A Morning at Lulu’s
It was a few days after Thanksgiving, perhaps twenty years ago, perhaps more. Time has a way of rushing and becoming confusing to me at times. Either way, it was mid-morning. Peter and I had walked down to Lulu’s, the bakery down on the Turnpike, that morning. It was our habit to go there for our breakfast at times. Peter usually had an apple turnover or a black and white and a cup of coffee. I would have either a croissant or a scone with a steaming cup of caffe latte.
That morning, the air was brisk. The sun was valiantly shining in the autumn sky. On the sidewalk, the autumn leaves were rustling back and forth in the gusty wind. They smelled like wet leaves and apples that had fallen by the wayside, somewhat like the smell of apple cider and wet autumn leaves mixed together. It was a perfect autumn day. Entering the warm bakery, we were greeted by the welcoming aroma of the baked goods and the heady smell of the coffee. The staff knew us and greeted us by name. We ordered and sat down for our little breakfast. We were reluctant to leave, but it was a workday and we could not linger too long. When we were done, we walked back home arm in arm, as we usually did. He unlocked the door for me, gave me a goodbye peck on the cheek then drove to his office. I proceeded to tidy up and go about with whatever I needed to do.
As I prepared to start my morning chores, the phone rang. A timid little female voice asked, “Am I speaking to Mrs. Cooperman?”
“This is she,” I replied.
I could hear a sigh of relief at the other end. “Mrs. Smith died,” the voice uttered emotionally.
I searched my memory. Did I know a Mrs. Smith? I did not know a Mrs. Smith! Puzzled, I hesitantly asked, “Pardon me, but who is Mrs. Smith and who are you?”
There was a pause. “I take care of Mrs. Smith. She’s Mrs. Nestor’s mother.”
“Oh!” I uttered in dismay! That was Adele’s mother. Adele and her husband Carl were both ‘self-indulgent only children.’ Since, they had no children of their, it made them quite self-absorbed.
Her parents were quite well off. I think it was because of that they were such overbearing ostentatious people who felt a great sense of entitlement. They were Peter’s friends. I tolerated them. Their proud claim to fame was that they recently moved and lived a stone’s throw away from a former president and first lady.
She was really harmless. She liked to drop names and show off about how many fur coats she had recently acquired. I am sure you know the type. Carl, on the other hand, was an entirely another story. His behavior was purely vitriolic. His tongue was tipped with acid and quite hurtful, somewhat like a bee’s sting. It seemed to give him pleasure to belittle people. Peter, being the wonderful person he was, never was offended by his offensive behavior. It did not bother him. He treated him as if he was a badly behaved child. I merely tolerated him.
They had recently decided that they were going to indulge themselves and take a trip to the Arctic. They bragged about how much the equipment, the clothing, the trip would cost. The price was mind-boggling. To me, it seemed so wasteful. I could not imagine spending that kind of money to freeze in an ocean full of icebergs! But, to each his own. That is where they were at that point in time. They were floating somewhere in the Arctic amongst the glaciers.
Hearing this devastating news, I was beginning to feel sorry for poor Adele. She had lost her father a few years ago. Now her mother had died, and she was not even there to mourn her! How very devastating! I was beginning to choke with emotion. I could not imagine being in such a heartbreaking situation. My throat tightened. Tears sprung into my eyes. There was no way she could be back on time to bury her mother. This trip would not end until the middle of January. Poor Adele, poor Adele, I thought over and over again.
Adele’s other friend was a surgeon’s wife. She was a sweet hom…