Open

TW: Death of Spouse, Vehicular Manslaughter

She opened the bakery as she did every morning, hours before the sun would show itself. Some days she loved it, and some days she regretted ever buying Loaves. For two years, she jockeyed between pure pride and the truest of buyers remorse. Today, she felt as if she were moving through sand. Waist-deep sand. She could not be bothered. Some days this routine was comforting, she doubted that today was one of those days.

   She turned on the lights and dramatically sighed to an audience of one. She brewed her special morning blend and turned on the ovens to warm. She pulled two, day-old croissants from the shelf and placed them in the oven. Needing to get into a better mood and embrace her beach town bakery vibes, she played Jack Johnson over the speakers.

   Propping open the front door, she pulled out one table and two chairs for her two early morning regulars. She set the table with two mugs, two small plates, napkins, cream and sugar. She removed the croissants from the oven, placed them on a plate, grabbed the coffee pot, and greeted her two favorite customers. Her most loyal.

   "Good morning George, good morning Goldie." She placed the croissants on the table and filled their mugs.

   "Good morning June!" Goldie beamed, her teeth always looking extra white against her sun tanned skin.

   "Hope you don't mind the bikes," George struggled with their two bikes and large backpacks. George and Goldie typically parked them in the back of the bakery when they came for breakfast.

   "No problem, George." June helped him steady the bikes.

   "Been having more theft than usual. You know, beginning of winter season. More homeless in the area. Bikes are a hot commodity." George's full mustache spread wide as he smiled. "How are you dear?"

   "I'm good. Seeing you two always lifts my spirits. How was your night?" June asked.

   "Lovely," Goldie smiled and poured cream in her coffee. "But this is the best part of the day. This and sunset. Just lovely."

   "Can you sit?" George asked.

   "Why not? Let me grab coffee and a chair."

   This was part of their routine. June never invited herself. She wanted to treat them like any other customers. George would ask her to sit knowing she would say, yes. She would have her first cup of coffee with them and listen to their stories of being happy and intentional beach bums. They insisted on the term. They weren't homeless. This was their lifestyle choice, they would say every day.

   "All right, I need to get kneading." June said this for George. He thought it was hilarious. "See you this afternoon? I'll save you a sourdough."

   "We might make our way up to Del Mar today, love. Might not be back in time,"Goldie said.

   "Be safe!" June said and went inside.

   She pulled the trays of dough from the walk-in refrigerator as she did every morning for the past two years. She reminisced of the day before her husband died. Their last day together, they were unaware of the devastation and heartbreak heading towards them. They were walking along the beach, so proud of their brave decision to quit their jobs and move to San Diego. That morning they had unpacked the final box. Two weeks as Californians, and they could not be happier with their tiny apartment. They had sold both cars, bought two bikes, and took lower paying jobs within biking distance of where they lived. All June and Christopher wanted was to live by the beach. They made their dream come true and embraced the sacrifices.

   June robotically scored the tops of the loaves, returned to the walk-in and retrieved another tray. She repeated this several more times. She began loading the oven and remembered so vividly, the day her husband died. The image of the red sedan veering wildly into the bike lane was still so vivid. Right in front of her eyes, while still on her bike, her heart was gone. As if someone had punched it straight through her back, leaving an aching, dark space. She felt her life end when his did. Just two weeks after they had moved. She shook off the memory.

   She cleared George and Goldie's table and set up the others. Mila would be coming in soon to help with the pastries. June welcomed the distraction of Mila's energy. Her stories were always entertaining and enlightening. June could use that today.

   June began making dough in the giant Hobart mixer. The dough hook steadily spinning, sent her into another world. A happier world. A world where he was still here, standing next to her on the beach. She had no idea how long she was standing there. It was Mila's yell that brought her back.

   "Oh my gosh, June!" Mila opened the oven and pulled from it scorched trays of bread.

   June, slightly dazed, opened the back door to ventilate. She could hear Mila rapidly speaking, but June was not listening. She felt the familiar despair fill her veins. The wave was coming. She felt the heavy familiarity begin to wash over her. June recognized the smoke filling the bakery. Then she acknowledged the desire of wanting the smoke to fill not only the bakery, but her lungs as well. She was done.

   "June!" Mila grabbed June's shoulders. After seeing her face, Mila's tone softened. "Oh, June." Mila pulled June into her arms. "It will be okay. I promise it will. Just hang on, please."

   "I'm just done. I'm done." June pulled away and shuffled to a table and sat down, exhausted.

   Mila pulled a piece of paper from the printer and scribbled, Closed For The Day, and taped the impromptu sign to the front door. She joined June at the table. They sat together for hours, until the smell of burnt bread no longer surrounded them.

   The next morning, June opened the bakery and turned on the lights. Once again, she sighed to no one but herself. Less dread filled than yesterday, she tentatively left the Closed For The Day sign on the door. She had yet to decide if she could make this work, this impulsive decision to use the life insurance money to buy this business, to make a life, by herself, in San Diego. She loved their neighborhood of Mission Beach. The mix of socio-economies and lifestyles was so appealing. She would feel so alive if she did not feel so dead. This was their dream, their home. Never her's alone. And if she were honest with herself, she never would have been brave enough without him by her side.

   She heard Mila's voice inside her head. "Is this what he would want for you? For you to just, be done?"

   At the time. June was barely hearing the words Mila spoke. She really did not care about being soothed. But this morning, she wrapped her brain around those words. "Is this what Christopher would have wanted for me?" The tears poured down her face from the wells that had been dry and empty for so long. Her chest ached. Her head pounded. She buried her head in her arms resting on the table. She sobbed, releasing the anger, the doubt, and the fear. She had no idea how long she sat this way. Just releasing.

   She lifted her head to the faint sound of tapping. Tapping on the front door. She turned to see Goldie's white teeth gleaming through the window. Tap. Tap. Tap. George struggled with the bikes, twitching his full mustache side to side as he pursed his lips.

   June's heart began to fill. This was what she wanted. These moments right here. She rose slowly and wiped her face on her sleeve. She opened the door and invited them both inside.

   "Pull the bikes in George. I could use both of your help today. I'm a bit behind."

   Goldie began setting tables and George turned on the music. The bakery was instantly filled with their good energy. June soaked it in. She turned on the ovens to warm and felt as though something clicked when she flipped the oven switch. Click. Click. This was where she wanted to be.

   June went to the front door, and took down the paper sign Mila had made the day before. The bakery was open and so was June.