Keeping Guard Ch. 04

The next morning I awoke before my alarm, destroying my plan of starting the day a half hour later for a little extra sleep. Despite the early hour and the late night I felt rested, if a little apprehensive.

I lay in bed, letting my eyes adjust to the soft orange glow of the streetlamp outside my window, and tried to get my thoughts in order. It was going to be a long day.

I clicked the alarm off before it had the chance to disrupt what was still a peaceful morning. Getting up well before dawn had always been a high price to pay, but there was still something soothing about starting my day while the rest of the world was still tucked up in bed. After taking a quick shower I pulled on my usual work clothes, brushed my hair into a ponytail and set out.

Rounding the final corner I could see John faithfully waiting outside the back door of the bakery, his coat zipped up against the morning chill. The early warning signs of winter had been around for days and it wouldn't be long before I'd have to shovel snow from the walkway out front.

"Good morning," he said between chattering teeth, and I immediately felt bad for making him wait.

"If you're going to get here before me every day maybe I should give you a key." I reluctantly took my hands from my warm pockets to unlock the door for us.

As soon as we were inside I started flipping switches to get everything ready for our abbreviated work day. John took my coat and hung it up in the back with his, then joined me in the kitchen to await his instructions.

"Is there a bulb out?" I glanced up to see John with a puzzled expression on his face. He was looking toward the front of the store, which even before the sun was up should have been lighter than it now looked. When we went to investigate we found the windows were covered over from the outside.

Without stopping to get my coat I unlocked the front door and went outside to take a look. I had no idea what was going on but I had a feeling I wouldn't like it.

I was right.

Every square inch of my front windows was covered with campaign posters. Jerry's team must have come over during the night to decorate, and they had left no space untouched by Charles' gleaming smile or catchy slogans.

John joined me on the sidewalk, his eyebrows shooting up once he got there. He made a move to put his arm around my shoulders but caught himself and returned his arm to his side. Jerry's warnings about staying away from each other had clearly gone unheeded but there was no reason to push our luck.

After a few moments of silence I said, "Come on, let's see if I can find the spare key." We went back into the bakery and didn't mention the posters again.

"This holds a lot of responsibility: it means I could call you in the middle of the night when I lock myself out." It took a fair amount of digging through my cluttered desk but I had finally unearthed a spare set of keys on an ancient key ring.

He stared at them, and then at me. "Why would you be here in the middle of the night?"

"That's when I do some of my best thinking," I replied, placing them in his hand and closing his fingers around them. "And also when I tend to lose my keys." I held his hand for a few moments longer than strictly necessary before turning on my heel to get the donuts onto their trays.

Despite getting a late start we were still prepared when we opened for business, and I greeted a few police officers taking a break from their early shift at the station across the street by assuring them their usual order was already waiting for them.

"You're a life saver," one of them replied. "We're trying to get a recruiting class together, it'll be a lot easier once they find out this place is right across the street."

The posters made people hesitate outside the doors, but after reassuring several customers that we were in fact open the stream of patrons seemed to keep its usual steady pace throughout the morning. Before long I was in the back grabbing a few more batches of croissants to finish out the breakfast crowd and John was being his usual charming self at the register.

After the morning rush came the mid-morning lull, so I sent John to the back to take a break and manned the cash register myself. As I was wiping up the drips around the coffee pot I was surprised to see Carrie walk through the doors. Her bright hair brought some much-needed color to the dim interior, and she greeted me with a broad smile and a hug across the counter.

She nodded toward the front of the store. "It's not usually like that, is it?" The expression on her face told me she disapproved of the posters, possibly politics in general, and I was quick to assure her that by tomorrow they would be gone forever.

"John's in the back, want me to grab him?"

"Actually I'm here to see you," she answered. "Thought I'd get the lay of the land and report back to my photographer."

I had half expected her suggestion of photographing my shop to be an offhand remark so I was delighted that she was genuinely interested. I watched as she scanned the display cases, unusually sparse for this time of day. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"

She frowned. "Actually yeah, he was hoping for cakes."

"Cupcakes are about all I can manage on a daily basis," I replied.

She politely took a look at what was on display but I could tell it wasn't what she wanted. "Hm, not sure how much he'll be able to do with those."

"Tell you what: give me some warning and I'll whip something up just for you," I said, and she bobbed her magenta head in approval.

As we started talking specifics we heard a voice call out. "Hey Megan, the oven just made a noise but I'm not really sure what it means," came John's voice from the kitchen. Carrie and I rolled our eyes at each other and shared a grin.

"At least he knows which one is the oven," I said with a sigh.

She giggled. "Well, it's just nice to see him happy."

I meant to follow up on her comment but John called again to say the oven had made a different noise so I excused myself instead. Once I was in the back I sent John back out front, and felt a rush of excitement when he gave me an illicit peck on the cheek on his way.

The rest of the morning passed smoothly, but all too soon it was time to close for the day. The notice I'd posted on the door about the early closing discouraged some customers from even coming in at all, but there were still enough to clear the display cases of their contents. By the time Jerry ambled in the stragglers of the lunch crowd were gone, we had already cleared all the food away and were just finishing cleaning up.

Jerry brought with him a team of smartly dressed professionals who were sizing up the space and jotting down notes, pointing at various spots and conferring in clipped tones.

He turned to John with a sneer. "Why don't you slink out the back, hmm? We're busy." He seemed annoyed, though not particularly surprised, that my assistant had shown up to work that morning.

John started to say something but I put my hand on his arm. If experience had taught me anything it's that there's no use getting into an argument with a campaign manager. I walked John to the back and grabbed his coat, and as I handed it over he held my gaze.

"Are you sure about all this?" His eyes were searching my face and I could see the hesitation in leaving me alone.

I put on a brave face and reassured him that I would be fine, that soon all of this would be over and I could go back to living my own life. He didn't seem entirely convinced but at least pulled on his coat. After confirming that we'd be open the usual time the next day he gave my shoulder a squeeze and left out the back door, leaving me alone with Jerry and his crew.

Not wanting to get involved in the temporary renovations going on in the front I stayed in the kitchen, making sure everything was put away and wouldn't risk getting set aside somewhere I'd never find it again. I took my trusty clipboard off the wall and checked my supplies, making a note of the orders I'd need to place soon.

"You'll really just be in the way if you hang around here, so why don't you be a good little girl and go home." Jerry's voice was uncomfortably close to my ear, and I couldn't help shuddering at the proximity. Without a word I put on my own coat and left.

Back at my apartment I took a long shower, letting the hot water work at the tension in my shoulders. My imagination was running away thinking about what was going on at the bakery at that moment, and how the rest of the evening would go. After successfully steaming up the entire bathroom I got out, dressed in the Jerry-approved ensemble and headed out.

Even before I got to the bakery I could tell the party had started. The sidewalks were crowded with people all headed the same direction, and uniformed valets were taking expensive cars to some unseen parking lot. I hesitated at the door: time to get this over with.

The inside of the bakery had undergone a complete transformation since I had left, and I spent a few moments staring around in disbelief. Enormous lamps had been placed in the usually dark corners and were bathing the entire store in bright light. The front counter had been completely removed, a feat I never imagined possible and one that must have involved the services of a fast-working carpenter. High tables draped in colorful swathes of fabric dotted the open space, and the room felt like it had doubled in size.

Despite the increase in space there was hardly room to stand. The entire shop was packed with well-dressed people holding champagne flutes and tiny plates of food. Waiters in crisp white shirts mingled among the guests with trays of unrecognizable (but undoubtedly expensive) hors d'oeuvres.

Some of the guests I recognized from their work on the campaign, and I even got a smile from a few of the eager interns excited they got to join in on the fun. However, the majority of the crowd was made up of campaign donors who were much less enthusiastic toward me.

I made my way through the throng of people, feeling painfully under-dressed in the clothes Jerry had instructed me to wear. My jeans had been replaced with a pair of dress pants and my usual long-sleeve tee was now a button-down shirt, but even the waiters were better dressed.

After scanning the room twice over the crowd parted and I got my first glimpse of Charles. He was wearing the crisp suit and tie I was used to but tonight he seemed even more polished. His hair had been carefully styled and looked immaculate, his graying temples a stalwart reassurance of his experience and wisdom. His face looked slightly tanned and his smile was freshly whitened. No doubt he had spent the majority of his day being pampered and primped since he had little need for last-minute campaigning.

I tried to catch his eye but he was obviously busy. Each person he greeted got a hearty two-handed handshake, the one I had only ever seen performed by politicians. He listened intently to each person and perfectly matched his facial expression to what they were saying, so much that I could follow the conversation just by watching his reactions.

It was as though his transformation from eager assistant district attorney to career politician was finally complete. During the early days of his first campaign we had mocked the seasoned politicos, their shallow emotions and empty chatter.

When I'd suggested he could one day turn into one of those people he'd laughed and sworn it would never happen. He promised he was different, that he would never let the politics go to his head. It was just one in a long string of promises he would eventually break.

People avoided my gaze as I made my way through the crowd toward the kitchen to escape the teeming mass of humanity. No one seemed to think I was worth paying attention to and that was just fine by me. When I got to the back I found Jerry berating one of the caterers about some trivial matter and he hardly noticed when I stood beside him.

"Well I'm here," I told him. "What do you want me to do?"

Jerry excused the caterer with a wave of his hand before looking me up and down. "There's been a slight change of plan. I think we have things under control for now," he said, "so just sit tight."

He wandered back out to the party and left me in the kitchen where the food was being served up on gleaming platters. There were more people crammed into my modest kitchen than should have fit, but I felt much more comfortable among the staff than I had with the guests.

After standing around until my feet were sore I spotted a chair backed against a wall and took a seat. Before long someone took pity on me and brought a plate of food over so I passed the time munching on a meal that probably cost as much as my rent. Every so often I would catch snatches of conversation from the next room, and updates in poll numbers were announced with increasing regularity.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed my office door was closed. In the bustle of the kitchen I hadn't noticed anyone go in there and I wondered if anything important might be carelessly left on my desk. Before I had made up my mind whether to investigate or not the door opened and a woman stepped out.

She was wearing an elegant dress that perfectly complemented her figure, and even a few of the busy kitchen staff turned when she walked by. She looked vaguely familiar but I couldn't quite place her. Had she worked on the campaign?

She had closed the office door behind her and I decided I would be even more out of the way if I was closed off in my office. I even had some work I could do while I was in there so the evening wouldn't be a total waste of time. I was halfway across the room when the door opened again and Charles appeared.

His hair was still perfectly in place but his tie was ever so slightly askew. Before stepping out into the kitchen he checked the zipper on his pants, a maneuver that told me everything I needed to know about what had just happened between Charles and the beautiful woman in my office.

I knew I didn't have a moral leg to stand on, that I was already moving on with my romantic life so there's no reason he shouldn't too. But as his eyes darted around the kitchen and he spotted me a look of overwhelming guilt passed, however briefly, over his face.

He recovered in an instant and went back out to the party without even speaking to me, but that look was unmistakable. And the only reason he'd feel guilty was if this wasn't the first time.

Suddenly the kitchen was too warm, the voices of the catering staff too loud, and my feet were heading straight for the back door. The brisk air stung my face and made me take a sharp breath but I couldn't stand to be in there a second longer.

Jerry's extra agitation now seemed warranted. If I was seen traipsing around with another man people might start to wonder if Charles was spending time with another woman. Some enterprising journalist might put the pieces together and discover the golden boy senator was just like so many others before him and Charles would have to start making apology press conferences.

I sat down on the cold concrete, letting my legs dangle over the edge of the loading dock. Around the side of the building I could hear journalists talking on their phones, photographers adjusting their cameras. Not one of them seemed to notice me, or if they did they didn't care. As far as they were concerned I was yesterday's news and not worth an inch of newsprint. It was exactly how I felt about myself at that moment.

Inside the party raged on as the polls closed and the votes were counted. The sound rose to a crescendo as I assumed the final decision was announced. It died down to silence, broken only by the sound of one muffled voice. Charles, as everyone knew he would, had won.

By this time the cold had seeped so thoroughly into my bones that I didn't feel it anymore. At one point Jerry came out to say the party was over, that he'd keep up his end of the bargain and I'd never hear from him again.

He also asked for my engagement ring back, a final slap in the face on an evening full of blows to my ego. I didn't even think before sliding it off my finger and dropping it in his upturned palm. I didn't want it, didn't even want to sell it; I just wanted this to be over.

When it felt like I would be rooted to that spot forever and never be able to move again I got my first indication that the night really was coming to a close.

"Ma'am? We're all done in here," came a timid voice. I looked back to see the face of one of the interns. I hadn't seen him at the party and his clothes suggested he was part of the cleanup crew and nothing more. Still, he seemed happy just to be involved.

Looking at this eager young man made my heart sink just a little. He was barely out of college and already pledging himself to a life of politics, whether he ever made it onto a ballot or not. He reminded me of Charles back when we first met, before the weight of reality settled on both our shoulders and we realized the true price of the life he had chosen.

I wanted to warn him, to tell this intern that it was not too late to quit and do something else with his life. But even standing at the edge of a loading dock in the middle of the night after doing the grunt work of the campaign he had a gleam in his eye that said this was exactly where he wanted to be, and I knew my plea would fall on deaf ears. Instead I just nodded, thanked him for letting me know, and commanded my stiff limbs to get me to my feet and take me back inside.

I stared around the kitchen, not recognizing it from a few hours earlier. The stacks of platters and cocktail glasses had all been cleared away, and the whole room smelled faintly of disinfectant. Any indication that a celebration had taken place here was long gone.

Out in the front my counter was right back where it always had been, and the campaign posters had been stripped from the windows. There was no trace of what must have been hundreds of people, just empty silence. Wandering back to the kitchen, I grudgingly had to hand it to Jerry: his team was very good at what they did.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and reveled in the silence. I was over. Finally, after all this time, I was done.

The sterile smell of the cleaner seemed out of place in the normally sweet-smelling room, and I wondered what type of chemicals they had used. Just to be on the safe side I grabbed my own cleaning supplies and wiped down all the counters, scrubbing away the unfamiliar odors.

I stood in the empty room once more, staring around me at the tools I so rarely got to use. Though I did my best to rotate the menu, the majority of the items I had for sale never changed. The intricate decorating techniques it had taken me years to learn were rarely seen in favor of the simpler designs that were easier to produce.

An entire cabinet in the kitchen was devoted to piping bags and tips for making different decorations, but it had not even seen the light of day for months. My cake leveler hung nearly forgotten in a corner, just waiting for the day when I would need a cake to be perfectly cut in half to be filled.

The clock on the wall told me exactly how late it was, and how few hours before the bakery was set to open. I had toyed with the idea of taking the day off, but was at a complete loss as to how I would spend the day. Despite the hour I decided to at least get started on my usual prep work so I'd be ready when it was time to open. I grabbed my apron and switched on the oven.

As I went through my routine of getting everything ready for a new day my mind was free to wander. I thought about all the time I had spent in this room, and my dreams from an early age of becoming a baker. I remembered wanting to go to culinary school but my mom insisting I should study how to run a business instead. I had begrudgingly thanked her within a month of taking over the bakery, but I had always wondered what would have happened if I had taken a different path.