The House Between the Two Bakeries

How it begins

The left-hand bakery sent bread to the funeral.

The right-hand bakery sent better bread.

Nadia knew better than to say so.

She stood in her late aunt's kitchen, arranging the loaves on separate boards while two representatives of families who had not spoken in forty years pretended not to inspect each other's crusts.

Rafi Bell placed a jar beside his offering.

"Her favorite marmalade."

Across the table, Mrs. Sen made a small sound.

"Since when?"

"Since she told me."

"She told everyone what they wanted to hear."

Nadia looked at the narrow wall between the kitchen and the Bell bakery.

On the other side, an oven fan stopped.

Rafi turned toward it.

Something heavy struck the floor.

Then came a shout.

He left without his coat.

Mrs. Sen waited until the door closed before smiling.

"Old oven."

"Can it be repaired?"

"Everything can. Not always today."

Ten minutes later, Rafi returned with flour on his sleeve and the expression of a man trying to calculate disaster without doing it publicly.

Nadia looked at the large unused oven in her aunt's kitchen.

"Could you bake here?"

"No," said Mrs. Sen.

Rafi looked at her.

"No one asked you."

"The power line is shared."

"So is the wall."

"Not the meter."

Nadia put down the bread knife.

Her aunt had left her a house too narrow to fit any sensible future into. She had expected probate forms, damp, and perhaps a small sale.

Instead she appeared to have inherited a border.

She opened the kitchen drawer.

Inside lay two sets of bakery keys, tied together with the same string.

Nadia placed them on the table.

For the first time that afternoon, both visitors stopped explaining the past.

"Before anyone says no again," she said, "I'd like to know what she was doing with these."