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back to my desk with my
marching orders. I am to complete the write-ups for which I have engineering
specs. The rest can wait until additional specs are ready. Rob is very
confident that eventually, they will be.
    Before getting started I pull from
my backpack the crumpled notebook page with Ryan Miller’s name written on it. I
am about to find out if he’s given me his real telephone number.
    “This is Ryan,” he answers after
one ring.
    So far, so good. “Hi. This is the
person whose car you hit the other night. Hopefully, I was the only one, so
there’s no need for further clarification.” I hear a soft chuckle in response.
    “I’m afraid you, alone, hold that
honor. Andrea, right?”
    “Right. I got the repair estimate.”
    “Wait, don’t tell me yet,” he says.
“Okay, I’m sitting down now. Go ahead. What’s the bad news?”
    “It’s not so bad really.
Four-hundred and fifty including the car rental.” I decide to round it off.
    “Under five-hundred then? I can
manage that and still eat this month. So, they don’t have to replace the whole
bumper. That would cost at least a grand or more.”
    “Nope. Just some smoothing and
painting, according to the estimate. I can fax it to you if you like.”
    “Sorry, no fax machine yet.”
    “Well, I could mail you a copy.”
    “Actually, maybe we could just meet
somewhere. You bring the estimate, I’ll bring my checkbook, and we can settle
things.”
    “Oh, umm…”  I hesitate.
Meeting isn’t really necessary. I recall his “looking forward to hearing from
you” comment and start to think he may have ulterior motives. He isn’t
bad-looking if you get past his disheveled, haggard appearance. Or with my
luck, he probably wants to meet because he doesn’t have a mailing address.
Maybe he lives in his car. I am way over-thinking this. “Okay,” I finally say.
    “Great. Is this Saturday good for
you?”
    I remember the cake tasting.
“Actually, Sunday is better.”
    “Okay then, Sunday. I’m coming from
Waltham. How about you?”
    Waltham is about twenty minutes
from my townhouse. “I can meet you in Waltham,” I answer, still being cautious.
    “Are you sure? I could come to
you.”
    “No, Waltham is fine.”
    He names a neighborhood brewery
that I’m familiar with, and we agree to meet there Sunday afternoon. I hang up,
not quite sure what to think. Probably best to think nothing, I decide.

five
     
    The bakery is in Providence, Rhode
Island which is about a forty-five minute drive south. Apparently, the prices
in Providence are more reasonable than those in Boston. My sister had wanted to
carpool down, but there was no way I was getting stuck there with no way to
leave on my own. By the time I find parking and then locate the bakery, Laura
and Mom are already there waiting. They greet me with the usual cheek kisses.
    Because it’s another warm, sticky
afternoon, I have on khaki shorts and a tank top. Laura is dressed much the
same. We both have our hair pulled back in low ponytails since we each suffer
from similar curl to frizz transitions on days like these. Laura and I have
similar builds as well, tall and slim but sturdy, although she is about an inch
taller than me. My mother, on the other hand, is quite short and she wouldn’t
be caught in anything as dressed down as shorts and a tank top. Her make-up and
her hair are done as though she’s heading out for a night on the town. She has
on silk lavender pants paired with a beige blouse.
    “They’re bringing out the samples
now,” Laura says, looking excited for a change. I have brought my appetite, so
I find myself excited, as well.
    The bakery has display cases along
a back wall and several small parlor style tables grouped near the entrance. I
have a terrible sweet tooth. If I don’t exert strict control over myself, most
meals would start and end with cookies and cake and maybe have some ice cream
thrown in for variety.
    “Dad didn’t want to taste cakes?”