Page 42 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes

“Mandy,” Wild Wally said in a suggestive drawl.

“I had a girlfriend named Mandy in college.

Sounds like this storm is gonna throw my stuff onto the lawn the same way she did, OOOooooooh yeah.

So, make sure to have a plan, folks. Invest in plywood, ‘cause those boards should be flying off the shelves onto your windows. And remember, if Wonderwood calls for an evacuation, Cape Crest High is the spot to be. Get ready to cozy up and get frrrrrriendly with your neighbors….”

Casting a look over his shoulder, Ted spoke over the radio and boat motor. “People are getting real antsy about this storm, calling it the next Hurricane Sandy. I bet it’ll peter out, myself. But we’re gearing up over at the station. You doing anything special at the cafe?”

“Mandy Munches,” Daisy yelled back. Beside her, Candace giggled and looped her free arm around the one she was already holding. Sounding more like a normal human, she added, “We’re selling Mandy Munches at the cafe—everything bagel with matcha cream cheese. They’re a hit, so far.”

Candace praised, “As they should be!”

They made more idle conversation, but before long, the ride was over. Despite the bay’s supposed choppiness, it was smooth sailing to the other side. Candace even showed off her boating skills by docking the vessel, the sight of which unlocked a latent pirate queen fantasy inside Daisy.

When they reached the posh marina on the other side of the dock, Ted helped them disembark. Then, with the promise to take them back to Wonderwood whenever they wanted, he went on his way.

The hospital was not in Cape Crest, but another twenty minutes by car in the next town over. Feeling like she could handle it without the bridge, Daisy had Candace order a ride through her phone app. It was only as they went to get into the backseat that she realized they were still holding hands.

Daisy did not let go, and neither did Candace.

Leaving Wonderwood for the first time in over a decade was surreal.

More than surreal, it was like coming out of a deep sleep.

Growing up, Daisy had come through Cape Crest with her parents often.

It was one of the many semi-industrialized suburban municipalities that dotted South Jersey’s rural stretches; a collection of single-level strip mall plazas, apartment blocks, and cul-de-sacs anchored by some chain establishments right off some major interstate highway.

There was a chaotic quaintness to the mismatch of it all.

On their way to the hospital, Daisy saw familiar places like the Adventure Putt Putt or Candace’s Comfort Clam Inn.

Holy Mother Prep was empty for the summer, but it was just as posh as she remembered with its gated access and sculpted hedges.

The mega big-box store on the edge of town was packed with shoobies and locals alike, shopping for storm supplies.

Daisy made a mental note to start her preparations. Normally, such a wipeout end to the season would have ruined her. Yet, they were so far ahead that they could afford to weather whatever the storm brought.

Bagel Bombs! officially hit the revenue goal for Peter Perry’s lease clause. Against all odds, they met their original target and then some. However, thanks to Candace being stuck elsewhere, what should have been a roaring celebration hit like a lead balloon.

Daisy needed to tell her. But, then, would Candace decide their partnership was through? In their stilted conversations over the last few weeks, Daisy managed to avoid mentioning specifically how well they were doing. However, the summer was not going to last forever, and she had to come clean.

At the hospital, they navigated their way around the hotel-like corridors to find Norman’s room. To no one’s surprise, they found him chatting up a nurse about some article from his daily paper. When he saw them in the doorway, his jovial expression dropped.

“Lil bit,” he croaked, looking so small and frail in his hospital bed. “You came all this way for me?”

Daisy fished a paper bomb baggie from her cross-body bag and gave it over to the stunned man. “Special delivery.”

Once the emotions simmered down, Daisy asked about Norman’s prognosis, which was stable, and then she caught him up with all Wonderwood’s goings-on.

Of course, with his paper, he was more connected than she was.

The only thing he did not know about was Bagel Bombs!

success. When Candace, who had been quietly empathy-crying in the corner, left to get some water, she told him the good news.

“Your parents would be so proud of you,” he assured her. “With everything they had going for them, things should’ve been so much easier for you. But you’re still kicking life right in the tuckus. I’m proud of you, too.”

Daisy sniffed back another round of tears in a lovely sounding snort. “Don’t go trying to butter me up, old man. I know you can afford full price.”

“Right, right…”

Scooting up, Norman leaned forward to peep out into the hallway. Aside from one grayhair knee replacement patient wheeling their way along, it was empty.

“So,” he prodded, “you finally womaned up and called her, eh? Bout time, with all the moping you’ve been doing.”

“It’s not like that. I needed her car. And a boat.”

Norman tisked Daisy. “What you need to do is fess up how you feel.”

“It’s not that easy. I’ve been trying. But I’m not sure she feels the same way anymore.”

“Have you asked?”

As she scrubbed at the nape of her neck, she grumbled a “no.”

“Use your words, girlie! Take it from an old man who’s lived a full life. The people you let in, the ones you want to keep… make sure they know it. ”

The steady hum of medical machines and intermittent beeps answered when Daisy did not—the truth and gravity of mortality made into tonal melodies.

“Now, as much as this old man appreciates a visit, take that girl on a proper date.”

How could Daisy argue?

Promising to return with more bombs, it was late by the time they left Norman. Too late to ask Ted to drop what he was doing to come and get them. Blushing furiously, Candace invited Daisy to spend the night in her motel room.

The Comfort Clam lived up to its reputation as a less-than-reputable establishment.

Daisy was not one to put much stock in ‘vibes,’ but the whole feel of the place was off.

The u-shaped two-story strip was a collection of building code violations and repairs done by a questionably sober maintenance person.

Loitering around, the other guests of the inn were, nicely put, rough types.

As their car pulled into the central parking lot, the driver asked if they were sure about staying there. Brushing him off, Candace paid the man and led the way inside.

“Um… It’s been a long day. I’m going to shower and change out of my work clothes.”

Becoming a blur, Candace disappeared into the bathroom on the other side of the small space. The rattling vent fan and sounds of running water came through the door.

Daisy was not sure what she expected of the place Candace Perry lived. The woman oozed class, so it was only natural for her to be surrounded by the finer things in life—not this musty mess.

The room was… eclectic. Nothing was thrown about or misplaced. Yet, it was like standing in a clash of personality as fashion and financial forms warred to dominate the space.

Just about every surface was covered in the guts of Candace’s binders, from stickers to spreadsheets.

A closet was filled with all of her office clothes and Bagel Bombs!

tanks, plus an overflow rack beside it. There was an old, fat TV wedged within a rickety wardrobe cabinet along with a mini fridge and a desk that had clearly been the site of many brainstorming sessions.

The hot plate she had on the edge was a fire hazard, but there was nowhere else it could go.

This was where Candace went back to every night? A place where roach traps were a part of the decor, and there were Rorschach mystery stains on the drop ceiling?

Wide-eyed, Daisy perched on the bed's edge, absorbing every detail.

It was a while before Candace emerged in a cloud of floral-scented steam. TV remote in hand, Daisy had just turned it on.

“Hey,” Daisy asked, “how was your—”

“Oh yeah, baby! Give it to me!!”

The sounds of enthusiastic fucking burst out from the TV. In a thumbnail on the pay-per-view screen, a woman was being pounded by a man wearing a delivery uniform. Candace dove and snatched the remote from Daisy’s hands.

The silence was loud as she flicked the TV back off.

“This is… more of an hourly establishment,” Candace explained.

Something about the way she said the words—embarrassed, but with the utmost decorum—made Daisy crack up. Once she started laughing, Candace broke, too, and all the tension drained with it.

Thinking aloud, Daisy asked, “Do you want to go get ice cream? My treat.”

“That is, I stress, never a question with me.”

“Noted. Lead the way, princess.”

The Adventure Put Put right down the road had a side soft serve stand, Scoopy-doopies.

The big brown dog mascot painted over its sign was, what one might call, copyright adjacent.

It boasted an impressive twenty flavors, from standard favorites to ones made with local berries and more adventurous fare.

Daisy and Candace got their frozen treats—a cup of banana soft serve topped with walnuts and a cone of salted caramel-fudge respectively.

Then, they walked to the nearby playground.

Sitting on a pair of swings, the pair caught up on all the little mundane things they had missed over the last couple of weeks.

Candace told Daisy more about her uncle’s secretary, Janice, and the woman’s awful fashion sense. It sounded as if she drove her up the wall preaching nonsense and praising Peter Perry. Being cooped up in the pier under depths with her seemed like its own special kind of torture.