Five Forty-Three a M

3:15 a.m. It was a crappy, wet, rainy dog-hiding drizzly morning. Anthony woke up in a bad mood, with a sore throat, that got worse when he looked out the window. Of course, the obstinate dog made it better by refusing to go out to relieve herself. He thought about calling in, but then his father would run over and get things started. Could he trust him with the ovens anymore? 3:45 a.m. Happy wet dog runs in as the door opens. Glad to be able to muddy up the bedding. Anthony rolled his eyes. No time to do anything about it now. He is going to have to make up for lost time thanks to dog’s squirrel chase. He had walked a wet block before he realized he should have brought his umbrella. His shoes were squishy now, and he was in a worse mood. Before he reached the bakery he saw the lights were on. His steps quickened. Surely his dad had not come out in this rain! He was instantly relieved when he reached the window and saw his mother, inside, waving. The smell of spicy cinnamon rolls permeated his everything as he pushed the door open. Nobody could bake like his mother! I had to put your dad into an Alzheimer’s unit last night, she told him. It’s sad, but this is the first day off I’ve had in four years, so I’m enjoying it. Not able to sleep? He guesses. He can see the mixed tears that she is trying to hide from him. His parents have been married over fifty years. He gives her a big wet hug. “Where’s your umbrella?” she asks. He gives her another hug for that. They work side by side creating donuts, and pies for almost an hour in understood silence, when there is a tap on the door’s window. Anthony sees a floppy shiny yellow rain hat that covers a face. His mother wipes her flour-laden hands on her dusty apron as she rushes to the door. “Come in!” she says, in a voice Anthony barely recognizes, a happy, uplifting, welcoming voice. He looks at the clock. 5:30. Mr. Jose will be along for his chocolate fix in about fifteen minutes. He checks to see if they have two, because he always has two. The alien is taking off the yellow slicker. He barely notices, until he does. “This is your father’s social worker,” his mother tells him as she comes over and takes the rolling pin out of his hands. “I can finish this. Go out there and meet her.” She is a beauty, freckled nose, pink cheeks, gorgeous legs, popping out under a green and navy plaid skirt. He looks away quickly, but too late. She gives him a knowing look, and an angel’s laugh. Anthony is a goner when he looks into her green eye portal. “I’m Pam,” she says. “Anthony,” he offers. “Nice to meet you.” “Sit!” His mother orders, plunking down a plate of cinnamon rolls and two coffees. “Cream and sugar are over there,” she tells his seatmate. He glances at the clock. 5:43 a.m. The first minute of the rest of his life.