Well, isn’t that odd, I think to myself as I pick up the letter from the stairs leading to my back door. It’s a plain envelope, standing out amongst the pile of unpaid bills and reminders of how much outstanding balance is on my credit card. “Mr. Pierce” is written in cursive on the front, but other than that, it’s blank. No return address, and my address isn’t written on it either, meaning that someone had to have placed it by my door. But who would be sending me a letter? No one even writes letters anymore. I carefully pull open the seal, and pull out a neatly folded piece of paper. In the same loopy cursive as my name on the outside of the envelope, it reads:
Hello, Mr. Pierce,
I do hope I have the right person. You are the owner of the bakery, I hope. The sky is just beautiful this time of year, isn’t it? Oh, I know it’s sad that all the trees and flowers are dead, but they always come back. For now, we have the sky and the clouds to look at. I feel as though we never pay attention to the sky, even though it’s just right there all the time. A suggestion for you: look at the sky more often. We all cloud-watched as kids. What stopped us?
“Utterly ridiculous.” I can’t help but mutter to myself as I finish reading the letter. We got older, that’s what stopped us from wasting our time on silly things that don’t matter. Perhaps this was written as a prank, a confusing joke that I find myself not fully comprehending. Whatever it is, it’s best I put it out of my mind. Sighing, I realize that today is my landlady’s birthday, meaning I feel obligated to give her something in order to convince her that she should continue overlooking my late payments. But what does one get for their elderly landlady? Old ladies like flowers, right? There is a flower shop next door, right? I’ve never been there, despite living next to it for years. I check my watch. I need to get going, I need to open the bakery soon.
—
The shop is very full, flowers in vases and handwritten signs displaying the name and prices of each flower are strewn about. Piles of empty pots and watering cans are stacked high in each corner. Before I can even start really looking, a woman with long dark hair interrupts my train of thought.
“Good morning. What kind of flowers are you looking for today?” She asks, a dripping vase in her hand.
“I don’t actually know that much about flowers.” I admit hesitantly.
“Well, who are you buying them for?”
“As a gift for my landlady. It’s her birthday. And also, if possible, some flowers on the...lower end of the price range would be good.”
“Peruvian lilies would be a good choice. Or carnations.” She holds up a pot of each respective choice. “You could also look at Queen Anne’s Lace…”
“Uh, the carnations look nice.” Out of the two flowers that she held up, the carnations had the lowest price.
“Perfect. Come on over to the register.” She starts to walk across the shop, and I follow her. “You know, you seem familiar. Do you live around here?” She asks.
“I work at the bakery next-door, if that helps. I’m the owner of it.”
“Oh, really? I just adore your chocolate croissants. They always have the perfect consistency.”
“Thank you. It’s my grandmother’s recipe originally, so I can’t take all the credit for it.”
“Do you make all the pastries yourself?”
“Yes, mostly.”
“That’s so wonderful.” She says it almost wistfully. I personally don’t see anything really wonderful about my bakery, but I don’t say anything in return.
“What’s your name?” I suddenly ask, mentally kicking myself as soon as the words leave my mouth.
“Cordelia.”
“A very old-fashioned name. You don’t hear that one often. It’s pretty, though.”
“I think so too. And you are…?”
“Theodore. Theodore Pierce.”
“Well, Theodore, because your croissants are so good, I’ll give you these for free.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course. It was nice to meet you Theodore, I hope to see you here again sometime. Now have a lovely day, and happy birthday to your landlady.”
“Thank you. And it was nice to meet you too, Cordelia.” I nod at her as I walk out of the shop.
—
Hello,
I read your letter and felt it only proper that I write you a response. Frankly, I don’t agree with your ideas. We grew up, that’s what happened. We started focusing on what matters. I would like it if you could either reveal yourself or not try and contact me again.
Writing a letter is surprisingly difficult. Certainly not something I had ever done before, and hopefully not something I will ever have to do again. I’m not exactly sure where to leave it, since I don’t know who the sender is, I can’t write an address in order to post it. I settle for leaving it where the original letter was left, at my back doorstep. As I’m placing it there, I notice Cordelia at her back door, tending to some vines that are miraculously still alive by the fence we share. Before I lose my nerve, I walk over to her.
“Hello there! Cordelia, right?”
“Yes, that’s me.” She looks up at me. “Theodore, hello. How are you today?”
“I’m good. The bakery is closed for the day, so.” I stop in the middle of my sentence, unsure how to finish it. “What are you up to today?” I continue, mentally kicking myself. This has to be one of the most painful conversations I’ve ever had.
“I was...going to drop something off at the post office, then maybe go out for a bit.” She says. I just nod thoughtfully in response.
“Would you like to come to the beach with me?” She asks suddenly. I nearly choke in surprise.
“The beach? It’s December, are you crazy? It’s freezing out there.”
“You own a coat, correct?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to the question I asked.” I protest. She doesn’t answer, instead just smiles her usual smile at me. I meet her eyes, and I realize how pretty they are.
“Would you like to come with me?” She asks again. This time I say yes.
—
We’re laying on a blanket in the sand, side by side. It actually isn’t as cold as I thought it was going to be. There’s a few minutes of just the sounds of the breeze blowing and the seagulls cawing, until Cordelia breaks the silence between us.
“What do you envision for the future?”
“What do you mean?” What a strange question to ask. We aren’t really young anymore, I don’t think there’s much of a future left for either of us.
“Where do you see yourself in, oh, let’s say five years or so.” She rolls over to face me as she says it.
“We’re too old to have dreams like that. All the good parts of life are already over already.” I copy her and move to my side. She twists a strand of her hair around her finger as she thinks of a response.
“What did you want when you first opened your bakery?”
“I never wanted it in the first place. My mother got sick and I had to take over. I wanted to travel the world, go to a university in some far away country, and get away from here.” It’s sad, but it’s true. I had never planned to take over the bakery.
“But you never left.”
“I never had the money to leave.”
“Is that why you’re saving all of your money now? You still want to leave?” She questions.
“Between you and me, the bakery really isn’t pulling in the funds that it used to. All of my income is just going towards keeping it operational.” I say. “I don’t know if I ever really cared about the bakery at all.” It’s quiet for a few minutes before she responds.
“I think you still have a heart in you. You could have sold the bakery, but you decided to stay there, even though you didn’t want to. I think you have a lot of goodness still left in you.” She finally says. Instead of responding, I ask her a question.
“What about you? What do you want?”
“I want to open another flower shop, somewhere in the countryside.”
“I think that sounds beautiful.”
“Yes, I think so too. I love the city, but it would be nice to have somewhere a bit quieter and with more nature.”
We lay together on the beach for a long time.
—
I’m heading to open the bakery the next day when the mailman stops me in my tracks.
“You live here, right?” He asks.
“Yes, I do. Why do you ask?”
“A letter for you. Didn’t have your address, just your name.”
“Another one?”
“Yeah. Maybe you can ask the sender to start using proper postage stamps in the future. It would make our jobs at the post office just a bit easier.”
I say nothing in response. I really don’t want to admit that I still don’t know who the sender even is. I’m also puzzled by the fact that the sender has apparently started sending their letters through the post office instead of just putting them on my doorstep like they did before.
“Have a nice day, sir.” The mainman says as he resumes his walk down the street. I rip open the letter and read it quickly. It’s similar to the first one, talking about childish ideas. I can’t stop thinking about it as I put my keys into the lock. Forget about it, you have work to do today. I think to myself as I pull open the door.
—
The moon is full in the sky, and I’m sweeping the floor at the end of the day when I hear the bell ring, signifying that a new customer has walked into the store. Did I really forget to lock the door again? I need to start checking that.
“Sorry, we’re closed for today—” I begin, but as I turn around, I realize it’s Cordelia. She’s holding carnations.
“Sorry, I know it’s late. Care for some company?”
“No worries at all. Come on in, take a seat. I still have some cleaning to finish up, but make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like some coffee? It’s cold, but still drinkable.”
“I would love some.” She flashes her signature smile at me. I’m handing her a cup when she asks, “What do you do with the extra pastries that don’t sell?”
“I throw them out.”
“Why not give it to people who need food?”
“I don’t have enough food to feed everyone in the city.” I protest.
“Yes, but you have enough to feed at least a few people, right?” She smiles. I begin to form an argument, but I realize she’s right. Even if I can’t save the whole world, I can help out a few people.
“I give Stanley free flowers every Sunday so he can give them to his wife.” She adds, sipping her coffee.
“Who’s Stanley?”
“Our mailman. He’s been doing this route for years, you’re telling me you’ve never stopped to learn his name?” She teases. Even though she’s saying it light-heartedly, I still feel guilty.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask hesitantly. She nods.
“Why do you believe that I have the capacity to be a better person?”
“When I first moved here, I was unlucky enough to get mugged. I had no money to buy food, but a nice stranger offered me croissants from his bakery.”
A hazy memory comes up from the depths of my mind. Leaving the bakery and being confronted by a terrible rainstorm, seeing a woman sitting on the steps of the empty building next door...
“You were the girl I gave food to all those years ago.”
“You were. If you did it once, you can do it again. Even if you fell off the track for a while, you can still get back on it.” She says thoughtfully. I don’t have a good response for her.
—
As the days pass by, I get more and more letters delivered. I only ever wrote back the first time, and then never got the courage to write another one. I suppose they’re harmless. They all have the same message. One day, I go to greet our mailman at the mailbox. I have flowers and a dozen assorted pastries to give him.
“Thank you, Stanley. And here, these are for you.” I say as I take the mail from him and hand him the flowers and the baked goods.
“Thank you very much, sir. Happy holidays to you!” He starts whistling as he continues on his route down the street. I unfold the paper and nearly drop it. On the front page is a photo of a bakery. Of my bakery. On the front page. I quickly unfold the paper, nearly tripping over my own feet as I start to absentmindedly walk back to my front door. A Christmas Miracle for a Local Bakery Shop Owner! is displayed in large, bold text above the photo. Christmas isn’t even for a week, but I suppose it still works. As I scan the article, I realize that there’s only one person who could have written this. My feet start moving in the direction of the florist’s building before my mind can even think about it.
“Cordelia, how did you do it?” I realize as I cross the threshold of her shop that I don’t remember when I just started showing up uninvited.
“Oh, you saw it? Do you like it?” She puts down her watering can to meet me at the door.
“Yes, of course I do, but how did you manage it? You can’t just slip in articles like that. Much less a front page one.”
She winks at me. “Friend of a friend who owed me a favor. Besides, we both wanted to help you out.”
“Thank you. For everything you’ve done. How can I ever repay you?”
“Just give me a dozen of those chocolate croissants, then I think we can call ourselves even.”
“You can have all of the chocolate croissants you want.”
—
I’m boxing up the leftover pastries one night with Cordelia when it suddenly hits me.
“Oh my god, how could I have been so stupid.”
Cordelia raises an eyebrow in confusion.
“You wrote the letters. The day we went to the beach, you said you were going to drop something off at the post office. It was another one of those letters to me.”
“You finally figured it out.” She shakes her head, as if she couldn’t believe it took me this long.
“Why did you switch to using the post office instead of just dropping them off at my doorstep?”
“I didn’t want to risk getting caught. Besides, the post office workers know me, so they were kind enough to make sure they got delivered.”
“Of course you know all of the post office workers personally.”
—
The bakery is busy, but a good kind of busy. Cordelia drops off fresh flowers every day for the display cases, and in return I always have a batch of croissants ready for her so that she can give them to her customers. Every night I save the extra pastries for anyone who needs them. We spend Christmas together at my house.
“I know you said we wouldn’t do Christmas presents, but I made this anyway.” I say as I lead her by the hand into the kitchen.
“It’s a cookie.” She says, but she’s smiling as she says it.
“Yeah, but it’s shaped like a flower.” I add.
“I love it. Thank you.”
If this were a movie, I think, then it would be a perfect ending scene. I stifle a small smile, and Cordelia gives me a quizzical look, to which I just shake my head. Not the end, but just the beginning of so much more.
