Med vennlig hilsen,
Per Pettersen
Preservation Committee Chair, The American Norwegian Heritage Foundation
Dot finishes the letter and Hilda whoops in glee, accidentally spilling her fruit cup all over the table. I glance at Jakob only to find him already looking at me. His gaze snags on mine and we stare at one another for an electric second until he looks down at his work boots.
I sit frozen, a forkful of pancake poised over my plate, stunned by the good news. I think Jakob just saved us. The general mood has shifted from despondent to jubilant in the space of two minutes. The relief is palpable.
“Jakob, thank you,” Mom whispers, a little misty-eyed, reaching across the table and squeezing Jakob’s hand.
Dot claps him on the back firmly. “You’re a hero,” she says.
Jakob shrugs off the accolades. “Glad I could help all of you,”he says, but he glances at me as he says the words. He scrapes his chair back and excuses himself. “I’ve got to get back to the bakery,” he tells us before he heads out the door.
We sit for a moment in blissful silence, absorbing the momentous news. Dot leans over to me.
“You know he did it for you, right, hon?” she murmurs, watching Jakob disappear down the sidewalk.
“He did it for all of us,” I counter, but her words sit like a warm little sun in the center of my chest. Maybe he did it for all of us. Maybe it’s true and he did it for me. Regardless, Jakob’s gift to us via the American Norwegian Heritage Foundation has suddenly made the impossible feel possible.
“So this means we are not selling, right?” Sebastian asks the table. We all exchange glances.
“Not now,” Dot says. “That grant just saved our bacon. It won’t cover all the upgrades, but it’s enough that I can scrape together whatever I owe for the rest of the costs.”
“Me too,” Hilda agrees.
“God bless the American Norwegian Heritage Foundation, whoever they are,” Sebastian says fervently. “I can cover my part of the costs.”
Dot looks at me and Mom. “What about you two?”
“We want to keep the shop in the family,” I tell her firmly. “We don’t want to sell. We’ll find the money somehow.”
I haven’t done the math, but between the cost of the plumbing repair, the cost of the remodel (which I haven’t seen a final total for yet), and the cost of our portion of the building upgrades, I’m fairly certain we are going to come up thousands of dollars short. But I’m determined to figure something out. We’ve got a little time before we have to complete the upgrades. Surely we can figure something out before then, right?
Dot sits back, satisfied. “Great. Looks like we’re agreed. Who’s going to break the news to my brother that we’re not selling?” she asks, a wicked little gleam in her eye.
As I eat the last of my pancakes, I glance around the table, thinking about Dot’s admonition. Maybe I don’t have to carry everything. Maybe it’s okay to let my community carry me now and then. After all, that’s the beauty of it, right? When we share a load, it gets lighter. I think it’s high time for me to start sharing my load.
But first…I down the rest of my coffee and push my chair back. “You all take your time,” I tell them. “I’ll go break the news to Walt.” I leave a twenty-dollar bill with Mom to pay for my breakfast and leave the table first. Before facing Walt with the news, I stop in at Kristensen’s Bakery. Half a block before I reach the familiar red storefront, I smooth my hair, pop a breath mint, and slick on some tinted lip balm. My heart is pounding as I open the door. The bell jingles. The store smells heavenly—sugared fruit and cinnamon, butter and yeast.
“Just a minute,” calls a familiar deep voice from the back. “What can I…Emmie.” Jakob comes into the storefront, wiping his hands on a towel. He looks surprised to see me. Not displeased though, which is heartening. He’s wearing a flour-streaked apron over his Henley, his hair tied back in the stubby man bun. He’s so beautiful he makes my heart ache. He offered himself to me and I rejected him. Twice. I’m an idiot. A regretful idiot who realized too late how much he really means to me, how much he always has.
“Sorry, I just need to pick up some sugar to soften a blow. I’ve got to break the bad news to Walt.”
Jakob stills. “What bad news?” His eyes on me are instantly wary.
I hasten to reassure him. “More like disappointing news…for Walt. We’re not selling the building. Because of the grant, we can all keep our stores.” I meet his eyes. “Because of you,” I add. “Thanks to you.” The moment stretches long as we stare at one another.
“Good,” Jakob says, clearing his throat and breaking the eye contact. “Glad I could help. I know that’s what you wanted.” His look is guarded, cautious. I hate that look, and hate even more that I put it there. And there is nothing I can do to remove it except show him I’m trustworthy and serious about all of it—the chocolate shop, our community, and him. I order a bear claw for Walt, and Jakob hands me the paper bag with the pastry in it, our fingers brushing.
“Wish me luck,” I say with a sigh. “I hope Walt’s not too grouchy about this.”
“He’ll be fine,” Jakob predicts, swiping my credit card for the pastry. “He’s a soft-boiled egg beneath that crusty shell.”
I giggle at the description, thinking of Walt going to puzzle club with my mom. I hope he’s a very soft-boiled egg indeed. My dad adored Mom until the day he died, and I know that even though she has me and Gus, she’s lonely. She needs someone to coddle her. Maybe that someone will be, in a twist none of us saw coming, gruff, grumbly, heart-of-gold Walt Perkins. I suppose stranger things have happened.
Five minutes later when I reach the shop and give Walt his bear claw, I realize Jakob slipped an extra pastry into the bag. It’s a raspberry Danish. I slide it from the bag and look at it, imagining his hands shaping the round of dough, spooning in the raspberry filling. It’s a message, I’m sure, but I don’t know what it means. Is this absolution, affection, pity? I don’t know how to decipher his intention.
