The man disappeared through the swinging doors, and when he emerged, he held two plump golden loaves, which he laid on the long wood counter. He wrapped each loaf in a sheet of crisp white paper, swaddling it like a baby.
“Plastic or no plastic?” the man said.
Ralph Angel looked at him, confused, then remembered that each loaf came with a plastic storage bag to keep it fresh if you weren’t going to eat it right away. “One with plastic,” Ralph Angel said. “And give me one of those ginger cakes.”
The man tucked the loaves and a ginger cake into a paper bag. Ralph Angel held out the ten left over from Miss Honey’s gas money, waited for his change.
But as the man put the bills in his hand, he frowned. “Don’t I know you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You from around here? ’Cause I swear your face is familiar.”
“Grew up in Saint Josephine,” Ralph Angel said. “Went to Ascension High School, then my grandmother had me transferred to General Taylor.”
“That’s it!” The man snapped his fingers. “I went to General Taylor too. Man, I knew I knew you. Name’s Ralph Angel, right? Man, it’s me, Johnny. Johnny Fontenot.”
Ralph Angel looked more closely at the man, tried to think back. The name registered vaguely; he’d gone to school with a whole bunch of Fontenots, but he couldn’t place the man’s face, especially not with all that flour on it. But the man was looking at him with such naked delight that Ralph Angel said, “Oh yeah, of course I remember you, man. What’s up?”
They shook hands and Johnny Fontenot slapped Ralph Angel’s arm playfully. “Man, it’s been what — twenty-five, twenty-six years?” As he spoke, his Cajun accent thickened. “You ain’t changed one lick. I’d know you anywhere. Where you livin’ now?”
“Been out west,” Ralph Angel said. “California first, then Arizona. Phoenix.”
“California, man, that’s a loooong way from here, I’m telling you. You like it out there?”
“Yeah. It’s nice.”
“I got out there once. Too big. It was pretty, though.” Johnny ran his hand over his dusted hair and wiped it, absentmindedly, on his shorts. “So, you back home for good or just visitin’?”
“Haven’t decided.” Ralph Angel thought about Charley out there at her farm, how she’d stood with those two men, all three of them looking so satisfied as the plane flew over. “What about you? How’ve you been? How long you been working here?”
Johnny shrugged. “Since I got out of college. It’ll be twenty-three years next week.”
“No shit,” Ralph Angel said. “You must really like baking bread.”
“Ain’t had a choice,” Johnny said. “Daddy was ready to retire, my older brother joined the service, so it was up to me. Either that or let some of my coon-ass cousins run it.”
“You own this place? But I thought your last name was Fontenot.”
“Bakery is on my mama’s side. Her people came from France, then down through Nova Scotia before they settled here. Been in the family since 1884, right here in this building. Five generations.”
“I’ll be damned,” Ralph Angel said, and studied the framed black-and-white photos on the wall above the register. It was like looking back through time. “So how’s business?”
Johnny shook his head wearily. “Pretty good till this morning. My best guy quit; said he’s moving to Mississippi. I’m down to two guys, which would be okay, but we got to fill a huge order for that zydeco trail ride over at the old Fruit of the Loom factory tomorrow. Two hundred loaves on top of our regular orders. I’m usually up front in the office, not back here on the floor, but we got to get them loaves out of here.”
Ralph Angel looked at Johnny, then through the entrance, out at the gravel lot, and felt another page turn. “If you’re shorthanded, maybe I could help you out.”
Johnny looked at the ground. He ran his sneaker across the floor, which was itself covered in a quarter inch of flour dust. “Naw, I couldn’t ask you to do that, man. But thank you.”
“What’s the problem?” Ralph Angel felt a sudden urgency bloom in his chest. “I got the time and I’m good with numbers. Was an engineering major in college. You need the help.”
“You serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
Johnny thought for a moment. “Okay, then,” he said. “You got a deal. And of course, I’ll pay you.” He shook Ralph Angel’s hand, then hugged him. “Man, I sure appreciate this. You don’t even know. I was sweatin’ bullets trying to figure out how I was gonna get all this work done.”
“What are friends for?”
“You’re really saving my ass,” said Johnny. He went to the register, counted out seven dollars and fifty cents. “Take your money. Those loaves are on the house.”
• • •
Twelve thirty a.m., and Ralph Angel, back in Miss Honey’s blue sedan, drove the twelve-mile stretch between Saint Josephine and Jeanerette, appreciating, for the first time really, how quiet the country could be on a summer night. He crossed the high bridge that spanned the widest section of the bayou and looked out over the dark cane fields and the mill lights twinkling in the distance. He’d heard a story once, about a man who was crossing the bridge on his bike when a truck came along and knocked him over the guardrail. The man fell thirty feet into the water, but managed to swim to the bank even though his right arm, his right leg, and three ribs were broken. Some people were just born survivors.
After his conversation with Johnny that morning, Ralph Angel had stopped off at Goodwill. He bought a nice white dress shirt and tie — navy with red stripes — stylish but not too flashy with the $7.50 Johnny gave back to him. He hadn’t mentioned the job to Miss Honey, though he’d wanted to, and he certainly hadn’t said anything to Charley when she got home. Thought he’d stay quiet till she started griping about how hard she was working and asked him to join her, then he’d spring the news on her. He couldn’t wait to see the look of surprise on her face.
Everyone arrived at the bakery at 1:00 a.m., Johnny had said, which Ralph Angel thought was early to be starting office work, but he’d agreed. Now he pulled into the gravel parking lot again, past the two white delivery trucks he hadn’t noticed earlier, and parked in the last spot near the fence. It wasn’t one o’clock yet, but the lights inside the bakery were already on, and through the open windows, Ralph Angel heard men’s voices and the clatter of machinery over the radio.
“Hey, good buddy,” Johnny called as Ralph Angel stepped over the threshold. “Right on time.” Johnny had showered and shaved, changed into a new pair of shorts, but wore the same gray T-shirt and sneakers, and looked surprisingly alert, Ralph Angel thought, considering the early hour. He gave Ralph Angel a puzzled look. “What’s with the shirt and tie?”
Ralph Angel looked down at his shirt, then up at Johnny. “Can’t go around the office looking like vagrant.”
“The office?”
“Yeah,” Ralph Angel said. “You said I’d be doing office work, right?”
Johnny’s brow furled. “No.”
“But this morning — you mentioned working up front. Said your best man quit.”
“That’s ’cause I work up front,” said Johnny. “I was talking about my head baker quitting; a guy named Leroy.”
“Oh.”
“I moved Joe up to Leroy’s position and got Billy to take over for Joe, but now I need someone to take over for Billy.”
Ralph Angel stuffed his hands in his pockets. “What does Billy do?”