The Pike: Ships In The Night

By Erik Schubach

Self publishing

P.O. Box 523

Nine Mile Falls, WA 99026

Cover Photo © 2016 Guayo Fuentes / Subarashii21 / Blambca / Iconic Bestiary

ShutterStock.com licenses

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties.  Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, blog, or broadcast.

This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Manufactured in the United States of America

FIRST EDITION

ISBN 978-0-9975256-5-6

I sneezed in the cloud of flour dust as I pushed into the back kitchen of my sister's bakery, carrying a tray of dishes for the washer.  I froze and squinted my eyes at the giggling coming from said evil sister, Zoey, as she chuckled and teased, “You sound like a little squeaky toy when you sneeze Eve.”

I lifted my chin imperiously and just marched past her. “I'm not the one with flour on her ass.  I'm not sure I wanna know how you got it there.”  I blew a lock of my red hair from my eyes as I put the dishes on the rack, lowered the door, and hit the button to start it moving through the automated dishwasher.

I stopped at the little sink and washed my hands. “Three bread bowls table two, and we are running low on croissants in the front case.  We just had a run on them.”

She saluted, getting flour on her forehead as she said with a grin, “Got it, oh short one.”

I crinkled my nose at her, it would be too easy to defend the short jab with her hair flopping out of the hairnet like that.  I chose the high road and opted for, “Whatever, Raggedy Ann.”

She chuckled at the old insult we threw back and forth.  It was sort of all purpose for us since we both shared mom's red hair.  Zoey got the height, I got the brains.  Well fine whatever, she's smart too.

I've never seen her happier than when she became the controlling partner in The Pike Bakery.  She loves cooking, and she loves people.  This was the dream job for her, and now she was the owner of the place.  Mrs. Zatta before her, God rest her soul, ran The Pike alone.  After her passing, the local media shone a spotlight on the place since so many influential people in the area, like my Aunt Mandy and Aunt Anabella attended the service.

The business has since exploded, and Zoey couldn't handle everything on her own with so much more foot traffic.  So Super Eve to the rescue!  I moved up from Vancouver and into her guest room to help out, it was so much easier than the two-hour commute each way I was doing the first week or so.  The new housing arrangement means I get to spoil the munchkins, Maxine, and Teddy, Zoey's twins.

I heard the old antique shop bell that hung above the glass entry door, which led in from the hall of the building in Post Alley, at Pike Place Market here in Seattle, Washington.

I smiled as I looked up, the morning rush was in full swing. We opened at six in the morning for all the people rushing to get to their jobs.  It was mostly a flurry of foot traffic this early, until the opening bell of Pike Place Market, then the inexorable wave of tourists started flowing in for more of the sit-down and take your time type of patrons.

I was just so fascinated with the variety of people we saw in a day.  I was a people person.  Well, I'm a people too, so it isn't hard to find other people fascinating.  I may be slightly more hyper and talkative than your average people type unit, but I got most of the same circuitry.

I smoothed my little green apron and looked at the young woman who stepped in, hugging her oversized bag to her chest, looking a little afraid and unsure as she looked around the bakery.  She was not much taller than my five foot one. And she had some gorgeous, lustrous black wavy hair that framed her Pacific Islander features.

I liked her face, it was cute and had just a bit of baby fat that gave her a young look that was belied by her eyes that were such a dark brown they were almost black.  Those eyes popped out at you from behind the huge round, black-rimmed glasses she wore that just made her look brainy to me.  Those sharp eyes conveyed a sharp type of intelligence I have only seen a couple times in my life.

The girl was dressed plainly in a yellow top, and sort of frumpy jeans.  What caught my attention were her hightop Sketchers that had holes worn in the sides and beakers and atoms hand drawn all over them.  They were obviously something special to her that she would keep them long after they had worn out.

She looked at our small expanded metal tables, and then the two people at the counter I was currently helping.  Then almost timidly she sat down, still holding the bag desperately to her chest.  The poor girl looked almost distressed.

I looked at the big man who was deciding between some blueberry muffins and the last croissant in the case. With a smile at him and the lady in line behind him, and asked them as I bounced on my toes, “Would you excuse me for just one moment, Joe?  I'll be right back.”

The man looked down at me and grinned. “Sure thing Eve.”

The woman behind him wasn't as easily placated with a smile.  I scrunched my head down to my shoulders and gave her an apologetic look as I held up a finger and as I scooted past her, said, “Just one sec.”

I stepped up to the table where the woman sat, her lips were moving, and I couldn't quite make it out.  Not to toot my own horn, but I'm a damn good lip reader, my Aunt Anabella taught me.  She's deaf, and a retired Congresswoman to boot.

She was mumbling something about phase shifts and some words I didn't pretend to know.  I gave a little hop to land beside her, and I grinned as the woman looked up at me.  I said, “Hello there.  Welcome to The Pike, I'm Eve.  What can I get for you, hun?”

She looked at me then back at the door like she was deciding whether to bolt or not.  It was the same look that one of our family friends, Mia Jacobs got when there were people she didn't know around.  Then she said, “At six twenty-three I stop at Common Grounds Java.  I get my coffee and onion bagel for four dollars and fifteen cents.  At six fifty-one I leave to catch the number seven bus to the university and arrive every day at seven-ten, Monday through Friday.”

She looked back at the door, and I placed a hand on her shoulder, this got her attention back on me.  I said, “That's pretty specific.  But Common grounds went out of business.  Friday was their last day.”  I was sad to see the coffeehouse go.

They used to be just a block up from us, up on First, but the economy was tanking, especially with the hellish cost of leasing in the area.  We had a sweetheart deal here and were paying less than half the current going rate for as long as the Pike stayed here in the Post Street Alley.  I can't imagine how some of the other independently owned shops, which weren't in the market itself like us, survived.

She nodded and said without meeting my eyes, “I researched alternative locations in the proximity of the First Street stop of the number seven bus, which would have both coffee and onion bagels while having optimum egress to allow for minimal interruption of my routine.  Thus allowing me to concentrate on my calculations without altering my schedule by more than one point four minutes.”

Holy Spock Batman!  This woman was one of those Beautiful Mind people.  This sort of tripled her cuteness to me, so I grinned and sat across from her and asked semi-seriously because I was fascinated, “Surely we aren't the only place in the proximity of the bus stop that has coffee and bagels.”

She nodded her agreement and confided, “One would think.  But the three establishments that would be least likely to impact my schedule are Dolly's, Emerald City Coffee House, and The Pike.  I've done extensive research.”  She nodded enthusiastically, and I could tell that she really really liked research.

Then she continued brightly when she saw me smiling at her, “While all three establishments do indeed have the coffee and onion bagels I require, and all three serve black coffee, Dolly's has only margarine spread, and I put butter on my bagels.  Emerald City has the option of either margarine or butter, but has only strawberry and grape jelly instead of apricot jam.”

So she nodded like she was piecing together a great puzzle. “So after spending two hours scouring social media sites and news articles on The Pike, I have ascertained that you indeed have onion bagels, a choice between butter or margarine and that you order apricot jam from a local supplier in Walla Walla.”

She knew what we ordered from our suppliers?  I was about to ask how she found that information when she spoke again. “The only thing my research didn't reveal was if you used sugar packets or if you had sugar cubes for the coffee.  I use one lump, not two.  The odds of probability showed a high likelihood that an establishment with The Pike's pedigree would offer its clientele sugar cubes.  Roughly an eighty six point three seven eight percent chance.  So I decided to conduct a field observation today to determine if you did indeed offer sugar cubes instead of sugar or artificial sweetener packets.”

I was grinning like a loon.  I liked this woman.  A lot.  I don't know if she realized how endearing the way she spoke, like this was what any rational person would do for coffee and bagels, was.  I leaned on my elbows and rested my chin on my hands as I cocked one eyebrow and asked, “That would be a deal breaker huh, sweetie?”

She gave me an apologetic look and sighed and nodded.  “I would have to take time away from my calculations to research the area and alternative bus lines to determine the optimal route and timing to get to work from the ferry docks.  It would be disruptive until I could streamline a new routine, but in the long run, worth it if it eliminates any long-term disruption that could cause chaos or entropy, depending on which law of static returns you prefer.”

I lowered my hands to the tabletop and clasped them and opened my mouth, but she again beat me to it.  I was usually the Chatty Kathy in any given situation so I found this endlessly amusing.

“So I put it to you.  Am I erroneous in my assertions?”  She cocked an eyebrow in question.

I tilted my head and looked at her, as she looked on in anticipation with those puppy dog eyes full of hope.  I was happy to tell her as I stood and winked, “One coffee, black, with one cube of sugar, one onion bagel with butter, not margarine, and apricot jam, not strawberry... coming right up.”

She exhaled audibly in relief and her smile bloomed.  It looked like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.  Odd that something so simple seemed to weigh so heavily on the girl.  Then she called after me as I scurried off, “And could I get that to go, please?  I have used up two point three minutes of my allocated time for consumption.”

I nodded at her as she almost gleefully pulled out some sort of book and papers and spread them on the little table as I went to help the customers I had abandoned.  Then I went about getting her order ready for her.  I put the bagel and fixins in one of our plain brown paper bags that had nothing but “The Pike” printed in dark brown on the front.

I brought it and the coffee in one of our insulated to-go mugs to her and set them down as I pulled out my sharpie.  She looked up from some notes she was scribbling.  I hadn't seen such complex formulae since the last time I saw Vicky Davenport.  The book she had was titled, Advanced String Theory in Predictive Quantum State Algorithms.

I blinked, she was some sort of rocket scientist super genius or something.  She looked up at me, and I prompted, “That'll be four dollars and fifteen cents.”  I crinkled my nose at her smile at my matching the price she quoted, then asked as she handed over exact change, “What's your name, hon?”

It was her turn to blink like she wasn't used to social interaction then she said, “Oh... it's Ligaya Imelda Hannigan.”

I smiled, not the last name I had expected, I was expecting something pretty and Filipino like her first and middle name.  I winked and said as I wrote on the coffee cup, “I'm just going to put Liya on here.  We only give these out to regulars, they're much sturdier than the cardboard cups and are reusable.  But it sounds like you are a creature of habit so I'll make an exception for you.  We'll have another just like it on that back shelf.”  I indicated the shelf of thermal cups behind the display case.

“That way you just bring in your dirty one and we swap them out and wash the old one for the shelf.”

She nodded with a little appreciative grin. “That is very efficient.”

I offered my hand to her. “My name is Eve Rand.  Welcome to the Pike family Liya.”

The girl blushed and started gathering her papers and stuffing them into her bag.  “Thank you, Miss Rand.”

“Eve.”

She nodded and said, “Noted, I'll make the adjustment.”  Then she slung the bag over her shoulder and stood.  “If you will excuse me, I have just over five minutes and twelve seconds to arrive at the bus stop.”

I gave her a tiny wave from my hip.  “See you tomorrow at six twenty-three Liya.  Have a great day.”

She paused and looked at the coffee and brown bag in her hand and gave a beaming smile and said like it was a complete surprise to her, “I think I will.  Thank you, Eve.”

I watched her go.

I wiped my hands on my apron and headed toward a man who walked in a minute after she left.  “Welcome to The Pike, how can I help you today?”

Someone stepped in behind him, the little bell jingling over the door and I grinned.  Then I said while the man looked up at the handwritten menu whiteboards, “One moment sir.”

I went through the door to the kitchen and said to Zoey as I grabbed the tray of fresh out of the oven croissants to stock the front case, “Sparky just arrived.”

Zoey smiled and said, “One breakfast bread bowl coming up.”

Sparky was one of our regulars.  She was a firefighter with the Seattle Fire Department before her accident a year ago.  Monday through Friday she was in here like clockwork on her way to physical therapy.  I was pretty stoked when the cheerful woman came in one day three weeks back, and I saw she had traded in her wheelchair for a cane.