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matrixrefugeeDon't kill me, but I used to be a fan of the TV show "Touched by an Angel", back when it was still airing on CBS. I even got an idea for an episode, but then the series folded before I could send the story to Martha Williamson's folks. So, I started posting that story on ffn. Only trouble is, I got two chapter of it done, and I came up with an ending of sorts for it, but I couldn't come up with a middle for it, for the life of me. I just recently removed the story from my ff.n page, but I thought I'd preserve what fragments that exist, for your enjoyment.
WARNING: It's a bit of a self-insert, but not enough to be a Mary Sue. I think I'm incapable of writing those beasties.
+J.M.J.+
“What Can I Do for You?”
by “Matrix Refugee”
Author’s Note:
This was sitting on my hard drive for MUCH too long, so I decided to get it out to you folks. I’m better known for my “A.I.” fanfics, but I thought I’d show that I’m a fan of more than one thing. Arguably a bit Mary-Sue-ish, but hey, it’s MY story!
Disclaimer:
I do not own TBAA, which is the property of Martha Williamson, CBS, et al.
I: Angels in…the Bakery?
Monica studied the grocery store job application. Position wanted. She was about to fill it in, but she saw it had been filled in, with Tess’s handwriting: “Bakery closer”. She looked up at Tess, who stood behind the plexiglas of the courtesy booth window, waiting for her to finish filling out the application.
“Tess, I thought I was going to work in the courtesy booth; you know how good I am with courtesy,” she wheedled.
“I know, Angel Girl, but positions change all the time. The Father knows what He’s doing, but man doesn’t always know what he’s doing. And that’s why we’re here and why you’re needed where you’re needed.”
“In a grocery store bakery?”
“Trust Him. Now finish filling that thing out, we haven’t got all day.”
“It says ‘References’. Who can I refer to?”
“Oh, I’ll handle that.” Tess took the application and reached for the intercom microphone. “Mr. Diocletian to the courtesy booth, please? Mr. Diocletian to the courtesy booth,” her voice boomed over the speakers. “At your convenience, please? Thank you.” She set the microphone back on the inside ledge of the booth. “Now look smart; here comes one of your assignments.”
A tall, well-built man in his early forties approached, sidestepping customers with shopping carts and wayward children. He wore a maroon jacket with a store badge pinned to the right breast, eye-level with Monica, which read “Mr. Seamus Diocletian, Store Director”. He walked by Monica as if he hadn’t seen her and, resting his elbows on the low ledge outside the booth, he leaned in closer to the gap under the plexiglas.
“You called, Tess?” he said in a somewhat nasally baritone, settling his weight into his left hip.
“Yes, my young friend Monica here wants the bakery job; she’s just finished filling out the application.” Tess handed the paper to him through the slit. He took it and straightened up; he studied the sheet, his brow puckering. He pursed his lips slightly. Then he eyed Monica askance.
“Are you Monica?” he asked, without looking straight at her.
“Yes, I am,” she said.
“Come upstairs,” he said.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monica came down from the office slightly shaken, but relieved. She went right to the courtesy booth window.
“Can you believe it, Tess? I’ve got the job.”
“Good, then we’re starting off on the right foot. Now, I think you’d better go, because here comes somebody you shouldn’t have to deal with until you have to.”
Monica stepped aside. A small, dark man approached the window; he was so short his red apron hung below his knees and so thin he looked like a scrawny thirteen year old, though his pinched face under his maroon cap with the store logo, worn tilted rakishly to one side, looked older than that. He walked with a swagger probably intended to make him look taller, but which didn’t succeed. As he came up to the window, his large black eyes swung to his left and brightened; he smiled at Monica, then turned to the window.
“Ah, we have a new face here; I don’t remember seeing you before,” he said in a deep, melodious voice.
“What can I do for you?” Tess asked coldly.
“I’m here to pick up my check.”
“May I have your number please?”
“My number? Aren’t we being a little pushy? You’re gorgeous, but you’re old enough to be my mother.”
“Your badge number, Mr. Jake.”
“282427, same as my vital statistics.” He turned to Monica. “It’s true, you know. I’ve got the smallest waist in the store; some of the girls here aren’t as thin as I am.”
Tess rummaged in a sheaf of checks and pulling out one, handed it through the slit to him.
“Thank you much, Miss…Tess,” the rascal said, peering at her badge. He smiled again to Monica, dropping a wink to her, and sashayed away.
“Who was that?” she asked Tess.
“That was my assignment,” Tess groaned.
Author's Note:
Sorry it's been a while since I updated this one. I'm between jobs, trying to get another one, but two different people pested me to write more with this one, so I took that as a sign I'm supposed to keep it going. For anyone who might be reading this aloud, Maeve's name is pronounced something like Mohve.
Disclaimer:
Nope, I don't own any of the TBAA characters, which belong to CBS, Martha Williamson, et al.
Chapter II: First Day
The following Monday afternoon, at three, Monica arrived at the store and went straight to the bakery. Once there, she stuck her head in at an entryway between the doughnut case and the end wall.
"Helloo," she called to a tall woman with iron grey hair, wearing a red cotton shirt jacket, with heavy gloves on, pulling a metal rack of fresh baked bread out of a large oven at the back. The woman looked up.
"Hello. You Monica?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm the new clerk Mr. Diolcetian hired," Monica said.
"You're right on time, that's a plus already," The woman said. "I'm Sandra Vesey. You ever worked in a bakery before?"
"No, but I'm ready to learn what I need to know to help around here."
"We'll start by getting you a uniform," Sandra said, going to a metal desk on the other side of the oven. She opened a cupboard under the desk and took out a white smock, a red apron and a maroon cap, which she handed to Monica, who put them on.
Sandra borught here out to the front of the bakery and briefed her onm the different breads and pastries and things in the different cases, and the muffins, cookies, pound breads, and other things on the display tables.
"Mo, I got a new trainee for you," Sandra called, leaning Monica behind the display cases. A girl about middle height, a little taller than Monica, with short jet-black hair and green eyes stood slipping the fresh loaves of bread into white paper bags marked "Fresh Italian Bread". "Monica, this is Maeve Maguire; Mo, this is Monica: she's new to the game."
Maeve held out a hand to Monica. "Hiya, Monica."
"Helloo." Monica said, taking Maeve's hand and pressing it gently.
"Ye sound like ye come from the ould conthry," Maeve said, imitating Monica's Irish accent with obvious admiration.
"Oh yes, very old country," Monica replied.
"We'll do well together: I'm nine parts Irish myself," Maeve said.
"All right, tonight, you can ignore Jake because he IS going to pull and label the freezer pull and put that out by the end of the night—are you listening, Jake?” Hilde called out to the young man folding white bakery boxes at a bench at the far end of the bakery.
“I hear you, Hilde,” Jake called back.
“Mo, start Monica with the bread case; make sure she learns the different kinds of bread and how to use the slicer by the end of the night.”
“Will do, Hilde; she looks like a quick learner.”
“Oh, I am,” said Monica.
“Just what we need. I’m going home now; Maeve, Monica, I’ll see you…Wednesday?”
“Yep.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“And, Jake, I’ll see you Wednesday morning, bright and early at six?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Jake rummaged in a drawer and took out a clipboard.
“Okay. I’ll see you folks then. Just remember to check out with Mr. Hennessey before you leave.”
“We will,” Maeve said. Hilde went out; Maeve turned to Monica.
“So, you ready to start?”
“Yes.”
"Well, it's a bit early to start the bread case just yet, and it looks like it's gonna be a slow night, plus we got this Italian bread to bag," Maeve said. "So, how 'bout we start by bagging this bread and putting it out."
"Sounds good: it looks like you need more out there," Monica said.
Maeve stepped out of the bakery and towed into the entry a tall aluminum rack that had stood at the end of a freestanding set of wire shelves on which sat several different kind of breads and rolls in plastic bags. She fetched a sheaf of long white paper bread bags from a box under one of the benches, the metal worktables behind the counter. She slid one of the loaves into a bag and set it on one of the wire shelves of the rack, keeping an eye on the counter the whole time. Monica took a bag, shook it open slightly and slid a loaf into it.
"So how long have you worked here?" Monica asked.
"Five years now, I'm one of the old timers," Maeve replied. "It started off as just the job I took to put myself through college, but I enjoyed it so much I decided to stay...But then Diocletian was transferred here as store manager. Man runs a tight ship."
"He probably has to, keep the store running, keep the customer satisfied," Monica said.
"Not as tight as he does," Maeve said. "I ain't a slacker, I don't let the moss grow under my shoes, but to Seamus Diocletian, just because you're a clerk that makes you an automatic slacker who needs to have their rear whupped."
"He doesn't seem so bad," Monica said.
"You ain't seen him in action yet," Maeve said as they put the last loaves on the shelf. "Okay, these are a little warm, so just leave the bags open so they can cool and crust up a little."
"Do you want me to push the rack out?" Monica offered.
"Sure," Maeve said.
Monica pushed the rack back to the spot where it had been before, puahing it flush against the end of the bread shelves.
Just as she was about to head back into the bakery, Mr. Diocletian walked through. He paused by the bread rack, eyeing the loaves.
"Monica, twist those bags shut," he said.
"But Maeve told me they need to stay open," she said.
"Just do as you're told," Diocletian ordered and went away.
"Yessir," Monica said. She set to work twisting closed every single bag.
As she worked, she saw a familiar tall, blonde man, now clad in a red shirt jacket, pass by towing a pallet of paper towels.
“Andrew?” she said, looking up and recognizing the Angel of Death. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to work here either,” he said, stopping by her. "I thought you and Tess and Rafael were covering this."
“Who is it?” she asked, in a lower voice.
“I don’t know just yet and I don't know when either.” He looked around, took an old-fashioned pocket watch out of his trouser pocket, opened it and looked at the face. “Time’s starting to pass, though."
"Andrew, those paper towels?" called Diocletian from the paper products aisle.
"I better run," Andrew said, pocketing his watch and going into the aisle.
"Uh, oh, looks like someone got thrown to the lions already," Jake said, as Monica came back into the bakery.
"What happened?" Monica asked.
"Oh, that's just our running joke," Maeve explained. "Diocletian was the name of a Roman emperor, and the Romans were notorious for throwing people, especially Christians to the lions. So every time someone gets kicked around by the Emperor, aka, Diocletian, we say someone got thrown to the lions."
"He's a hard man, but I think you're exaggerating a little," Monica said.
"He's having a good day: just wait till he isn't," Maeve warned, leading her to the bread case. They spent the next three quarters of an hour on that, Maeve showing Monica the different kinds of bread and teaching her how to run the slicer and bag the sliced bread.
“You learn this, you can handle most ANYTHING in the bakery," Maeve said, as they put the sliced bread back into the case. "First week or two is always the hardest. But once you get the hang of it, everything falls into place. It’s not rocket science, y’know.”
“And with as good a teacher as you, things will fall into place quicker.”
“You’ve got the right attitude: that’s half the job there. The other half is capability, which I have a feeling you got more of than most people that come in here.”
After they finished up with the bread, they moved on to the doughnut, bagel and muffin case. Muffins went in a six pack muffin tin and were overwrapped on a heat sealing machine. Bagels went six in a bag, either six of a kind or mixed. Just as they got started putting out the muffins packs and the bagged bagels, a short, heavy-set guy in a red shirt jacket, what was clearly the insignia of an assistant manager, came into the bakery. His eye went straight to Monica.
“Hey, you with the red hair," he said. "What’s your name?”
“My name is Monica; what can I do for you, sir?”
“We’re short on sackers; would you mind coming up front for a little while to help us out?”
“Yes, she would,” Maeve broke in.
“Oh, I think I can handle it,” Monica said
“Leave her alone, Hennessey; this is her first night. Hilde has me training her to work her in the bakery, where she was hired to work. She isn’t here to sack.”
“We need sackers.”
“Then go to another department and get someone there. We have enough to do back here, thank you very much.”
“You’ll hear it from Diocletian for this.”
“You’ll hear it from Hilde first.”
Hennessey walked away. As he passed the back of the doughnut case, he reached in and grabbed a blueberry muffin before walking out.
“Who was that?” Monica asked.
Maeve rolled her eyes. “That was Jim Hennessey; he usually closes Monday nights and, as you just found out, he thinks he’s God.”
Jake was putting out the freezer pull, items made offsite that came in frozne and which they put out as needed. As he worked, he watched Maeve and Monica at work putting out the bagels and muffins.
“How come Hilde never has me train anyone?” he asked Maeve.
Maeve rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that! You trained Brian, didn’t you?”
“I mean any of the girls.”
“Well, for one reason you seem to forget that sexual harassment clause you signed.”
“I don’t put my hands where they don’t belong.”
“Yeah, well, your eyes don’t stay where THEY belong.”
“Oh, come on.”
“You don’t think I notice?”
“Yeah, well, you look at me.”
“Not the way you look at ME and every other girl in here.”
"Monica, have I given you any funny looks?" Jake asked, innocently.
"No, you haven't," Monica said.
"Not yet," Maeve said under her breath.
After Monica and Maeve had finished with the muffins and bagels, they headed back into the bakery to start boxing the doughnuts. Jake finished putting out the freezer pull at about the same time.
"Much as I regret having to say this, but it's eight p.m. and time for me to head home," he announced, passing by the bench where the two girls were at work. "You sure you don't want me to stay around and defend you ladies?"
"How thoughtful--" Monica started to say.
"We'll be all right, Jake," Maeve cut in, not looking at Jake. "We can get along without a grocery gigolo like you."
Jake pretended to turn up his nose to this. "Hmf! How dare you!" He dropped a wink at Monica and walked away, whistling under his breath.
"He seems all right," Monica said.
Maeve shook her head. "Don't let him get around you: He's dated and dumped every girl who's worked in this store--except me."
"That won't be hard for me: I'm not looking for anyone," Monica said.
"Even if you tell him that, he won't be deterred."
Someone banged the front doors of the doughnut case. "Hey, you got any left for us?" called a young man's voice. Three young Hispanic boys in the dark blue shirt-jackets the grocery clerks wore, had gathered around the doughnut case.
"Miss Mo, you forget about us?" the shorter of the three asked.
"No, Paco, I didn't forget; and remember you're supposed to pay for them," Maeve said.
"You got a new friend here?" the tallest one said. The shortest of the trio called out a greeting to Monica in "Spanglish". She only smiled in reply.
"Yes, Ricardo, this is Monica: this is her first night here," Maeve said. As she spoke, Paco reached up to the last tray in the case, grabbed a chocolate doughnut and started munching on it. Maeve stepped back to the label maker on one of the benches behind the counter and punched in a code and price. When the label printed, she tore it off without peeling it off the backing. She turned back to Paco and handed him the label.
"Hey, what's this?" he demanded.
"I don't mind if you eat that, I'd rather that you remembered to pay for it."
"You think we not honest, hey?" Ricardo said.
At this point, Rafael, the Angel of Youth, whom Monica had met dealing with other assignments, approached, clad in a dark blue jacket like the three. "What's going on here?" he asked.
"Mo saying we not honest," Ricardo said.
"I only asked Paco to pay for his doughnut," Maeve said.
"Hey. Pacquito, you wanna keep the job, right?" Rafael said. "You don't want any more trouble like you had at your last job. It's not worth it, man."
"No," Paco admitted, taking the tag from Maeve.
Maeve smiled. "Thanks. Sorry if I got too tough."
The three went away, heading for the dog food aisle. "Thanks, Rafael. Sometimes I think you're the only one who can handle them."
"They're a little upset tonight: Diocletian was a bit too tough on them earlier and Hennessey made it worse," Rafael said.
"Yeah, Diocletian was telling her to do the exact opposite of what I told her to do with the Italian bread, and then Hennessey tried to snag her for sacking."
"They're a little short on help tonight, makes them edgy," Rafael said. "I better get back to the crew, see if they started."
"You know Rafael?" Maeve asked, when he had gone.
"Oh yes, we've known each other for quite a long time," Monica said.
"He's a good boy. He's done great here: sometimes I think the floor crew minds him better than they mind management," Maeve said. "Not to sound shallow, but is he seeing anyone?"
"No, he's not looking for anyone," Monica said.
"Well, there's a welcome change from Jake the gigolo," Maeve said.
They finished up by cleaning the counters and the tops of the tables behind the counter, washing the glass fronts of the cases, sweeping the floor and collecting the trash in the three large, thirty gallon barrels placed in the back. They hadn't sold all the Italian bread, so they gathered up those loaves and put them into a large trash bag they put on a shelf in the back. After nine, when Hennessey (or what appeared to be his voice over the tinny loudspeakers), announced that the store was closing, they brought the trahs bags down to the compacter in the back room. Maeve hurried Monica out of there a little abruptly.
"Too many dark corners back here," she explained. "There's been some fights back here."
"You wouldn't think something like that would happen in a place like a grocery store," Monica said.
"You got a lot to learn about this place, but I don't expect you to learn it all at once," Maeve said, utterly without judgement, as they walked back to the bakery. "God knows it took me while to pick up all the quirks of the trade."
"He doesn't expect any of us to learn everything at once," Monica said.
She reached under the doughnut case and switched out the lights in the bakery. "That He doesn't, but I wish the people He allows to have the positions of authority would learn from Him."
Maeve led the way down front to the courtesy booth, where Hennessey was arguing with Tess.
"You sure you have all the red bags from the registers? One was missing the other night," he said.
"They're all there: they don't got astray when I'm here," Tess said.
"You positive about that?"
"I AM positive."
"Bakery's all set, Mr. Hennessey," Maeve said.
Hennessey half turned and cocked an eye at Monica and Maeve. "You sure about that? No crumbs on the counters?"
"Not a one," Maeve said.
"She put you through your paces, Red?" he asked, his eye on Monica.
"She did a wonderful job teachin' me," Monica said. "She's a good person to work with."
Hennessey gave them a kind of half smile."All right, I trust you. But if I hear Sandra complain about any messes back there, you'll have it coming to you." With that, he went up to the office above the courtesy booth.
"How'd your first night go, baby?" Tess asked, handing the sign-in book to Monica.
"It went wonderfully," Monica said, writing in the times when she came in and the current time. "But I can see why I was put here: there's so many people here who need help."
"You're not kidding," Maeve said. "I hope some of your easy-going nature will rub off on the Emperor."
"I'll do my best," Monica said, with an astute smile. "All things are possible with God."
"I don't doubt that, but Diocletian would be a tough case even for Him."
"We'll see what He can do for him."
“I wouldn’t show this to just anyone, but I trust you as a friend,” Maeve said. She lifted the skirt of her smock and reached into her pants pocket. She took out a small black thing about the size and shape of an electric razor, with two metal contacts in place of a blade.
“What’s that?” Monica asked.
“It’s a stun gun. And I hope I never have to use it, though the way Jake has been, I just might need it. A hundred volts of static electricity should give him something to think about.”
“But isn’t that a little too much?”
“No, it’ll put him out for a while, but it won’t hurt him permanently. It works like one of those electric bug zappers.” She smiled somewhat wickedly. “You could even call it that, since it’s designed to zap someone who’s bugging you.”
“I’m going to bring the trash down; I might be a while”, Maeve told Jake and Monica, as she piled the bulging trash bags on top of the flattened boxes on the skid.
“What, throwing the stuff down the chute and envisioning throwing our dear Emperor down instead?” Jake twitted.
“Shut up, Jake,” Maeve snarled, pushing the skid out into the aisle and heading for the backroom.
The intercom pinged. “Mr. Diocletian to receiving area, please? Mr. Diocletian to receiving? Thank you.” It was Ricardo’s voice.
“Go find out what’s going on back there, yer Excellency, but stay outta Mo’s way if you know what’s good for you,” Jake said under his breath as he turned back to the overwrapper. “She might as well be wearin’ black leather.”
Diocletian passed the bakery, muttering under his breath. “D--- dagos, what do they want now?” He went down the bread aisle and kicked open the double doors, passing through.
A moment later, Andrew passed the bakery. He wore a white linen suit; radiance surrounded him.
“Andrew?” Monica murmured. He paused, looked at her, and reached into his pants pocket. He took out his pocket watch, opened the lid, and looked at the watch face. He shook his head.
“I’m afraid it’s time,” he said, pocketing the watch. He followed Diocletian’s path to the back room.
“What? You thinking about that beanpole?” Jake said, looking up from the over wrapper.
“Excuse me,” Monica said, going after Andrew.
Shay found Ricardo, Paco and the other kid hanging around the loading dock, their hands in their pockets. There were no delivery trucks in sight; the overhead door was closed.
“What’s going on?” Shay said. “What did you call me back here for?”
“You gotta lotta nerve, man. You think we some trash you kick around?” Ricardo said, coming closer. Paco and the other kid moved around in back of Shay.
“Listen, I’ve told you punks ten times if I’ve told you once: No work, no pay.”
“Yeah, because youda white American honcho, right? You think we just some trash because our skin darker and we no speak English so hot, right? Right?!”
“I’m not taking any more of your crap. You’re fired!”
He turned to walk away. Paco and the other kid blocked his way. Box rippers jutted from their hands. Shay tried to kick them away, but Ricardo grabbed him from behind, spun him around, and pinned him to the wall. Shay tried to wrench free, but the other kid kneed him in the stomach. Paco lunged at him with the box ripper raised. Shay saw it come down, down toward his neck in a dreamy slow motion, as if time slowed. At the last moment, he jerked his head aside and caught the blade on his shoulder instead. Shay tore himself from Ricardo and lunged at Paco, trying to knock him down, but the kid slashed the outside of his arm. He staggered and fell to his knees. Blood ran over his back and down his arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ricardo coming at him with a knife. The blade was six inches long. And Ricardo had it pointed straight for his heart.
At that same instant he heard a loud crackling, buzzing noise like an angry hive of electrified bees. A dark shape rushed into the circle. Maeve threw herself between Shay’s torso and the knife, her hand extended toward Ricardo’s face. The stun gun she clenched emitted a crackling roar; a bolt of blue exploded between her hand and Ricardo’s face, but not before the knife blade pierced her between the ribs. Her free hand gripped the knife handle, twisting it from Ricardo’s hand as she fell to the concrete. Ricardo sprawled on the floor apart from her, his body twitching. Paco and the other kid ran away.
Shay ran to the intercom. He looked back at Maeve. Her white smock was turning crimson and her red apron was as maroon as his jacket.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Andrew, dressed in white, kneeling over her. But that could have been a hallucination from the pain throbbing in his shoulder and arm.
“Security to the back room immediately! Security to back room! Call 911!”
At that moment, Jake came into the back room. “My God!” he cried and threw himself on Maeve. He pressed his palms to the wound, cupping them around the knife blade.
“Get your hands off her,” Shay ordered, hanging up the intercom.
“Pressure slows bleeding,” Jake replied. “O God, O God, don’t let Mo die. Please don’t let her die! Please! Please! Please!”
“Stop that whining,” Shay snapped, but his head was beginning to sing. At that moment Hennessey and Davis came into the back room.
“What the h--- happened?” Hennessey demanded. “Holy s---! Who cut you?”
“Ricardo and Paco and the other kid. They came at me with box rippers. Maeve knocked Ricardo out with a stun gun. Where’s Andrew?”
“He’s on break. The paramedics will be here in a minute.”
“No, he was here a minute ago.”
At that moment, Tess and Stryker came in, followed by the paramedics.
“What happened here?” one of the EMTs asked.
“I’m cut in the shoulder and the arm,” Shay said. “Three punks jumped me. One’s knocked out, the others ran off that way.” Shay pointed toward the furnace room with his uninjured arm. Hennessey, Davis and Stryker hurried off in that direction
“She got stabbed trying to save him,” Jake said, nodding toward Diocletian. The EMTs surrounded Maeve, stabilizing the knife with large gauze pads.
“You did the right thing, kid,” the first EMT said to Jake.
“What about me?!” Shay hollered. “I’m bleeding to death here.”
“You wait your turn, Mr. Manager-Man,” Tess said.
Another EMT examined Shay. “Superficial flesh wounds. Nothing a few bandages can’t handle.” She fetched a roll of cloth tape and more gauze pads, which she applied to his wounds and taped down.
The other crewmembers had Maeve on a stretcher, an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. They started to carry her out. Shay rose and followed them, but a police officer touched him on the arm.
“She’s in good hands now,” he assured Shay.
“I’m going with them; she’s one of my best workers.” The officer let him follow the paramedics.
“Did ye hear what he said about her?” Monica said to Tess.
“I heard him, but that still isn’t the real Seamus Diocletian talking. Yet.”
“And the night isn’t over yet, either,” Andrew added, following Shay.
“You better get goin’, Angel Girl. You still have work to do for him.”
Chapter : Greater Love
Shay, in his shirtsleeves, stood outside the ICU window, gazing in at the white-faced young woman lying on the bed within. An oxygen tube filled her mouth. Other machines and boxes surrounded the head of the bed.
“Why did she have to do something so stupid? I could have handled them myself,” he murmured. “Busybody always had to have her nose in everything.”
“She not only had a busy body, she had a busy heart,” said a woman’s voice behind him.
He turned. Monica stood behind him, wearing a simple scoop neck white jersey and a white skirt he had never seen her wear before.
“Monica, what are you doing here? You should be back in the bakery closing up.”
“It was more important for me to be here with you.”
“Here? You have your priorities upside down.”
She smiled gently. “Perhaps you have your priorities upside down. Maeve had hers in place.”
He stood back on his heels and folded his arms tight against his chest. “I suppose now you’re going to hold her up as the employee of the month.”
“I’m not, but God sees in her one of your most special workers.”
“God? What does God see in or want with a bakery clerk?”
“He sees in her much love. And that’s what He wants from you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Nothing makes me say that. I want to because I am an angel.”
A soft glow diffused from Monica’s eyes and face, spreading to her hair.
Shay’s arms loosened and slid to his sides. “Oh, my God!” he gasped, stepping back. He blinked against the light, but to his surprise, as bright as the light grew, it did not hurt his eyes. He felt it caress his face, wash through his eyes, touch his very soul.
“What Maeve did you call stupid. But to God it is the most wise thing she could do.”
“God always had…crazy ways of doing things,” he faltered.
“God’s ways are not man’s ways.”
“You’re bloody right there.” He looked through the window. “But what makes putting yourself in harm’s way so smart?”
“Maeve is a lover. Greater love has no man, or woman than she lays down her life for her friend. But it is a greater love if she lays down her life for her enemy.”
“I gather I’m her enemy. That’s no surprise.” He fought the lump that rose in his throat, but for the first time in his life, he couldn’t put something, not even in his own body, in its place. “She saved my life. Now she’s dying…and I’ll never get to know her. She must be a good person if she saved the life of a man she hates.”
“She doesn’t hate you. But she hates the Seamus Diocletian you put between the world and the real Shay. And she wants only to know the real Shay.”
“What can I do for her?”
“She put her life on the line for you. Now it’s your chance to give something back to the woman through whom God gave you a second chance.”
The shadowy hallway became dim once more. Monica was gone. A nurse came down the hall and approached the door of the ICU. Shay stepped forward.
“Excuse me, is there something I can do to help her?”
“Who are you?”
“Her boss. She saved my life.”
“She needs blood. Are you type A positive?”
“I am.”
“Are you free of all transmittable blood diseases?”
“Yes.”
“Are you hemophiliac?”
He looked at the gauze pad taped to the outside of his arm. “No, thank God.”
“Good. Will you come with me?”
A few minutes later, Shay entered the phlebotomy lab. Jake was there already, his sleeves rolled above his bony elbows. If someone shaved the outsides of Jake’s arms, they would have looked no bigger around than Shay’s thumbs.
“What are you doing here?” Shay asked, genuinely surprised.
“Bakery’s all set, sir.” Jake squeaked. “Doug and Andrew took care of everything else; they had Hennessy to fill in for you the rest of the night.”
“Never mind that. What are you doing here in the blood lab?”
“I’m here to give blood to Mo.”
Looking at Jake and regarding how small he was, Shay wondered if he had any to spare.
“No. This is heavy stuff; you’ll be out of commission for a few days. You’ll lose hours and pay.”
“Cheese it, Diocletian; I wanna do this.”
“I’m giving blood to her; you’re too small.”
“I’m twenty-four; I’m full grown.”
“You’re still small; I’ve got enough to spare.”
Jake eyed the gauze pads taped to Shay’s arm and neck. “After what happened back there, are you sure?”
“There’s plenty where that came from. I need to take a few days off anyway. I’m on salary, so I won’t lose anything.”
“What’s got into you? One day no one could get you to give ’em time off; now you’re giving blood to the girl you were dumping on all last winter.”
“She saved my life.” He paused wondering if he should tell Jake about what he seen in the hallway outside the ICU. “I’m only paying her back for what she gave to me.”
“Payback time, eh?”
“Something like that. Why are you doing this?”
“Because I love her.”
“Mr. Jacobson?” a nurse called from the door of one of the cubicles.
“Jake Jacobson?” Shay asked, knotting his brows.
“Yup, that’s what my folks named me.” Jake grinned nervously as he got up and followed the nurse into the cubicle. Shay rose and followed them in.
The nurse scrubbed the inside of Jake’s elbow after she maneuvered him into a semi-reclining position on the couch in the cubicle. Jake grinned up at her, but the muscles of his thin face quivered, turning it into a wince. Shay stood at the foot of the couch, waiting his turn. The nurse tied a rubber strap around Jake’s bicep to raise the vein.
“Oh no,” Jake groaned as she came up to him with a phlebotome in a shunt connected to a catheter running to a blood sac.
“Could you hold him down, Mr. Diocletian?” she asked.
“Sure.” Shay grabbed Jake by the shoulders and pinned him to the couch. At the same moment, the nurse stuck the phlebotome into Jake’s vein.
“Ouch,” Jake grunted. Shay couldn’t tell what brought this response, but at least Jake wasn’t looking at the catheter, which slowly turned red.
“Breathe deeply. Clench and unclench your fist for me, Mr. Jacobson,” the nurse said. Jake obliged. “Good, good.”
“What’s she like?” Shay asked, looking down into Jake’s face.
“Who, Mo?”
“Yeah, Mo.”
“She’s really not as tough as she makes out to be. She’s a nice sort, without being sugary. She likes science fiction; I think she writes it.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, she edits a little ess-eff magazine on the side. Sells it at the social hour after Mass at her parish.”
“She’s Catholic?”
“She’s a real Catholic, not a Jack Catholic like me, though she’s got me going to Mass again.”
“I never knew that.”
“Y’do now.”
The nurse removed the phlebotome and pressed a gauze pad to Jake’s wound. She taped it down and removed the tourniquet. “There, that’s good. Thank you, Mr. Jacobson.” Shay let him go. She handed Jake a plastic cup of orange juice. “Drink this up; don’t try to get up right away.”
“Thank you, Nurse Ratchet.” Jake took the cup and with a wry grin saluted Shay with the cup before he drank. Under his swarthiness, Jake’s face looked pale, but as he drank, color began to return to his cheeks.
After a couple minutes, Jake sat up slowly and lowered his feet toward the floor. Shay helped him down; holding onto the wall for support, Jake stepped out of the cubicle and sank down on the chair just outside.
Shay lowered himself onto the couch and offered his left arm to the nurse.
“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, as she prepared a fresh blood sac.
“Want me to hold you down, Shay?” Jake twitted, peering inside as the nurse prepped Shay’s arm.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shay snarled. The nurse thrust the phlebotome into his flesh. “Aaaahhhh!”
“Breathe deeply now, Mr. Diocletian. Clench and unclench your fist, nice and easy.” Shay fought to keep from panting from the sensation of that hollow metal tube in his vein. “Yes, yes. Good, very good.” The catheter turned red, the blood sac slowly filled up. She removed the phlebotome and bandaged his elbow. Once it was taped up, Shay sat up and tried to stand.
“I wouldn’t advise that, Mr. Diocletian,” the nurse warned, trying to take his arm.
“I’m tougher than I look,” Shay retorted. The room suddenly began to rock, then it spun wildly around him. Everything got brighter, then went black.
When he woke up, his head was splitting on the left side.
“What the h--- happened?” he mumbled, groggily. He opened his eyes and looked up at a knot of nurses and orderlies surrounding him, standing over him as he lay on the floor.
“You stood up too soon and you fainted,” a doctor kneeling by his head informed him. “You’re too weak.”
“Nonsense, I just got dizzy.” Shay tried to sit up, but an orderly held him down. His ears started to whine.
“You need to rest,” the doctor insisted. Shay sighed; his body ached too much to allow him to object.
Jake sniggered as the orderlies trundled Shay out of the lab.
“The man of iron is flesh and blood after all,” he said, following them.
“Drop dead, Jake,” Shay croaked.
“Don’t worry; I feel like I might.”
The hospital kept Shay overnight for observation. In the morning they released him. Before he left, he insisted on seeing Maeve.
She was out of the ICU and sleeping peacefully in a private room. Fewer machines surrounded her bedside. He smiled and slipped away.
Unseen, Monica sat at the bedside. She smiled at Shay’s retreating figure, then smiled at Maeve.
Chapter : The Customer is Always Right
Shay phoned Hennessey as soon as he got home and told him to substitute for him for the next few days. He spoke to Hilde, who knew about the incident from Monica.
“It’s a shame she got hurt,” Hilde said.
“I’m sorry it had to happen this way, but I’m bloody glad she was there. I might not be making this call now.”
Last of all, he spoke to Andrew.
“So what became of those…punks?”
“Those punks have a lot of explaining to do at the juvenile court, and to the immigration board.”
“Serves them d--- right—I mean, they’ll have to take the consequences of that attack.”
“I’m afraid so, but you don’t have to think of them with that kind of anger.”
“Wait. Are you an angel, too?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I thought so. Don’t tell me: you want me to love those guys even though they cut me up and almost killed Mo.”
“It’s not me that wants you to love them; God wants you to.”
“So what can I do for them?”
“All God wants you to do for the boys who tried to kill you and Mo is forgive them.”
“I don’t know if I can…I’ll try and see what I can manage.”
Shay took it easy for the next couple days; he surprised himself by going to church Sunday.
Monday he went into work just to check on things for a couple hours. He still felt sore and his arm pained him. Monica and Jake were closing the bakery that night. Before he left, Shay went through the store collecting a few things to put in a basket for Maeve: dried fruit, cookies, crackers, jam, even some Belgian chocolate leftover from Christmas. As he roamed through the card section, he paused to look toward the bakery. Jake, still a little pale, was out merchandising, putting out loaves of pound bread and humming to himself. Once he had emptied one rack, he started to push it back into the bakery. He paused on the threshold and looked around; he ducked his shoulders and scuttled over to the flower cooler against the back wall of the produce section. He opened the door, pulled out a single red rose in a crystal vase, and carried it into the bakery, shielded by his thin torso.
“Jake, is that for Mo?” Shay called, coming to the bakery doorway. The bakery cooler door slammed. Jake came to the doorway, his shoulders still hunched, a “You-didn’t-see-me-do-that” grin twisted his face.
“Uh, yes, Mr. Diocletian, sir.”
“You visiting her any time soon?”
“Hilde put me on till eight tonight so I could go visit Mo. Monica’s learned the routine so fast, I don’t have to stick around, and you know how quiet Monday nights can be this time of year. She can manage all right without me, and she’d probably welcome it. You know what Mo calls me, ‘the bakery gigolo’.” Jake rolled his eyes gleefully.
“You planning to go there straight from work?”
“No, I gotta run home and change and have my supper first.”
“Would you want a lift to the hospital? I go past your house on the way there. It’ll save wear and tear on your car.”
“Er, thanks, Mr. Diocletian.”
“I’ll come by your house about, say, 8:30?”
“I’ll be outside with bells on.”
Shay went to the bread case and studied its contents. A few loaves of sesame seeded scala loaves remained on the bottom. Already, Monica had begun slicing the case bread.
“Monica?” She came up to the case, smiling up at him.
“Yes? What can I do for you, Mr. Diocletian?”
“Could I have a loaf of that sesame scala, NOT sliced?”
She smiled. “Certainly. I’ll have one not sliced scala loaf for you in a wee moment.” She ducked down behind the case, rummaged in it and came up again, holding up a loaf.
“Is that a good not sliced loaf?” she asked.
“Yes, thanks.” She bagged the loaf, closed the bag neck, twisted it and cinched it shut with a twist tie, all in one graceful movement, her red braid swinging against the back of her neck.
“I heard from Jake that Hilde let him have a short night. You think you can manage here all by yourself?”
“If he helps me finish up the bread case and start the doughnut case before he leaves, I can manage. I’m as good a manager as you are.” She turned and handed the loaf to him across the top of the case. “Here ye go.”
“Thanks.”
“God bless ye, Mr. Diocletian.”
He opened his mouth to scold, “What did I tell you about the ‘God Bless You’?” But instead, he said, “God bless you, too, Monica. But let’s keep that between us, shall we?”
“Between us and God, and Andrew…and Tess.”
He looked around, leaned closer to her and asked in a low voice, “Tess is another angel?” She only smiled and nodded.
A few hours later, Shay, with his basket for Maeve over his arm, and Jake, with his red rose, walked up the walkway to the hospital.
“Do you want me to go in first, or should I defer to the boss?” Jake said as they entered through the motorized doors.
“No, you go in first, she’d probably rather see you,” Shay said.
“I’ll take it, but that she’d rather see me? That is very questionable.”
Tess was already sitting by Maeve’s bedside when they came to her room. Shay hung back and stood outside the door, out of sight from within, and let Jake go in first.
“Jake, good to see you!” Tess said.
“Hi, Jake,” Maeve said, her voice not as strong as it usually was.
“Hello, Maeve. How’re you feeling?”
“Like bread that got squashed in the bread slicer.”
“Ouch!” Jake groaned.
“No really, I’m feeling a lot better than I did before. I had to have a transfusion; but if it weren’t for that, I really would feel like bread squashed in the slicer. Or worse, I might not be feeling at all.”
“Well, how would you like to meet the guys who gave you blood?”
“I sure would. If I could, I’d shake their hands.”
“In that case you can start by shaking mine.”
“You’re fooling me.”
“I’m not.”
“You? The bakery gigolo? Are you doing this to get around me?”
“No, Tess had a lit-tle talk to me about putting the other person first.”
Shay peered around the doorjamb. Maeve, sitting propped up in bed, took one of Jake’s hands in both of hers and wrung it gently. She released it with one hand. With the other, she reached up and touched his face.
“You did this for me?” He nodded. “Thanks. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“If you gave blood, who else did?”
“He’s outside the door if you’d like to see him.” Jake glanced over his shoulder toward Shay and winked. Shay took a long breath and stepped into the room.
“Mr. Diocletian?!” Maeve sank back on the pillows.
“Don’t die on us, Mo. Don’t be afraid; he won’t hurt you.”
“I might get dizzy and faint on you,” Shay said, setting his basket and the flowers on the bedside table. “How do you feel, Maeve?”
“About as good as anyone who’s been stabbed after she lost her job because of a technicality.”
“You can have the job back…I’m sorry I flipped my lid like that; I guess I really blew it on you. I owe it to you; you saved my life.”
“Tess, you want anything?” Jake offered. “Or should we just leave these two to make it up to each other?”
“Well, since you’re making that offer like a gentleman, yes,” replied Tess. She got up and let Jake escort her to the door.
“You folks want anything?” Jake asked over his shoulder
“No, but thanks, Jake,” Shay said.
“I’ll take a rain check,” Maeve added.
When Tess and Jake had gone, Shay sat down beside the bed. As he did, Maeve moved her feet under the bedcovers. He clasped his hands between his spread knees, looked down at them, and unclasped them nervously.
“I don’t know how to thank you for saving my life the way you did the other night,” he said.
“Well, that makes two of us; I’m sticking my big toenail into my ankle, trying to wake myself up. Is this a dream?”
“No, it’s real.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening in the hallway. He leaned closer to the bed. “Mo, I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting all this time. What happened to me in the back room, I brought that on myself. I’m sorry you had to get caught in the crossfire.”
“I’m sorry you had to get in that kind of situation before you finally saw the light. You know, I’m not just a worker; I’m also a customer. And the customer is always right.”
“But not always. I know, I had to learn the hard way.” He looked over his shoulder again; he leaned closer, then discovering his face was just a few inches from Maeve’s, he backed away.
“No, it’s okay, come as close as you have to.”
He obliged her. “You know Monica and Tess and Andrew? They’re angels.”
“I knew Andrew was. After I took that blade through my lung, I saw him come to my side. He told me he’s the Angel of Death, and that he’d come for you.”
“So that’s why,” Shay murmured. Realizing his misstep, he added, “I saw him at your side just before I made the call. He was wearing white.”
“He was.”
“Mo, I don’t know how to say this. I’m…sorry for the way I’ve treated you all this time. I’ve been horrible, haven’t I?”
“Well, you haven’t endeared yourself toward me, that’s for sure.”
“If there’s anything I can do to fix things, I’ll do what I can. You make the call. What can I do for you?”
“Stop acting like a jerk, for one thing.
((And that's all there was...))
Lady-jolly
2004-10-06
ch 2, reply hey this is really good. Why did you stop? Please continue your off to a good start. God Bless It's really good keep it up
Lady Jolly
JMBangelgirl
2003-03-27
ch 1, reply This is a cute little story. Keep it up and update soon.
2002-11-17
ch 1, anon. Not a bad start, but clearly needs more Andrew
Kacey Conrad
2002-11-16
ch 1, reply I love it, Matrix Refugee! What a fun, original idea! I especially enjoyed your descriptions of Mr. Diocletian and Mr. Jake, and I appreciate your proper grammar--it seems to be a rarity nowadays. I can't wait to read more! Keep up the fantabulous work!
Blessings,
Astraea
WARNING: It's a bit of a self-insert, but not enough to be a Mary Sue. I think I'm incapable of writing those beasties.
+J.M.J.+
“What Can I Do for You?”
by “Matrix Refugee”
Author’s Note:
This was sitting on my hard drive for MUCH too long, so I decided to get it out to you folks. I’m better known for my “A.I.” fanfics, but I thought I’d show that I’m a fan of more than one thing. Arguably a bit Mary-Sue-ish, but hey, it’s MY story!
Disclaimer:
I do not own TBAA, which is the property of Martha Williamson, CBS, et al.
I: Angels in…the Bakery?
Monica studied the grocery store job application. Position wanted. She was about to fill it in, but she saw it had been filled in, with Tess’s handwriting: “Bakery closer”. She looked up at Tess, who stood behind the plexiglas of the courtesy booth window, waiting for her to finish filling out the application.
“Tess, I thought I was going to work in the courtesy booth; you know how good I am with courtesy,” she wheedled.
“I know, Angel Girl, but positions change all the time. The Father knows what He’s doing, but man doesn’t always know what he’s doing. And that’s why we’re here and why you’re needed where you’re needed.”
“In a grocery store bakery?”
“Trust Him. Now finish filling that thing out, we haven’t got all day.”
“It says ‘References’. Who can I refer to?”
“Oh, I’ll handle that.” Tess took the application and reached for the intercom microphone. “Mr. Diocletian to the courtesy booth, please? Mr. Diocletian to the courtesy booth,” her voice boomed over the speakers. “At your convenience, please? Thank you.” She set the microphone back on the inside ledge of the booth. “Now look smart; here comes one of your assignments.”
A tall, well-built man in his early forties approached, sidestepping customers with shopping carts and wayward children. He wore a maroon jacket with a store badge pinned to the right breast, eye-level with Monica, which read “Mr. Seamus Diocletian, Store Director”. He walked by Monica as if he hadn’t seen her and, resting his elbows on the low ledge outside the booth, he leaned in closer to the gap under the plexiglas.
“You called, Tess?” he said in a somewhat nasally baritone, settling his weight into his left hip.
“Yes, my young friend Monica here wants the bakery job; she’s just finished filling out the application.” Tess handed the paper to him through the slit. He took it and straightened up; he studied the sheet, his brow puckering. He pursed his lips slightly. Then he eyed Monica askance.
“Are you Monica?” he asked, without looking straight at her.
“Yes, I am,” she said.
“Come upstairs,” he said.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monica came down from the office slightly shaken, but relieved. She went right to the courtesy booth window.
“Can you believe it, Tess? I’ve got the job.”
“Good, then we’re starting off on the right foot. Now, I think you’d better go, because here comes somebody you shouldn’t have to deal with until you have to.”
Monica stepped aside. A small, dark man approached the window; he was so short his red apron hung below his knees and so thin he looked like a scrawny thirteen year old, though his pinched face under his maroon cap with the store logo, worn tilted rakishly to one side, looked older than that. He walked with a swagger probably intended to make him look taller, but which didn’t succeed. As he came up to the window, his large black eyes swung to his left and brightened; he smiled at Monica, then turned to the window.
“Ah, we have a new face here; I don’t remember seeing you before,” he said in a deep, melodious voice.
“What can I do for you?” Tess asked coldly.
“I’m here to pick up my check.”
“May I have your number please?”
“My number? Aren’t we being a little pushy? You’re gorgeous, but you’re old enough to be my mother.”
“Your badge number, Mr. Jake.”
“282427, same as my vital statistics.” He turned to Monica. “It’s true, you know. I’ve got the smallest waist in the store; some of the girls here aren’t as thin as I am.”
Tess rummaged in a sheaf of checks and pulling out one, handed it through the slit to him.
“Thank you much, Miss…Tess,” the rascal said, peering at her badge. He smiled again to Monica, dropping a wink to her, and sashayed away.
“Who was that?” she asked Tess.
“That was my assignment,” Tess groaned.
Author's Note:
Sorry it's been a while since I updated this one. I'm between jobs, trying to get another one, but two different people pested me to write more with this one, so I took that as a sign I'm supposed to keep it going. For anyone who might be reading this aloud, Maeve's name is pronounced something like Mohve.
Disclaimer:
Nope, I don't own any of the TBAA characters, which belong to CBS, Martha Williamson, et al.
Chapter II: First Day
The following Monday afternoon, at three, Monica arrived at the store and went straight to the bakery. Once there, she stuck her head in at an entryway between the doughnut case and the end wall.
"Helloo," she called to a tall woman with iron grey hair, wearing a red cotton shirt jacket, with heavy gloves on, pulling a metal rack of fresh baked bread out of a large oven at the back. The woman looked up.
"Hello. You Monica?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm the new clerk Mr. Diolcetian hired," Monica said.
"You're right on time, that's a plus already," The woman said. "I'm Sandra Vesey. You ever worked in a bakery before?"
"No, but I'm ready to learn what I need to know to help around here."
"We'll start by getting you a uniform," Sandra said, going to a metal desk on the other side of the oven. She opened a cupboard under the desk and took out a white smock, a red apron and a maroon cap, which she handed to Monica, who put them on.
Sandra borught here out to the front of the bakery and briefed her onm the different breads and pastries and things in the different cases, and the muffins, cookies, pound breads, and other things on the display tables.
"Mo, I got a new trainee for you," Sandra called, leaning Monica behind the display cases. A girl about middle height, a little taller than Monica, with short jet-black hair and green eyes stood slipping the fresh loaves of bread into white paper bags marked "Fresh Italian Bread". "Monica, this is Maeve Maguire; Mo, this is Monica: she's new to the game."
Maeve held out a hand to Monica. "Hiya, Monica."
"Helloo." Monica said, taking Maeve's hand and pressing it gently.
"Ye sound like ye come from the ould conthry," Maeve said, imitating Monica's Irish accent with obvious admiration.
"Oh yes, very old country," Monica replied.
"We'll do well together: I'm nine parts Irish myself," Maeve said.
"All right, tonight, you can ignore Jake because he IS going to pull and label the freezer pull and put that out by the end of the night—are you listening, Jake?” Hilde called out to the young man folding white bakery boxes at a bench at the far end of the bakery.
“I hear you, Hilde,” Jake called back.
“Mo, start Monica with the bread case; make sure she learns the different kinds of bread and how to use the slicer by the end of the night.”
“Will do, Hilde; she looks like a quick learner.”
“Oh, I am,” said Monica.
“Just what we need. I’m going home now; Maeve, Monica, I’ll see you…Wednesday?”
“Yep.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“And, Jake, I’ll see you Wednesday morning, bright and early at six?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Jake rummaged in a drawer and took out a clipboard.
“Okay. I’ll see you folks then. Just remember to check out with Mr. Hennessey before you leave.”
“We will,” Maeve said. Hilde went out; Maeve turned to Monica.
“So, you ready to start?”
“Yes.”
"Well, it's a bit early to start the bread case just yet, and it looks like it's gonna be a slow night, plus we got this Italian bread to bag," Maeve said. "So, how 'bout we start by bagging this bread and putting it out."
"Sounds good: it looks like you need more out there," Monica said.
Maeve stepped out of the bakery and towed into the entry a tall aluminum rack that had stood at the end of a freestanding set of wire shelves on which sat several different kind of breads and rolls in plastic bags. She fetched a sheaf of long white paper bread bags from a box under one of the benches, the metal worktables behind the counter. She slid one of the loaves into a bag and set it on one of the wire shelves of the rack, keeping an eye on the counter the whole time. Monica took a bag, shook it open slightly and slid a loaf into it.
"So how long have you worked here?" Monica asked.
"Five years now, I'm one of the old timers," Maeve replied. "It started off as just the job I took to put myself through college, but I enjoyed it so much I decided to stay...But then Diocletian was transferred here as store manager. Man runs a tight ship."
"He probably has to, keep the store running, keep the customer satisfied," Monica said.
"Not as tight as he does," Maeve said. "I ain't a slacker, I don't let the moss grow under my shoes, but to Seamus Diocletian, just because you're a clerk that makes you an automatic slacker who needs to have their rear whupped."
"He doesn't seem so bad," Monica said.
"You ain't seen him in action yet," Maeve said as they put the last loaves on the shelf. "Okay, these are a little warm, so just leave the bags open so they can cool and crust up a little."
"Do you want me to push the rack out?" Monica offered.
"Sure," Maeve said.
Monica pushed the rack back to the spot where it had been before, puahing it flush against the end of the bread shelves.
Just as she was about to head back into the bakery, Mr. Diocletian walked through. He paused by the bread rack, eyeing the loaves.
"Monica, twist those bags shut," he said.
"But Maeve told me they need to stay open," she said.
"Just do as you're told," Diocletian ordered and went away.
"Yessir," Monica said. She set to work twisting closed every single bag.
As she worked, she saw a familiar tall, blonde man, now clad in a red shirt jacket, pass by towing a pallet of paper towels.
“Andrew?” she said, looking up and recognizing the Angel of Death. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to work here either,” he said, stopping by her. "I thought you and Tess and Rafael were covering this."
“Who is it?” she asked, in a lower voice.
“I don’t know just yet and I don't know when either.” He looked around, took an old-fashioned pocket watch out of his trouser pocket, opened it and looked at the face. “Time’s starting to pass, though."
"Andrew, those paper towels?" called Diocletian from the paper products aisle.
"I better run," Andrew said, pocketing his watch and going into the aisle.
"Uh, oh, looks like someone got thrown to the lions already," Jake said, as Monica came back into the bakery.
"What happened?" Monica asked.
"Oh, that's just our running joke," Maeve explained. "Diocletian was the name of a Roman emperor, and the Romans were notorious for throwing people, especially Christians to the lions. So every time someone gets kicked around by the Emperor, aka, Diocletian, we say someone got thrown to the lions."
"He's a hard man, but I think you're exaggerating a little," Monica said.
"He's having a good day: just wait till he isn't," Maeve warned, leading her to the bread case. They spent the next three quarters of an hour on that, Maeve showing Monica the different kinds of bread and teaching her how to run the slicer and bag the sliced bread.
“You learn this, you can handle most ANYTHING in the bakery," Maeve said, as they put the sliced bread back into the case. "First week or two is always the hardest. But once you get the hang of it, everything falls into place. It’s not rocket science, y’know.”
“And with as good a teacher as you, things will fall into place quicker.”
“You’ve got the right attitude: that’s half the job there. The other half is capability, which I have a feeling you got more of than most people that come in here.”
After they finished up with the bread, they moved on to the doughnut, bagel and muffin case. Muffins went in a six pack muffin tin and were overwrapped on a heat sealing machine. Bagels went six in a bag, either six of a kind or mixed. Just as they got started putting out the muffins packs and the bagged bagels, a short, heavy-set guy in a red shirt jacket, what was clearly the insignia of an assistant manager, came into the bakery. His eye went straight to Monica.
“Hey, you with the red hair," he said. "What’s your name?”
“My name is Monica; what can I do for you, sir?”
“We’re short on sackers; would you mind coming up front for a little while to help us out?”
“Yes, she would,” Maeve broke in.
“Oh, I think I can handle it,” Monica said
“Leave her alone, Hennessey; this is her first night. Hilde has me training her to work her in the bakery, where she was hired to work. She isn’t here to sack.”
“We need sackers.”
“Then go to another department and get someone there. We have enough to do back here, thank you very much.”
“You’ll hear it from Diocletian for this.”
“You’ll hear it from Hilde first.”
Hennessey walked away. As he passed the back of the doughnut case, he reached in and grabbed a blueberry muffin before walking out.
“Who was that?” Monica asked.
Maeve rolled her eyes. “That was Jim Hennessey; he usually closes Monday nights and, as you just found out, he thinks he’s God.”
Jake was putting out the freezer pull, items made offsite that came in frozne and which they put out as needed. As he worked, he watched Maeve and Monica at work putting out the bagels and muffins.
“How come Hilde never has me train anyone?” he asked Maeve.
Maeve rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that! You trained Brian, didn’t you?”
“I mean any of the girls.”
“Well, for one reason you seem to forget that sexual harassment clause you signed.”
“I don’t put my hands where they don’t belong.”
“Yeah, well, your eyes don’t stay where THEY belong.”
“Oh, come on.”
“You don’t think I notice?”
“Yeah, well, you look at me.”
“Not the way you look at ME and every other girl in here.”
"Monica, have I given you any funny looks?" Jake asked, innocently.
"No, you haven't," Monica said.
"Not yet," Maeve said under her breath.
After Monica and Maeve had finished with the muffins and bagels, they headed back into the bakery to start boxing the doughnuts. Jake finished putting out the freezer pull at about the same time.
"Much as I regret having to say this, but it's eight p.m. and time for me to head home," he announced, passing by the bench where the two girls were at work. "You sure you don't want me to stay around and defend you ladies?"
"How thoughtful--" Monica started to say.
"We'll be all right, Jake," Maeve cut in, not looking at Jake. "We can get along without a grocery gigolo like you."
Jake pretended to turn up his nose to this. "Hmf! How dare you!" He dropped a wink at Monica and walked away, whistling under his breath.
"He seems all right," Monica said.
Maeve shook her head. "Don't let him get around you: He's dated and dumped every girl who's worked in this store--except me."
"That won't be hard for me: I'm not looking for anyone," Monica said.
"Even if you tell him that, he won't be deterred."
Someone banged the front doors of the doughnut case. "Hey, you got any left for us?" called a young man's voice. Three young Hispanic boys in the dark blue shirt-jackets the grocery clerks wore, had gathered around the doughnut case.
"Miss Mo, you forget about us?" the shorter of the three asked.
"No, Paco, I didn't forget; and remember you're supposed to pay for them," Maeve said.
"You got a new friend here?" the tallest one said. The shortest of the trio called out a greeting to Monica in "Spanglish". She only smiled in reply.
"Yes, Ricardo, this is Monica: this is her first night here," Maeve said. As she spoke, Paco reached up to the last tray in the case, grabbed a chocolate doughnut and started munching on it. Maeve stepped back to the label maker on one of the benches behind the counter and punched in a code and price. When the label printed, she tore it off without peeling it off the backing. She turned back to Paco and handed him the label.
"Hey, what's this?" he demanded.
"I don't mind if you eat that, I'd rather that you remembered to pay for it."
"You think we not honest, hey?" Ricardo said.
At this point, Rafael, the Angel of Youth, whom Monica had met dealing with other assignments, approached, clad in a dark blue jacket like the three. "What's going on here?" he asked.
"Mo saying we not honest," Ricardo said.
"I only asked Paco to pay for his doughnut," Maeve said.
"Hey. Pacquito, you wanna keep the job, right?" Rafael said. "You don't want any more trouble like you had at your last job. It's not worth it, man."
"No," Paco admitted, taking the tag from Maeve.
Maeve smiled. "Thanks. Sorry if I got too tough."
The three went away, heading for the dog food aisle. "Thanks, Rafael. Sometimes I think you're the only one who can handle them."
"They're a little upset tonight: Diocletian was a bit too tough on them earlier and Hennessey made it worse," Rafael said.
"Yeah, Diocletian was telling her to do the exact opposite of what I told her to do with the Italian bread, and then Hennessey tried to snag her for sacking."
"They're a little short on help tonight, makes them edgy," Rafael said. "I better get back to the crew, see if they started."
"You know Rafael?" Maeve asked, when he had gone.
"Oh yes, we've known each other for quite a long time," Monica said.
"He's a good boy. He's done great here: sometimes I think the floor crew minds him better than they mind management," Maeve said. "Not to sound shallow, but is he seeing anyone?"
"No, he's not looking for anyone," Monica said.
"Well, there's a welcome change from Jake the gigolo," Maeve said.
They finished up by cleaning the counters and the tops of the tables behind the counter, washing the glass fronts of the cases, sweeping the floor and collecting the trash in the three large, thirty gallon barrels placed in the back. They hadn't sold all the Italian bread, so they gathered up those loaves and put them into a large trash bag they put on a shelf in the back. After nine, when Hennessey (or what appeared to be his voice over the tinny loudspeakers), announced that the store was closing, they brought the trahs bags down to the compacter in the back room. Maeve hurried Monica out of there a little abruptly.
"Too many dark corners back here," she explained. "There's been some fights back here."
"You wouldn't think something like that would happen in a place like a grocery store," Monica said.
"You got a lot to learn about this place, but I don't expect you to learn it all at once," Maeve said, utterly without judgement, as they walked back to the bakery. "God knows it took me while to pick up all the quirks of the trade."
"He doesn't expect any of us to learn everything at once," Monica said.
She reached under the doughnut case and switched out the lights in the bakery. "That He doesn't, but I wish the people He allows to have the positions of authority would learn from Him."
Maeve led the way down front to the courtesy booth, where Hennessey was arguing with Tess.
"You sure you have all the red bags from the registers? One was missing the other night," he said.
"They're all there: they don't got astray when I'm here," Tess said.
"You positive about that?"
"I AM positive."
"Bakery's all set, Mr. Hennessey," Maeve said.
Hennessey half turned and cocked an eye at Monica and Maeve. "You sure about that? No crumbs on the counters?"
"Not a one," Maeve said.
"She put you through your paces, Red?" he asked, his eye on Monica.
"She did a wonderful job teachin' me," Monica said. "She's a good person to work with."
Hennessey gave them a kind of half smile."All right, I trust you. But if I hear Sandra complain about any messes back there, you'll have it coming to you." With that, he went up to the office above the courtesy booth.
"How'd your first night go, baby?" Tess asked, handing the sign-in book to Monica.
"It went wonderfully," Monica said, writing in the times when she came in and the current time. "But I can see why I was put here: there's so many people here who need help."
"You're not kidding," Maeve said. "I hope some of your easy-going nature will rub off on the Emperor."
"I'll do my best," Monica said, with an astute smile. "All things are possible with God."
"I don't doubt that, but Diocletian would be a tough case even for Him."
"We'll see what He can do for him."
“I wouldn’t show this to just anyone, but I trust you as a friend,” Maeve said. She lifted the skirt of her smock and reached into her pants pocket. She took out a small black thing about the size and shape of an electric razor, with two metal contacts in place of a blade.
“What’s that?” Monica asked.
“It’s a stun gun. And I hope I never have to use it, though the way Jake has been, I just might need it. A hundred volts of static electricity should give him something to think about.”
“But isn’t that a little too much?”
“No, it’ll put him out for a while, but it won’t hurt him permanently. It works like one of those electric bug zappers.” She smiled somewhat wickedly. “You could even call it that, since it’s designed to zap someone who’s bugging you.”
“I’m going to bring the trash down; I might be a while”, Maeve told Jake and Monica, as she piled the bulging trash bags on top of the flattened boxes on the skid.
“What, throwing the stuff down the chute and envisioning throwing our dear Emperor down instead?” Jake twitted.
“Shut up, Jake,” Maeve snarled, pushing the skid out into the aisle and heading for the backroom.
The intercom pinged. “Mr. Diocletian to receiving area, please? Mr. Diocletian to receiving? Thank you.” It was Ricardo’s voice.
“Go find out what’s going on back there, yer Excellency, but stay outta Mo’s way if you know what’s good for you,” Jake said under his breath as he turned back to the overwrapper. “She might as well be wearin’ black leather.”
Diocletian passed the bakery, muttering under his breath. “D--- dagos, what do they want now?” He went down the bread aisle and kicked open the double doors, passing through.
A moment later, Andrew passed the bakery. He wore a white linen suit; radiance surrounded him.
“Andrew?” Monica murmured. He paused, looked at her, and reached into his pants pocket. He took out his pocket watch, opened the lid, and looked at the watch face. He shook his head.
“I’m afraid it’s time,” he said, pocketing the watch. He followed Diocletian’s path to the back room.
“What? You thinking about that beanpole?” Jake said, looking up from the over wrapper.
“Excuse me,” Monica said, going after Andrew.
Shay found Ricardo, Paco and the other kid hanging around the loading dock, their hands in their pockets. There were no delivery trucks in sight; the overhead door was closed.
“What’s going on?” Shay said. “What did you call me back here for?”
“You gotta lotta nerve, man. You think we some trash you kick around?” Ricardo said, coming closer. Paco and the other kid moved around in back of Shay.
“Listen, I’ve told you punks ten times if I’ve told you once: No work, no pay.”
“Yeah, because youda white American honcho, right? You think we just some trash because our skin darker and we no speak English so hot, right? Right?!”
“I’m not taking any more of your crap. You’re fired!”
He turned to walk away. Paco and the other kid blocked his way. Box rippers jutted from their hands. Shay tried to kick them away, but Ricardo grabbed him from behind, spun him around, and pinned him to the wall. Shay tried to wrench free, but the other kid kneed him in the stomach. Paco lunged at him with the box ripper raised. Shay saw it come down, down toward his neck in a dreamy slow motion, as if time slowed. At the last moment, he jerked his head aside and caught the blade on his shoulder instead. Shay tore himself from Ricardo and lunged at Paco, trying to knock him down, but the kid slashed the outside of his arm. He staggered and fell to his knees. Blood ran over his back and down his arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ricardo coming at him with a knife. The blade was six inches long. And Ricardo had it pointed straight for his heart.
At that same instant he heard a loud crackling, buzzing noise like an angry hive of electrified bees. A dark shape rushed into the circle. Maeve threw herself between Shay’s torso and the knife, her hand extended toward Ricardo’s face. The stun gun she clenched emitted a crackling roar; a bolt of blue exploded between her hand and Ricardo’s face, but not before the knife blade pierced her between the ribs. Her free hand gripped the knife handle, twisting it from Ricardo’s hand as she fell to the concrete. Ricardo sprawled on the floor apart from her, his body twitching. Paco and the other kid ran away.
Shay ran to the intercom. He looked back at Maeve. Her white smock was turning crimson and her red apron was as maroon as his jacket.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Andrew, dressed in white, kneeling over her. But that could have been a hallucination from the pain throbbing in his shoulder and arm.
“Security to the back room immediately! Security to back room! Call 911!”
At that moment, Jake came into the back room. “My God!” he cried and threw himself on Maeve. He pressed his palms to the wound, cupping them around the knife blade.
“Get your hands off her,” Shay ordered, hanging up the intercom.
“Pressure slows bleeding,” Jake replied. “O God, O God, don’t let Mo die. Please don’t let her die! Please! Please! Please!”
“Stop that whining,” Shay snapped, but his head was beginning to sing. At that moment Hennessey and Davis came into the back room.
“What the h--- happened?” Hennessey demanded. “Holy s---! Who cut you?”
“Ricardo and Paco and the other kid. They came at me with box rippers. Maeve knocked Ricardo out with a stun gun. Where’s Andrew?”
“He’s on break. The paramedics will be here in a minute.”
“No, he was here a minute ago.”
At that moment, Tess and Stryker came in, followed by the paramedics.
“What happened here?” one of the EMTs asked.
“I’m cut in the shoulder and the arm,” Shay said. “Three punks jumped me. One’s knocked out, the others ran off that way.” Shay pointed toward the furnace room with his uninjured arm. Hennessey, Davis and Stryker hurried off in that direction
“She got stabbed trying to save him,” Jake said, nodding toward Diocletian. The EMTs surrounded Maeve, stabilizing the knife with large gauze pads.
“You did the right thing, kid,” the first EMT said to Jake.
“What about me?!” Shay hollered. “I’m bleeding to death here.”
“You wait your turn, Mr. Manager-Man,” Tess said.
Another EMT examined Shay. “Superficial flesh wounds. Nothing a few bandages can’t handle.” She fetched a roll of cloth tape and more gauze pads, which she applied to his wounds and taped down.
The other crewmembers had Maeve on a stretcher, an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. They started to carry her out. Shay rose and followed them, but a police officer touched him on the arm.
“She’s in good hands now,” he assured Shay.
“I’m going with them; she’s one of my best workers.” The officer let him follow the paramedics.
“Did ye hear what he said about her?” Monica said to Tess.
“I heard him, but that still isn’t the real Seamus Diocletian talking. Yet.”
“And the night isn’t over yet, either,” Andrew added, following Shay.
“You better get goin’, Angel Girl. You still have work to do for him.”
Chapter : Greater Love
Shay, in his shirtsleeves, stood outside the ICU window, gazing in at the white-faced young woman lying on the bed within. An oxygen tube filled her mouth. Other machines and boxes surrounded the head of the bed.
“Why did she have to do something so stupid? I could have handled them myself,” he murmured. “Busybody always had to have her nose in everything.”
“She not only had a busy body, she had a busy heart,” said a woman’s voice behind him.
He turned. Monica stood behind him, wearing a simple scoop neck white jersey and a white skirt he had never seen her wear before.
“Monica, what are you doing here? You should be back in the bakery closing up.”
“It was more important for me to be here with you.”
“Here? You have your priorities upside down.”
She smiled gently. “Perhaps you have your priorities upside down. Maeve had hers in place.”
He stood back on his heels and folded his arms tight against his chest. “I suppose now you’re going to hold her up as the employee of the month.”
“I’m not, but God sees in her one of your most special workers.”
“God? What does God see in or want with a bakery clerk?”
“He sees in her much love. And that’s what He wants from you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Nothing makes me say that. I want to because I am an angel.”
A soft glow diffused from Monica’s eyes and face, spreading to her hair.
Shay’s arms loosened and slid to his sides. “Oh, my God!” he gasped, stepping back. He blinked against the light, but to his surprise, as bright as the light grew, it did not hurt his eyes. He felt it caress his face, wash through his eyes, touch his very soul.
“What Maeve did you call stupid. But to God it is the most wise thing she could do.”
“God always had…crazy ways of doing things,” he faltered.
“God’s ways are not man’s ways.”
“You’re bloody right there.” He looked through the window. “But what makes putting yourself in harm’s way so smart?”
“Maeve is a lover. Greater love has no man, or woman than she lays down her life for her friend. But it is a greater love if she lays down her life for her enemy.”
“I gather I’m her enemy. That’s no surprise.” He fought the lump that rose in his throat, but for the first time in his life, he couldn’t put something, not even in his own body, in its place. “She saved my life. Now she’s dying…and I’ll never get to know her. She must be a good person if she saved the life of a man she hates.”
“She doesn’t hate you. But she hates the Seamus Diocletian you put between the world and the real Shay. And she wants only to know the real Shay.”
“What can I do for her?”
“She put her life on the line for you. Now it’s your chance to give something back to the woman through whom God gave you a second chance.”
The shadowy hallway became dim once more. Monica was gone. A nurse came down the hall and approached the door of the ICU. Shay stepped forward.
“Excuse me, is there something I can do to help her?”
“Who are you?”
“Her boss. She saved my life.”
“She needs blood. Are you type A positive?”
“I am.”
“Are you free of all transmittable blood diseases?”
“Yes.”
“Are you hemophiliac?”
He looked at the gauze pad taped to the outside of his arm. “No, thank God.”
“Good. Will you come with me?”
A few minutes later, Shay entered the phlebotomy lab. Jake was there already, his sleeves rolled above his bony elbows. If someone shaved the outsides of Jake’s arms, they would have looked no bigger around than Shay’s thumbs.
“What are you doing here?” Shay asked, genuinely surprised.
“Bakery’s all set, sir.” Jake squeaked. “Doug and Andrew took care of everything else; they had Hennessy to fill in for you the rest of the night.”
“Never mind that. What are you doing here in the blood lab?”
“I’m here to give blood to Mo.”
Looking at Jake and regarding how small he was, Shay wondered if he had any to spare.
“No. This is heavy stuff; you’ll be out of commission for a few days. You’ll lose hours and pay.”
“Cheese it, Diocletian; I wanna do this.”
“I’m giving blood to her; you’re too small.”
“I’m twenty-four; I’m full grown.”
“You’re still small; I’ve got enough to spare.”
Jake eyed the gauze pads taped to Shay’s arm and neck. “After what happened back there, are you sure?”
“There’s plenty where that came from. I need to take a few days off anyway. I’m on salary, so I won’t lose anything.”
“What’s got into you? One day no one could get you to give ’em time off; now you’re giving blood to the girl you were dumping on all last winter.”
“She saved my life.” He paused wondering if he should tell Jake about what he seen in the hallway outside the ICU. “I’m only paying her back for what she gave to me.”
“Payback time, eh?”
“Something like that. Why are you doing this?”
“Because I love her.”
“Mr. Jacobson?” a nurse called from the door of one of the cubicles.
“Jake Jacobson?” Shay asked, knotting his brows.
“Yup, that’s what my folks named me.” Jake grinned nervously as he got up and followed the nurse into the cubicle. Shay rose and followed them in.
The nurse scrubbed the inside of Jake’s elbow after she maneuvered him into a semi-reclining position on the couch in the cubicle. Jake grinned up at her, but the muscles of his thin face quivered, turning it into a wince. Shay stood at the foot of the couch, waiting his turn. The nurse tied a rubber strap around Jake’s bicep to raise the vein.
“Oh no,” Jake groaned as she came up to him with a phlebotome in a shunt connected to a catheter running to a blood sac.
“Could you hold him down, Mr. Diocletian?” she asked.
“Sure.” Shay grabbed Jake by the shoulders and pinned him to the couch. At the same moment, the nurse stuck the phlebotome into Jake’s vein.
“Ouch,” Jake grunted. Shay couldn’t tell what brought this response, but at least Jake wasn’t looking at the catheter, which slowly turned red.
“Breathe deeply. Clench and unclench your fist for me, Mr. Jacobson,” the nurse said. Jake obliged. “Good, good.”
“What’s she like?” Shay asked, looking down into Jake’s face.
“Who, Mo?”
“Yeah, Mo.”
“She’s really not as tough as she makes out to be. She’s a nice sort, without being sugary. She likes science fiction; I think she writes it.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, she edits a little ess-eff magazine on the side. Sells it at the social hour after Mass at her parish.”
“She’s Catholic?”
“She’s a real Catholic, not a Jack Catholic like me, though she’s got me going to Mass again.”
“I never knew that.”
“Y’do now.”
The nurse removed the phlebotome and pressed a gauze pad to Jake’s wound. She taped it down and removed the tourniquet. “There, that’s good. Thank you, Mr. Jacobson.” Shay let him go. She handed Jake a plastic cup of orange juice. “Drink this up; don’t try to get up right away.”
“Thank you, Nurse Ratchet.” Jake took the cup and with a wry grin saluted Shay with the cup before he drank. Under his swarthiness, Jake’s face looked pale, but as he drank, color began to return to his cheeks.
After a couple minutes, Jake sat up slowly and lowered his feet toward the floor. Shay helped him down; holding onto the wall for support, Jake stepped out of the cubicle and sank down on the chair just outside.
Shay lowered himself onto the couch and offered his left arm to the nurse.
“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, as she prepared a fresh blood sac.
“Want me to hold you down, Shay?” Jake twitted, peering inside as the nurse prepped Shay’s arm.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shay snarled. The nurse thrust the phlebotome into his flesh. “Aaaahhhh!”
“Breathe deeply now, Mr. Diocletian. Clench and unclench your fist, nice and easy.” Shay fought to keep from panting from the sensation of that hollow metal tube in his vein. “Yes, yes. Good, very good.” The catheter turned red, the blood sac slowly filled up. She removed the phlebotome and bandaged his elbow. Once it was taped up, Shay sat up and tried to stand.
“I wouldn’t advise that, Mr. Diocletian,” the nurse warned, trying to take his arm.
“I’m tougher than I look,” Shay retorted. The room suddenly began to rock, then it spun wildly around him. Everything got brighter, then went black.
When he woke up, his head was splitting on the left side.
“What the h--- happened?” he mumbled, groggily. He opened his eyes and looked up at a knot of nurses and orderlies surrounding him, standing over him as he lay on the floor.
“You stood up too soon and you fainted,” a doctor kneeling by his head informed him. “You’re too weak.”
“Nonsense, I just got dizzy.” Shay tried to sit up, but an orderly held him down. His ears started to whine.
“You need to rest,” the doctor insisted. Shay sighed; his body ached too much to allow him to object.
Jake sniggered as the orderlies trundled Shay out of the lab.
“The man of iron is flesh and blood after all,” he said, following them.
“Drop dead, Jake,” Shay croaked.
“Don’t worry; I feel like I might.”
The hospital kept Shay overnight for observation. In the morning they released him. Before he left, he insisted on seeing Maeve.
She was out of the ICU and sleeping peacefully in a private room. Fewer machines surrounded her bedside. He smiled and slipped away.
Unseen, Monica sat at the bedside. She smiled at Shay’s retreating figure, then smiled at Maeve.
Chapter : The Customer is Always Right
Shay phoned Hennessey as soon as he got home and told him to substitute for him for the next few days. He spoke to Hilde, who knew about the incident from Monica.
“It’s a shame she got hurt,” Hilde said.
“I’m sorry it had to happen this way, but I’m bloody glad she was there. I might not be making this call now.”
Last of all, he spoke to Andrew.
“So what became of those…punks?”
“Those punks have a lot of explaining to do at the juvenile court, and to the immigration board.”
“Serves them d--- right—I mean, they’ll have to take the consequences of that attack.”
“I’m afraid so, but you don’t have to think of them with that kind of anger.”
“Wait. Are you an angel, too?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I thought so. Don’t tell me: you want me to love those guys even though they cut me up and almost killed Mo.”
“It’s not me that wants you to love them; God wants you to.”
“So what can I do for them?”
“All God wants you to do for the boys who tried to kill you and Mo is forgive them.”
“I don’t know if I can…I’ll try and see what I can manage.”
Shay took it easy for the next couple days; he surprised himself by going to church Sunday.
Monday he went into work just to check on things for a couple hours. He still felt sore and his arm pained him. Monica and Jake were closing the bakery that night. Before he left, Shay went through the store collecting a few things to put in a basket for Maeve: dried fruit, cookies, crackers, jam, even some Belgian chocolate leftover from Christmas. As he roamed through the card section, he paused to look toward the bakery. Jake, still a little pale, was out merchandising, putting out loaves of pound bread and humming to himself. Once he had emptied one rack, he started to push it back into the bakery. He paused on the threshold and looked around; he ducked his shoulders and scuttled over to the flower cooler against the back wall of the produce section. He opened the door, pulled out a single red rose in a crystal vase, and carried it into the bakery, shielded by his thin torso.
“Jake, is that for Mo?” Shay called, coming to the bakery doorway. The bakery cooler door slammed. Jake came to the doorway, his shoulders still hunched, a “You-didn’t-see-me-do-that” grin twisted his face.
“Uh, yes, Mr. Diocletian, sir.”
“You visiting her any time soon?”
“Hilde put me on till eight tonight so I could go visit Mo. Monica’s learned the routine so fast, I don’t have to stick around, and you know how quiet Monday nights can be this time of year. She can manage all right without me, and she’d probably welcome it. You know what Mo calls me, ‘the bakery gigolo’.” Jake rolled his eyes gleefully.
“You planning to go there straight from work?”
“No, I gotta run home and change and have my supper first.”
“Would you want a lift to the hospital? I go past your house on the way there. It’ll save wear and tear on your car.”
“Er, thanks, Mr. Diocletian.”
“I’ll come by your house about, say, 8:30?”
“I’ll be outside with bells on.”
Shay went to the bread case and studied its contents. A few loaves of sesame seeded scala loaves remained on the bottom. Already, Monica had begun slicing the case bread.
“Monica?” She came up to the case, smiling up at him.
“Yes? What can I do for you, Mr. Diocletian?”
“Could I have a loaf of that sesame scala, NOT sliced?”
She smiled. “Certainly. I’ll have one not sliced scala loaf for you in a wee moment.” She ducked down behind the case, rummaged in it and came up again, holding up a loaf.
“Is that a good not sliced loaf?” she asked.
“Yes, thanks.” She bagged the loaf, closed the bag neck, twisted it and cinched it shut with a twist tie, all in one graceful movement, her red braid swinging against the back of her neck.
“I heard from Jake that Hilde let him have a short night. You think you can manage here all by yourself?”
“If he helps me finish up the bread case and start the doughnut case before he leaves, I can manage. I’m as good a manager as you are.” She turned and handed the loaf to him across the top of the case. “Here ye go.”
“Thanks.”
“God bless ye, Mr. Diocletian.”
He opened his mouth to scold, “What did I tell you about the ‘God Bless You’?” But instead, he said, “God bless you, too, Monica. But let’s keep that between us, shall we?”
“Between us and God, and Andrew…and Tess.”
He looked around, leaned closer to her and asked in a low voice, “Tess is another angel?” She only smiled and nodded.
A few hours later, Shay, with his basket for Maeve over his arm, and Jake, with his red rose, walked up the walkway to the hospital.
“Do you want me to go in first, or should I defer to the boss?” Jake said as they entered through the motorized doors.
“No, you go in first, she’d probably rather see you,” Shay said.
“I’ll take it, but that she’d rather see me? That is very questionable.”
Tess was already sitting by Maeve’s bedside when they came to her room. Shay hung back and stood outside the door, out of sight from within, and let Jake go in first.
“Jake, good to see you!” Tess said.
“Hi, Jake,” Maeve said, her voice not as strong as it usually was.
“Hello, Maeve. How’re you feeling?”
“Like bread that got squashed in the bread slicer.”
“Ouch!” Jake groaned.
“No really, I’m feeling a lot better than I did before. I had to have a transfusion; but if it weren’t for that, I really would feel like bread squashed in the slicer. Or worse, I might not be feeling at all.”
“Well, how would you like to meet the guys who gave you blood?”
“I sure would. If I could, I’d shake their hands.”
“In that case you can start by shaking mine.”
“You’re fooling me.”
“I’m not.”
“You? The bakery gigolo? Are you doing this to get around me?”
“No, Tess had a lit-tle talk to me about putting the other person first.”
Shay peered around the doorjamb. Maeve, sitting propped up in bed, took one of Jake’s hands in both of hers and wrung it gently. She released it with one hand. With the other, she reached up and touched his face.
“You did this for me?” He nodded. “Thanks. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“If you gave blood, who else did?”
“He’s outside the door if you’d like to see him.” Jake glanced over his shoulder toward Shay and winked. Shay took a long breath and stepped into the room.
“Mr. Diocletian?!” Maeve sank back on the pillows.
“Don’t die on us, Mo. Don’t be afraid; he won’t hurt you.”
“I might get dizzy and faint on you,” Shay said, setting his basket and the flowers on the bedside table. “How do you feel, Maeve?”
“About as good as anyone who’s been stabbed after she lost her job because of a technicality.”
“You can have the job back…I’m sorry I flipped my lid like that; I guess I really blew it on you. I owe it to you; you saved my life.”
“Tess, you want anything?” Jake offered. “Or should we just leave these two to make it up to each other?”
“Well, since you’re making that offer like a gentleman, yes,” replied Tess. She got up and let Jake escort her to the door.
“You folks want anything?” Jake asked over his shoulder
“No, but thanks, Jake,” Shay said.
“I’ll take a rain check,” Maeve added.
When Tess and Jake had gone, Shay sat down beside the bed. As he did, Maeve moved her feet under the bedcovers. He clasped his hands between his spread knees, looked down at them, and unclasped them nervously.
“I don’t know how to thank you for saving my life the way you did the other night,” he said.
“Well, that makes two of us; I’m sticking my big toenail into my ankle, trying to wake myself up. Is this a dream?”
“No, it’s real.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening in the hallway. He leaned closer to the bed. “Mo, I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting all this time. What happened to me in the back room, I brought that on myself. I’m sorry you had to get caught in the crossfire.”
“I’m sorry you had to get in that kind of situation before you finally saw the light. You know, I’m not just a worker; I’m also a customer. And the customer is always right.”
“But not always. I know, I had to learn the hard way.” He looked over his shoulder again; he leaned closer, then discovering his face was just a few inches from Maeve’s, he backed away.
“No, it’s okay, come as close as you have to.”
He obliged her. “You know Monica and Tess and Andrew? They’re angels.”
“I knew Andrew was. After I took that blade through my lung, I saw him come to my side. He told me he’s the Angel of Death, and that he’d come for you.”
“So that’s why,” Shay murmured. Realizing his misstep, he added, “I saw him at your side just before I made the call. He was wearing white.”
“He was.”
“Mo, I don’t know how to say this. I’m…sorry for the way I’ve treated you all this time. I’ve been horrible, haven’t I?”
“Well, you haven’t endeared yourself toward me, that’s for sure.”
“If there’s anything I can do to fix things, I’ll do what I can. You make the call. What can I do for you?”
“Stop acting like a jerk, for one thing.
((And that's all there was...))
Lady-jolly
2004-10-06
ch 2, reply hey this is really good. Why did you stop? Please continue your off to a good start. God Bless It's really good keep it up
Lady Jolly
JMBangelgirl
2003-03-27
ch 1, reply This is a cute little story. Keep it up and update soon.
2002-11-17
ch 1, anon. Not a bad start, but clearly needs more Andrew
Kacey Conrad
2002-11-16
ch 1, reply I love it, Matrix Refugee! What a fun, original idea! I especially enjoyed your descriptions of Mr. Diocletian and Mr. Jake, and I appreciate your proper grammar--it seems to be a rarity nowadays. I can't wait to read more! Keep up the fantabulous work!
Blessings,
Astraea