By Sydney Crago
Banana Bread
Marvin could smell vanilla and cinnamon wafting into the garage as he slid his left foot out of his leather, rubber-soled work shoes. She baked, he thought. He slipped his right foot free from its shoe. He tucked his boots into their spot on the metal shelving, shelving that had occupied the same place in the garage since the day they moved in some thirty some years ago.
Marvin let the door clatter shut behind him. With each step he took toward the kitchen, the vanilla and cinnamon intensified and heat from the oven warmed him.
鈥淢补谤惫颈苍?鈥
鈥淚t鈥檚 me, Lucy.鈥
On the counter, three loaves of bread rested on metal cooling racks. He passed his hand above them. Their heat brushed his palm.
鈥淚鈥檓 in the living room.鈥 Lucy called.
鈥淚鈥檒l be right there.鈥 He said, sliding open the silverware drawer in search of a knife to cut himself a slice.
鈥淒on鈥檛 you touch that bread, Marvin. It can鈥檛 be cool yet.鈥
Marvin slid the drawer shut; the silverware clinked. Ears like a bat, he thought.
His wife Lucy was in her favorite chair, a maroon plush recliner鈹 though she seldom tipped it back or raised the foot rest. She preferred to sit upright, her petite frame swallowed by the overstuffed cushions. She鈥檇 glance up from her crocheting whenever something interesting was happening on the TV screen. Today, Marvin found her working on an afghan while watching the local five o鈥檆lock news.
鈥淲hat kind of bread is it?鈥 he teased.
鈥淏anana. Norma鈥檚 recipe,鈥 Lucy answered. She did not look up from her yarn. Marvin took a seat on their plaid couch and waited. Since the woman鈥檚 passing, Marvin had taken to avoiding the subject of Norma Jean, her recipes, her house, her flowers, anything that could launch his wife into a crying jag over the loss of her life-long best friend.
鈥淚 figured it was only right to make some for that girl who bought Norma鈥檚 house,鈥 Lucy paused to swallow. 鈥淥ne of the loaves is for her. I鈥檓 going to take it over there tomorrow.鈥
鈥淭he other two for us?鈥
Lucy laughed and looked up from her knitting to her husband. 鈥淵es, but I鈥檝e got a roast in the crock pot for dinner, and the loaves aren鈥檛 quite cool, so you are going to have to wait for your dessert.鈥
鈥淎lright,鈥 Marvin murmured, laying down on the couch. 鈥淲ake me when it鈥檚 ready.鈥
#
Marvin was waiting on a customer when Lucy came into the co-op. He鈥檇 operated the place for twenty-three years, ever since he inherited it from his father. Marvin kept the same hours as his dad had and stocked the same supplies鈹 animal feed, seed for farmers, garden plants. Lucy worked alongside him sometimes, as did their son, Greg. Today, Marvin could tell that Lucy was in a state. Her eyes were wide and she held her right arm around her body; in her left hand, she held a loaf of bread wrapped in foil.
Marvin handed the customer his change and said, 鈥淕reg鈥檚 out back. Why don鈥檛 you have him help you load that mulch, Derek?鈥
The customer thanked Marvin and smiled at Lucy as he left the store. Most days Lucy would have tried to chat with Derek, asking after his family...but not today.
鈥淵ou鈥檙e going to have to do this, Marvin,鈥 Lucy said, setting the bread on the scratched and dented countertop. She placed both of her hands beside it, palms flat, fingers spread wide. Her clean hands contrasted with the dirt and grime-stained counter.
鈥淒o what?鈥 Marvin asked, confused.
鈥淭ake that banana bread over.鈥
鈥淟ucy, I can鈥檛 leave here right now. I鈥檝e got a delivery.鈥 Marvin was expecting a truckload of stock items: mulch, wood stove pellets, and cat litter.
鈥淚 can watch the store with Greg.鈥
鈥淟ucy, I鈥,鈥 he lifted his hand and ran it through his salt-and-pepper hair. Lucy stood
facing him with her feet planted. He stared down at her white Keds, the same style
she鈥檇 been wearing since he first met her in the tenth grade. He thought about who
she had been then. The kind girl, who spent her study halls in the library tutoring
the middle schoolers in grammar lessons and chatting with the school librarian, Norma
Jean.
Despite the age difference, Lucy and Norma Jean had been friends ever since Norma
helped Lucy learn to crochet, so that Lucy could pass Home Economics. Marvin couldn鈥檛
imagine losing a friend after fifty-some years. It鈥檇 be like losing her, Marvin thought,
raising his gaze to meet Lucy鈥檚 brown eyes.
鈥淢arvin--鈥 Lucy鈥檚 voiced hitched for a second. She began again. 鈥淚 can鈥檛 do it.鈥
He laid a hand on her shoulder, and picked up the banana bread.
鈥淟et me grab my coat.鈥
鈥淢arvin,鈥 Lucy watched him walk towards the door from her post behind the cash register. 鈥淭ell her I鈥檝e got a cold or something, but I鈥檒l be over to meet her soon.鈥
He lifted his hand in acknowledgement.
鈥淎nd remind her to take care of Norma鈥檚 tulips. They鈥檒l be sprouting soon,鈥 she called. The bell on the door jingled. Marvin strode out to his pick-up truck.
#
鈥淲as she nice?鈥 Lucy asked between bites.
鈥淪he was.鈥
鈥淒id you tell her about the flowers?鈥 Lucy asked, a slight hesitation in her voice.
鈥淵es.鈥 Marvin took a bite of his dinner. He wanted to tell his wife how he had almost teared up when he rolled up that driveway for the first time in months, how the girl opened the door for him before he could even knock, and how she had been wearing an old denim shirt smeared with paint. How she smiled at him in a way that reached all the way to her eyes, how she stood in the doorway of Norma鈥檚 yellow house, cradling the loaf of banana bread Lucy made from Norma鈥檚 recipe, as she waved goodbye.
Marvin looked up from his plate and stared across the table at his wife, her eyes rimmed in red and a faint sniffling sound coming from her nose.
鈥淪he paints,鈥 was all Marvin could say before the lump in his throat choked the rest of his words.
