SOFIA'S TABLE
Sofia Navarro came into Keene's Bakery three weeks later.
Theo did not warn Mara.
Perhaps because he knew she would behave strangely.
She did.
Sofia was fifty-six, compact, silver beginning at her temples, wearing hospital scrubs beneath a winter coat.
She stood near the counter examining the menu board.
Theo emerged from production.
“You came.”
“You've been bothering me for three weeks.”
“I invited you twice.”
“That's bothering.”
Theo kissed her cheek.
Mara pretended to rearrange pastry labels.
Theo looked over.
“Mara.”
There was no escape.
“This is my mother, Sofia.”
Mara came around the counter.
“Sofia.”
Sofia looked at her carefully.
“You have his eyebrows.”
Mara laughed before she could stop herself.
“Apparently.”
Sofia's eyes moved around the bakery.
“I haven't been in here since your father was alive.”
“You came here?”
“Once.”
Mara immediately thought of the note.
Sofia must have seen it happen on her face.
“He never touched me.”
Mara nearly died of embarrassment.
“I wasn't going to ask.”
“You were absolutely going to ask eventually.”
Theo groaned.
“Mom.”
“What? I'm saving everyone time.”
Sofia looked back at Mara.
“Your father was difficult.”
“That appears to be the consensus.”
“He was kind too.”
“Those can coexist.”
“Yes.”
Sofia liked that answer.
They sat at a corner table.
Theo brought coffee and disappeared back to work.
Mara asked the question that had been bothering her.
“Why did he keep Linden Street secret?”
Sofia thought.
“I don't know that it started secret.”
“What do you mean?”
“The first few weeks, Arthur talked about bringing your mother down.”
“My mother?”
“He thought she could help organize breakfast.”
Mara stared at her.
“What changed?”
Sofia looked uncomfortable.
“One night he arrived furious.”
“When?”
“Winter.”
“Do you remember why?”
“He said there'd been an argument.”
“About you?”
“I didn't know then.”
“But later?”
Sofia nodded.
“He told me his wife thought he was seeing someone.”
“You.”
“Probably.”
“What did you say?”
“That he should go home.”
Mara smiled faintly.
“Did he?”
“No.”
Of course.
“He baked twelve loaves and complained for four hours.”
“That also sounds like him.”
“I asked why he didn't explain.”
Sofia looked down at her coffee.
“He said if Diane could believe that about him, she could live with believing it.”
Mara felt anger rise.
“That stupid, stubborn—”
“Yes.”
Sofia smiled sadly.
“I said something similar.”
“He let his marriage suffer because he was insulted.”
“People have destroyed more over less.”
Mara looked toward production.
Theo was laughing with one of the counter staff.
“Did he regret it?”
Sofia's expression changed.
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because years later he told me.”
“What did he say?”
“That by the time he wanted to explain, explaining sounded like asking for credit.”
Mara sat back.
That was more complicated.
“He didn't want to look like a hero.”
“No.”
“So he chose looking guilty?”
“I didn't say he was sensible.”
Sofia drank her coffee.
“He also knew he'd used things from the bakery without asking. He knew your mother had a right to be furious about that.”
Mara nodded.
“That mattered to him.”
“Eventually.”
“What did Linden Street matter to him?”
Sofia looked toward the ovens.
“I think he needed somewhere he was useful without being the owner.”
The sentence landed differently.
At the bakery, Arthur had been responsible for everything.
Payroll.
Rent.
Ovens.
Employees.
Family.
At Linden Street, perhaps flour simply became bread.
“He taught people?”
“Anyone who stayed in the kitchen.”
“Why?”
“He said if you could make three things—bread, soup and eggs—you could usually find work somewhere.”
Mara smiled.
“He really said that?”
“Repeatedly.”
“What happened to everyone?”
“People left.”
“That simple?”
“No.”
Sofia's face became serious.
“Some got apartments. Some went back to bad situations. Some disappeared. Some came back. Shelters aren't stories where everybody gets better because someone baked bread.”
Mara appreciated her immediately.
“But Theo remembers.”
“Theo remembers everything.”
Sofia looked toward her son.
“Arthur made him feel capable during a time when he felt like the poorest kid in every room.”
Mara's throat tightened.
“He never told me about any of you.”
“No.”
“I'm sorry.”
Sofia shook her head.
“You didn't owe us anything.”
“Neither did he.”
“No.”
That was perhaps why it mattered.