leather-bound book propped up in a corner by the front window. She reached down and out spilled a few loose tea-colored papers.

"To whomever finds this diary, please return it to 13 King Street, Wilson." 

"Where’s Wilson? Too tired. Can’t deal," she thought. In any case, it was off to bed, just in time to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

The alarm buzzed a grouchy Sylvia awake. She thought about pounding the snooze button a few times, but thought better of it when she imagined Ruby waiting at the shop, tapping her feet with her hands on her hips. She tossed her hair in a loose ponytail, threw on some lip gloss, and headed for her second home.

"You wanna move it, young lady?" 

"You can’t be this awake at this hour. It’s unnatural,” grunted Sylvia. 

Ruby grinned big enough to showcase her new dentures. "Rise and shine. No time to whine."

"It’s a good thing I love you."

The pair turned on the lights in the shop. Ruby unbolted the backdoor and retrieved fifty pounds of flour she bought while Sylvia crawled towards the espresso machine and kissed it.

"Caffeinated enough, dear?" 

"Not even close. I wish I had your spunk," Sylvia said, guzzling her coffee.

"Why did you open a bakery if you hate mornings?"

"The sugar. I need the sugar. Plus, you know, my mom. This was, is her dream." 

"You had me at sugar," Ruby laughed into her belly. "Existential crisis averted. Back to baking. Shall we?"

"By the way, did you see who left this? I found it yesterday," she said, handing over the red leather diary.

Ruby’s eyes doubled in size. "Did you read it? Maybe it’s the Queen’s?"

"Yeah, cause I hear the Queen frequents random small towns in America, leaving her diary for unsuspecting people to read," Sylvia jested.

"Open it! Let’s get the juice." Ruby started to unbind the leather cord. She was met with an abrupt smack from across the counter.

"Don’t you dare. That’s personal. Someone’s private thoughts and most sacred space."

"If it was so sacred, why did they leave it behind in a cafe for anyone to pick up and peruse?" Ruby corrected. 

"Regardless. It’s someone’s personal property. An address fell out of it. I’ll drop it off at the post office once I figure out where Wilson is."

"I’ll hold on to it for safekeeping."

Sylvia snatched it from her grip and said, "Oh no, you won’t." She walked the diary out to her glovebox and locked it up tight.

Today passed much like every day before. Mr. Whittle came in for a salted caramel scone. Bernice asked for a s’mores cookie but took two. The elementary school kids ran into the shop, screaming for sugar, before the high schoolers came in for their afternoon decaf mocha latte. No whip. 

 "Ruby, I’m gonna take a little break. Be back in a few." She ran for the door before hearing confirmation that her message had been received.

"What?" Ruby said, walking after her. She smirked at the sight of a frantic Sylvia fighting with a jammed glovebox key in the blistering afternoon sun.

"Um, I was just checking…to make sure you didn’t get to it."

"Of course, dear. Let’s read it together. The kids cleaned us out anyway. Nothing left to sell." 

Sylvia paced from one side of the shop to the other. "We’re only doing this to figure out where to return it. Nothing more."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, my friend. I’m gonna enjoy this." 

Two curious creatures curled up next to one red leather-bound book with wide eyes and racing hearts.

May 21st, 1958

Today was awful. No one came to the shop. Not a penny in the till. Maybe I reached too far. Ma told me this would never work. What if she’s right? She left Italy for a brighter future for me. Don’t I have to be successful in order for her sacrifice to have been worth it?

She wanted me to marry and settle down. Women are made for the kitchen, she said. To be fair, I do work in a kitchen. Her heart stopped when I opened up Milo’s Cakes and Cookies.

I can still hear her little comment after eating my first vanilla cake donut."Too thick," she said. "It sticks to the mouth." Less than a year in, and I’d die to have one of those too-thick-mouth-sticking donuts sold.

Still, I thought she’d come around if I named the shop after papà.

"We shouldn’t." 

"We haven’t figured out who it belongs to and where to mail it," Ruby insisted.

"Yeah, but…"

Ruby continued. 

June 31st, 1958

Sorry, diary. I’ve been overwhelmed and busy. When I opened on the 1st, I resolved to close this place at the end of the week. Stop the bleeding. But a curious man walked in with chestnut-brown eyes and a gorgeous white smile.

"Un caffè lungo, per favore." 

Un caffè lungo, indeed, sir.

I think those were the last words I heard that day. Since then, it’s been magic and mystery. The shop has been busy. Sold out a few days a week. This man is my hero.

Sorry to neglect you.

A presto!

"A budding romance. How cute," Ruby said as she pressed the book against her chest. "It reminds me of how I met my Howard."

"You met him on the side of the road when he got a flat, and you changed it for him."

She booped Sylvia’s nose, leaving a fingerprint of confectionary sugar behind. "Exactly. Serendipity." 

Sylvia grinned. 

"Back to the book," Ruby said. 

"Skim it for Wilson, please."

"On it!" Ruby flew through the pages. She didn’t stop to blink or breathe. "Oh my."

August 15th, 1958

I’m pregnant. Sorry about the blunt delivery. There’s no other way to say it. I’m going to be a mother. How did this happen? I mean, I obviously know how it happened. But…

How did this happen to me?

And before you ask, diary, it was Mr. Caffè Lungo. He’s in Italy now. I don’t know how to reach him. Ma is trying to marry me off. Papà won’t talk to me.

What do I do now?

"How sad," said Ruby.

"How sad for the state of women at that time. I mean…" 

Ruby nodded. "One more."

"No, thank you," said Sylvia.

"I wasn’t asking."

February 22, 1959

Hi diary, 

Papà is finally talking to me. Well, he’s grunting at me. He can’t avert his eyes. My stomach is too big. Ma seems excited. She knitted an entire wardrobe for this little one.

About the baby. I’m due March 17th. She keeps me awake, kicking all night. I feel like I know her. I love her already. My daughter. I’m about to be a mother.

  About Mr. Caffè Lungo. His real name is Antonio Cantucci.

"Cantucci. Did you say Antonio Cantucci?" said Sylvia.

“Yeah, says Antonio Cantucci."

Sylvia stole the diary out of her hands and shot towards the door. She shouted, "Lock up or burn the place down. Your choice." 

She flew thirty miles in fifteen minutes. Busted the front door wide open. "Mom. Mom. Where are you?" She turned the house upside down, looking for bright red hair and a Mrs. Claus smile.

"Back here," Melissa called out from the office.

"Am I a Cantucci?"

The force of the accusation sent Melissa stumbling into the wall. 

"Am. I. A. Cantucci?"

 "What on earth?”

Sylvia waved the diary in the air. "Let me rephrase this. I’m a Cantucci." 

"Sweetheart. I…"

Sylvia stormed to her old bedroom before her mom responded and returned with a creased piece of worn paper. "When were you going to tell me?"

Melissa looked down, unable to meet the fire in her daughter’s eyes. 

"I found this years ago. I thought it was weird to see my birthday on it. But never thought much of it. Until today. Look at me," she demanded.

Melissa flipped through the diary to a folded page with March 17, 1959, written on it.

"Mom," she snapped.

"Oh honey. I don’t know what to say. I didn’t want you to find out this way."

"How did you want me to find out?" Sylvia said.

"Does it matter now?"

"To me, yeah."

Melissa motioned for the couch facing a picturesque lake and sky-high oak trees.

Sylvia shook her head and crossed her arms.

A stale pause passed between them.

"I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say."

"The truth. For once. Is this my birth certificate? Am I a Cantucci? Is my real name even Sylvia?"

"Please come here," she said, patting the couch again. "You were born Sylvia Cantucci. March 17th, 1959, in Wilson, New York. Your mother…"

"My mother…" she recoiled. The room spun her into a tailspin.

"Your mother died shortly after birth. No one really knows what happened. She lost consciousness. She passed fifteen minutes after you were born.” Melissa watched the trees shelter their inhabitants from the storm. "The Cantucci’s were too heartbroken to take care of you. They…" 

"They threw me away. They…I’m….I…can’t…process this." 

"Sylvia. They did what they thought was best. Every time they looked at you, they saw their daughter. And you came here to me. I love you. You are my daughter. Who cares how you got here? You’re here now. Safe in my arms."

She started for the door, paused, and stared down her mother. "Safe? How can I be safe when my whole life is a lie? I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know who you are anymore. I’m not your daughter. Never was."

Melissa sobbed into pink lace pillows. Rest didn’t come to her that night or many nights thereafter.

A week went by without a peep from Sylvia. She puttered about the shop, staring at the floor. The bell on the front glass door rang her back to the present.

"We haven’t talked for a week," Melissa said.

Sylvia rolled her eyes.

"This isn’t like us."

Silence. 

"Please, I’m so sorry."

"For what, Melissa? For lying to me? For hiding my identity from me?" accused Sylvia.

"Hey. I’m still your mother."

"Not according to this,” she said, waving the infamous diary in the air. 

Melissa inhaled sharply and said, "Taking care of a child is impossible. You never know if you’re doing the right thing. Maybe I should’ve told you…"

"You should’ve…"

"Maybe I should’ve told you sooner," Melissa insisted in a higher octave. "But I did what I thought was best. Every decision I’ve ever made came from a place of love. I loved you the moment I saw you, and I’ve never stopped. Right or wrong, I…" 

Sylvia stopped wiping the tables. "I…I mean, we aren't... I had a right to know. You’re not my mother.”

"A parent cares for a child. Loves them. Protects them. Watches them grow. Puts a bandaid on scraped knees and kisses their tears away."

"I guess.”

"I know," Melissa said.

“Why did you lie? For years, you kept this from me.”

“I don’t know. I guess, I mean, I thought it might be hard for you. Life wasn’t easy for you growing up. You seem to come into your own when you got older. Why complicate things?” 

Sylvia softened. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m still mad.” She collapsed next to her mom and Ruby in the booth in the corner. “You think it was my father who left this?"

"I’m not sure. From what I know, he didn’t know about you. Your mother’s family couldn’t find him. That was forty…"

"Watch it!" 

"Thirty-ish years ago. There’s only one way to find out, dear."

A soft whisper brushed up against Sylvia’s flushed face. "I can hold down the fort if you want to go to Wilson. Find your family. Maybe it was your dad," Ruby suggested.

"Why should he get a second chance, though? He abandoned me. He didn’t love me enough to take me in."

“He probably didn’t know.” continued Ruby.

Sylvia looked up from her mom’s shoulder and said, “but he knew at some point. He knew enough to find me here.” 

“You don't know that. My dear, life isn’t as straightforward as you pretend it to be. We are woven into vines. We crisscross and turn upside down. Nothing is as it seems. You’ve got an opportunity to grow stronger roots. Go. Find him. Yell at him if you have to. If you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself," said Ruby.

Sylvia nodded. She mouthed, "Thank you," and hugged both women goodbye.

The next day GPS took her sixteen hours north, almost to the border of Canada. 13 King Street, Wilson, NY, was nestled in a cul-de-sac. Its blue-jay-colored shutters outlined the two-story windows of a Victorian house. Sylvia put her car in park. She sat inside, paralyzed. She counted 107 wood panels. 8 front windows and 1 dark-roast-stained door. A dog yapped in the backyard. 

Why did I come here? What am I going to say? Hello, I’m the kid you never knew about.

A knock on her driver’s side window jolted her from her mental anguish. 

"You found me," a raspy voice with chestnut eyes and a weathered smile said. 

"Actually, I found me." Sylvia said.