I pushed the key into the lock and turned it to the left, hearing a slight click. With a flick of my wrist, I twisted the doorknob and entered through the back of the bakery. The scent of fresh baked cookies, and some of the many assorted treats Touch of Heaven offered swarmed and filled my nostrils. A smile formed across my lips. Grams is at it again.
“Grams, you know we don’t open for another hour and a half, right?”
“Oh! Amelia, dear. You startled me! You’re here early. And I was in the mood to bake,” she explained, her voice cracking with age.
“You’re always in the mood to bake.” My laugh echoed in the almost empty bakery.
Grams glanced at the clock, her voice was etched with concern when she asked, “could you not sleep?”
My thoughts flickered to 11 p.m. when I settled into bed. I deserved a good night’s sleep after the busy day at the bakery yesterday. They jumped to waking up at midnight, 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3:30 a.m., and again at 5:05 a.m.
“Are you sure? You look tired.”
“Really, Grams, I’m fine.”
Grams nodded and turned back to the oven. She began pulling out a sheet of chocolate chip cookies; I could see she kept glancing over at me through the reflection. I had taken post in front of the mirror hanging beside the refrigerator. My gaze flicked back to myself. I took in the purple rings beneath my blue eyes. The contrast was almost unbearable but intriguing. My complexion, more pale now than normal. Grams used to call me her little porcelain doll when I was younger.
I examined the tiny vine-like veins branching out in a soft red throughout the whites of my eyes. At least they don’t look as bloodshot. I really need to stop going on those stupid blind dates McKenzie sets up for me. This is the fifth date that’s ended in me tossing and turning all night crying about why they don’t want a second date.
I pulled my hair into a ponytail, lifted the apron from the hook on the left of the mirror and tied it around my waist. I had to have my own apron because the others were much larger than I needed. Grams always poked fun about this: “If you don’t get out of here soon, you’ll end up looking like me!” Grams would then proceed to pat her stomach with a smug expression across her face. It would always make me laugh because Grams wasn’t a large woman, by any means. I was tall and “lanky,” as Grams called me.
Viewing my reflection one last time, I tucked my bangs behind my ears. My bangs were at the awkward length where they were too short to be pulled into a ponytail but too long to be able to wear them in place. I nodded. That’ll have to do.
I crossed the kitchen towards the front door, flipped the “open” sign and turned on the lobby lights. The lights flickered as they came to life, filling the lobby with a warm glow. I glanced over the lobby area, viewing the cakes and cupcakes Grams had already set up for the day. Wedding cakes were along the left, cakes of different heights, sizes, and shapes. My favorite was a smaller cake near the middle featuring a large rubber ducky and two smaller ones.
I had never heard of someone wanting a rubber ducky wedding cake until a year and a half ago when a young woman named Kay Coleman came rushing into the bakery like a woman on a mission. I remember how Kay’s bright yellow dress was no match for her sunny disposition. Her image flashed in my mind; I could never fathom how someone would be that cheerful at 6 a.m.
I shook the image feeling exhausted and scanned the rest of the lobby. There was a large display case that ran from the right and continued in an “L” shape. One section held a wide variety of cookies, candies, cupcakes, and muffins. The other section contained a plethora of cakes, donuts and pastries.
I spotted the cupcake decorations painted along the walls. My great aunt, Mallory, had painted them when the bakery first opened in 1948. Grams was close to the same age as me at the time- maybe a few months shy of 23. Since then, the walls hadn’t seen much love, but it wasn’t obvious. The pastel blue paint wasn’t chipping and the cupcakes looked as fresh as the one’s Grams baked this morning. I smiled and glanced toward the ceiling. Glimpses of the sun starting to rise, trails of color leading from one corner to the next filled my vision.
When Touch of Heaven was built, the idea was to make it seem as though it were a little corner in Heaven brought down to Earth. The atmosphere was warm, welcoming and magical. The lack of a real ceiling always appealed to me. In the evenings, after the sun would set, I would wander into the lobby and stare at the stars through the giant glass panels. I could remember there were nights when I would bring my sleeping bag along with me to camp in the bakery. It was my safe place.
A resounding clash that reminded me of a South East Asian gong jolted me from my thoughts. My arms shot up from my sides to protect my ears but it was too late; the ringing continued as I darted to the kitchen. The sight struck me with a paralyzing fear. My breath caught in my throat. Grams had collapsed in front of the large, open oven. Peanut butter cookies littered the ground around her. The baking pan, which was almost as large as Grams, rested across her legs. I knocked the pan off Grams’s legs noticing there were already welts forming from the heat. Dread washed over me leaving me nauseous.
“Grams! Grams, can you hear me?”
The ringing continued in my ears. I wouldn’t be able to hear Grams even if she did respond. I picked up the phone. My fingers trembled as I dialed 911 and waited. I estimated how long it would take for someone to answer and began speaking, hoping someone was on the other side of the line.
“My name is Amelia Greene. I’m at 1123 E. Azalea Court, the Touch of Heaven bakery. My grandma has collapsed and isn’t responding. Please send help!”
I waited a few seconds to see if I could hear something, anything but the ringing. It was hopeless so I hung up the phone. The peanut butter cookies squished beneath my feet as I stumbled to the ovens to shut them off. Grams was still lying in the same position I had found her in. I dropped down to my knees and lifted her head from the ground. I placed it onto my lap, slow as to not injure her further, in an effort to ease any pain from lying with a crooked neck. Sirens blared from outside as red and blue lights reflected from the lobby.
“You’ll be fine, Grams. They’re here.”
Three men rushed into the kitchen wearing navy pants and light blue shirts embellished with paramedic symbols, EMT, and certification emblems. They ordered me to quickly and carefully step away from Grams. I couldn’t move at first but staggered to my feet toward the wall. Two of the men responded to Grams while the other watched me. Our eyes met and his expression changed from urgent to sad. I broke contact and turned my focus to the men. They checked for a pulse, shined a flashlight into her eyes, and spoke into their radios requesting a stretcher from the ambulance. Another man and a woman rushed in carrying the stretcher. The man I made eye contact with crossed in front of me, blocking my view of Grams and the other EMTs. He tried to gather my attention.
“She’ll be OK.”
I nodded. Tears stung my eyes as I refused to make eye contact with him again.
“Listen, the ambulance is going to be too crowded for you to ride along, so go ahead and lock everything up and I can give you a lift to the hospital.”
“OK.”
I dug into my pocket for my keys and fumbled with them. They crashed to the ground, jarring me, reminding me of the sound of the cookie tray colliding with the floor. I froze, wanting to drop to my knees and cry. This can’t be happening. The man picked up my keys, asked which one was for the lock and locked the doors for me while I stood near the refrigerator, trying to regain my composure.
After a few moments, the paramedics had Grams lifted into the ambulance and were on their way to the hospital. I listened as the sirens howled into the crisp morning air.
‘Everything’s locked up. You ready?”
I nodded again, gazing in the direction of the floor but not focusing on anything in particular. He must have noticed because I felt a gentle pressure rest on my shoulder. He handed the keys to me and opened the door, allowing me to exit first. How thoughtful. I took a few steps forward, remembered to flip off the lights and take off my apron, then headed toward the street where the paramedic’s red Dodge Ram truck was parked. I thought it was odd how a paramedic was driving a real truck instead of an ambulance. Paramedic emblems were painted onto the doors. “Emergency Medical Services – Service Unit” was written across the top of the bed, traveling all the way around.
He brushed in front of me and opened the passenger door. Without saying a word, I grabbed the arm rest and climbed in as he shut the door behind me. After jogging around the front of the truck, he hopped in the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition and the truck roared to life. The truck fell into gear and we headed toward the hospital. The ride was silent. I stared straight ahead, arms wrapped around me. I shivered.
“I’m Oliver, by the way. Sorry to meet you on such circumstances.”
“Hi, Oliver.” Is he trying to make me feel better?
“You’re Amelia, right?” I turned my head, hesitated then nodded.
“I thought so.”
“How did you know my name? Dispatch?”
“No. I’ve been into the store a few times.”
Upon hearing this, I whipped my head towards him, eyes narrowed, examining. Recognition flicked in my brain as I took in the familiar clean-shaven face that always wears a smile when he comes into the shop.
“You’re triple fudge chocolate chip.”
Oliver laughed, “You got me!” Tiny creases formed around his eyes as his smile grew wide.
A slight smile crept across my face despite the anxiety. Golly, that smile. I shivered again and he must have noticed. He stuck his arm behind my seat and pulled out a black jacket. I glanced from the jacket to him and back to the jacket. I shook my head in an effort to decline the offer but I shivered again. Just take the stupid jacket. We reached the hospital and I jumped out of the truck. I could hear Oliver’s footsteps following behind me.
The doors flew open with a whoosh when I stepped onto the mat. I sprinted forward to the desk where an attendant had just placed her phone back on the receiver. My words slurred together when I spoke, trying to get to Grams as quick as possible. Oliver placed his hand on my shoulder again. Tingles shot down my spine. He spoke up for me, “We’re looking for Evelyn Greene. She was just brought in.”
The attendant entered the name into her computer and paused for a moment. My knees began to quiver and she said room 241. I glanced down the hallway to my right and started that direction. Oliver grabbed my hand and I let out a quiet gasp. He must know where the room is. We half jogged down the hall to the left. We stopped in front of an elevator; he hit the up button, and waited. He was still holding my hand and my stomach was getting the best of me. It flipped, somersaulted, and allowed butterflies to swarm in and have a party. Do butterflies even party?
He squeezed my hand and I fought off a smile. No one had ever held my hand before. Growing up, I was never too interested in boys. Many of the children at my school didn’t want to talk to me because they felt bad; they didn’t know how to act around me. They had parents.
The image of Grams picking me up from school flooded my thoughts. I had just gotten back to the classroom from lunch when I saw Grams enter from the back by the lockers. I noticed her eyes were red and puffy but I didn’t think anything of it. I was only 6, what did I know about the causes of puffy eyes? I remember her taking me to her house and sitting me down on the old yellow love seat. Simon, her cat, had curled up beside me. His purrs filled the silence and seemed to reverberate throughout the room. Grams wouldn’t make eye contact with me and I couldn’t quit fidgeting as a result.
“Amelia,” she started. Her voice was weak and there was an overwhelming sadness that filled the room. “Baby, I’m sorry, but your mom and dad…”
The elevator door opened. Guilt slapped me in the face shaking the memory and we rushed in. Why am I trying to flirt with him? Grams is sick. She could be dying and I’m enjoying this EMT’s company. I’m a terrible person. My stomach dropped to my knees and I lost my smile. I attempted to quit holding his hand but I couldn’t. I eyed my hand and noticed my knuckles were pale. My hand was in a deadlock grip of fear. I shot a glance at Oliver to see if he noticed, but he only stared at the blinking red numbers that slowly flashed awaiting an order. When the other occupants entered the elevator, Oliver hit the second floor button and with a jolt, the elevator ascended to the second floor.
My stomach flipped again, but this time it was because of the elevator. I always had this experience with elevators, ever since I was little. Hospitals always remind me of when Grams would bring me along every couple Sunday’s when I was growing up. She would visit some of her friends and many strangers. We spent time with the one’s who didn’t have anyone else. The hospital had changed so much compared to when Grams and me had always come in to visit.
“This way,” Oliver said as the doors opened. He pulled me to the left. Nurses waved and said hello to Oliver as we passed but he only glanced in their direction and nodded. We continued down a long hallway, took a right down another long hallway. At the very end, we took another left and stopped. Room 241 stared at us.