Chapter 1

MIMI DIDN’T DESERVE THIS. HECK, nobody did, but especially not Mimi…not his Mimi. Michael Gray fingered the crisp white sheet before sliding his hand underneath and grasping her wrinkled fingers. He gripped the railing of the hospice bed with his other hand. He sniffed. The vivid scents of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic filled the air as he studied her small chest barely moving. She breathed from the oxygen tubes through her nose. He briefly glanced at their wedding picture which was displayed beside her bed. They’d been in love, young and he’d just joined the Navy.

He focused on Mimi again. Her vitals were no longer stable and hospice had called him, letting him know that she didn’t have much time left. That’s why he’d rushed over as soon as he could. He eased into the chair beside the bed and continued holding her hand. Her eyes fluttered open. Her dark brown eyes focused on him with unusual clarity. “Michael.” Just hearing his name softly uttered from her sweet lips made his heart skip.

“Don’t talk, Mimi.” She barely nodded and closed her eyes. Her nut-brown skin looked a bit waxy and laugh lines fanned from her eyes. Up until a few months ago, his Mimi was always laughing, happy, talkative. She loved running the bakery with him, and she made a mean batch of candy. They’d often sold her candies, right beside their baked goods, in their privately-owned bakery. Although they’d been married forty years, she still shooed him from the kitchen whenever she made her candy. She still kept her recipe a secret from him after all these years. At sixty-eight, his Mimi would be breathing her last breath, passing on into heaven, within the next few hours, according to hospice.

“Michael?” she struggled to open her eyes again. The staff had warned him over the last few weeks that his Mimi would not be herself due to the level of medications that they were giving her.

“Honey, don’t talk.” Thankfully, her eyes closed again. He studied her, the memories rushing through his mind like warm sunshine. He recalled the first time he met Emilia Rose Sanderson. It was back in 1963 during the March for Civil Rights in Washington. They’d only been sixteen years old and he’d been enamored with her smooth brown skin and deep, soulful eyes. With her sultry voice, full of courage, she’d told him she was called Mimi. As they’d fought for civil rights, he’d thought of her as his Mimi. They’d married two years later and had been together ever since.

So many years…so many memories. They’d shared so much. He continued clutching her hand. Salty wetness slid down his cheeks. So many good years. He stood on his shaky legs and kissed her cheek. Yes, he’d spent most of his life with his Mimi. It had been a good marriage. His only regret was that they’d never been blessed with any children. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stop the stream of tears. He’d imagine his grief wouldn’t be as raw if he’d had children and grandchildren who’d loved Mimi, too.

“Michael.” She mumbled his name again. “Listen…to…me.” He lowered his ear toward her lips. “Baby…I have baby.”

A baby. What in the world was she talking about? They’d never had any children so maybe she was confused. She was probably thinking of all the time and effort they’d put into trying to have a child. “Mimi, it’s okay. You’re confused. Just close your eyes and get some rest.”

“No.” She grabbed his hand with surprising strength. “Baby. Make sure baby is okay. Bank. Safe deposit at the bank.” She then dropped his hand and closed her eyes.

She had a baby? How could that be? As his Mimi stopped breathing, tears slid down his cheeks.  Lord, I’m so hurt and confused right now. Please help me with this pain. Amen.
MIMI DIDN’T DESERVE THIS. HECK, nobody did, but especially not Mimi…not his Mimi. Michael Gray fingered the crisp white sheet before sliding his hand underneath and grasping her wrinkled fingers. He gripped the railing of the hospice bed with his other hand. He sniffed. The vivid scents of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic filled the air as he studied her small chest barely moving. She breathed from the oxygen tubes through her nose. He briefly glanced at their wedding picture which was displayed beside her bed. They’d been in love, young and he’d just joined the Navy.

He focused on Mimi again. Her vitals were no longer stable and hospice had called him, letting him know that she didn’t have much time left. That’s why he’d rushed over as soon as he could. He eased into the chair beside the bed and continued holding her hand. Her eyes fluttered open. Her dark brown eyes focused on him with unusual clarity. “Michael.” Just hearing his name softly uttered from her sweet lips made his heart skip.

“Don’t talk, Mimi.” She barely nodded and closed her eyes. Her nut-brown skin looked a bit waxy and laugh lines fanned from her eyes. Up until a few months ago, his Mimi was always laughing, happy, talkative. She loved running the bakery with him, and she made a mean batch of candy. They’d often sold her candies, right beside their baked goods, in their privately-owned bakery. Although they’d been married forty years, she still shooed him from the kitchen whenever she made her candy. She still kept her recipe a secret from him after all these years. At sixty-eight, his Mimi would be breathing her last breath, passing on into heaven, within the next few hours, according to hospice.

“Michael?” she struggled to open her eyes again. The staff had warned him over the last few weeks that his Mimi would not be herself due to the level of medications that they were giving her.

“Honey, don’t talk.” Thankfully, her eyes closed again. He studied her, the memories rushing through his mind like warm sunshine. He recalled the first time he met Emilia Rose Sanderson. It was back in 1963 during the March for Civil Rights in Washington. They’d only been sixteen years old and he’d been enamored with her smooth brown skin and deep, soulful eyes. With her sultry voice, full of courage, she’d told him she was called Mimi. As they’d fought for civil rights, he’d thought of her as his Mimi. They’d married two years later and had been together ever since.

So many years…so many memories. They’d shared so much. He continued clutching her hand. Salty wetness slid down his cheeks. So many good years. He stood on his shaky legs and kissed her cheek. Yes, he’d spent most of his life with his Mimi. It had been a good marriage. His only regret was that they’d never been blessed with any children. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stop the stream of tears. He’d imagine his grief wouldn’t be as raw if he’d had children and grandchildren who’d loved Mimi, too.

“Michael.” She mumbled his name again. “Listen…to…me.” He lowered his ear toward her lips. “Baby…I have baby.”

A baby. What in the world was she talking about? They’d never had any children so maybe she was confused. She was probably thinking of all the time and effort they’d put into trying to have a child. “Mimi, it’s okay. You’re confused. Just close your eyes and get some rest.”

“No.” She grabbed his hand with surprising strength. “Baby. Make sure baby is okay. Bank. Safe deposit at the bank.” She then dropped his hand and closed her eyes.

She had a baby? How could that be? As his Mimi stopped breathing, tears slid down his cheeks.  Lord, I’m so hurt and confused right now. Please help me with this pain. Amen.

Three years later…

“THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT WE NEED, Susan. A candy-making machine.” Seventy-year-old Dara Greene sipped from her large mug of coffee as she gestured toward the screen of her laptop. The video displayed a large round steel machine that gleamed in the sunlight. Beach tourists flocked to the large bay window of the candy shop and ogled at the homemade candy that bubbled in the cauldron like hot thick soup. The mixture was poured into a large tray to cool. Then, once it was cooled, another machine was used to cut the caramels into neat, even pieces. The entire process was like magic and folks seemed to enjoy it. She’d watched this video, and several others like it, over the last week.

She glanced around the tidy office nestled in the back of her candy shop. The sweet, aromatic scent of her homemade vanilla caramels filled the air with sweetness. She put her mug aside, and squeezed her sore brown fingers. Her arthritis had been acting up lately. Well, after she took some medicine, she was sure her fingers would be nimble enough to make more of the candy that they’d need for the customers that day.

Her business partner and accountant, Susan, glanced down at their financial statements before refocusing on the computer screen.

Her friend rubbed her forehead.

“Susan, are you okay? You don’t look good.” She’d been complaining about not feeling well over the last couple of weeks. Dara had urged her to go to the doctor and Susan had promised she’d go. “Have you made your doctor’s appointment yet?”

“No. I’ve been too busy.” She gestured around the office. “We’ve been busy trying to get our business out of the red.”

“Well, we’re not too busy to take care of ourselves. Are you sick?”

“I’m not feeling well. I’ve got a killer headache.”

“You should go home. I can handle things by myself today.”

Susan’s mouth pinched with apparent pain. “Could you bring me a glass of water, please?”

Dara rushed to get Susan’s drink. She presented her with a cup of ice water. Susan opened her purse and removed two pills and swallowed them, chasing them with the water. “Thanks. I feel so sick that I don’t feel like standing up right now.”

She patted her friend’s shoulder. “You need to take better care of yourself. Why don’t I give you a lift home and you can lie down and take a nap? Or better yet, why don’t I take you to the urgent care center?”

Susan squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s okay. My headache should be gone in a few minutes.” She opened her eyes and gestured toward the screen, her face still pinched with pain. “Dara, I don’t know about this machine. It’s a good idea. But I’ve crunched the numbers and I just don’t think we can afford it right now.” She had always envied Susan’s intelligence. While Dara had gotten married right out of high school, had a passel of kids and never worked, her best friend had gone to college and had gotten her bachelors and master’s degrees. Susan had done it all, gotten married, had kids and had had an amazing career as a CPA.

Now, both of them were seventy years old and widowed. They’d been running their own candy shop, Caroline’s Candy Shoppe, for three years. When Dara had purchased the shop with her husband’s life insurance money, she’d named the shop after Caroline, her grandmother, the happiest and best candy maker she’d ever known.

“Listen, Susan, I know you’d warned that it would probably take five years for us to be profitable but, we don’t have that kind of time. Since a competing candy shop has moved down the street, our sales have declined and I don’t want to lose any more business.”

“Yes, I did say that. But, you can’t just make money appear out of nowhere. We’re already stretched too thin as it is. Plus, we had to hire a new person to help with our summer rush of customers.” She checked her watch. “Where is our new employee anyway?” She winced with pain again.

“Why don’t you come upstairs and lie down?” Dara’s living quarters were on the second floor of the shop. “You could take a nap and I’ll wake you up later.”

Susan took a deep breath. “I’ll be fine. Where’s our new employee?” she asked again.

She sighed. “She didn’t show up. I hired her a week ago and told her to report to work early today. That’s teenagers for you. Some of them cannot be depended on.”

“Well, we’ll need to hire someone to help us with our summer rush of customers.” She then gestured toward the computer screen again. “Back to what we were discussing. I just can’t justify purchasing a thirty-thousand-dollar candy machine when I don’t really know if it’ll increase our profitability. Just because that machine increased the profitability for that European shop doesn’t mean it would work for us.”

“Can’t we get a loan to finance it?” She was determined to get that machine. Deep in her gut, she felt that it would make a great addition to their business. Their competitor didn’t even have a large store-front window facing the beach. Besides, their competitor’s candy didn’t taste nearly as good as hers. Her candy was sweet, exquisite and tasty. One of their customers had said it tasted like a slice of heaven – what a way to describe candy.

Susan shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But thirty thousand dollars is a lot to gamble.” She wiped her hand across her sweaty forehead. She took several deep breaths. “I wasn’t sure if we stood a chance, but, I wanted to tell you about–” Her face slacked and her eyes glazed.

“Susan!” Her friend dropped from the chair, hitting her head on the floor. Blood oozed from her head wound and she moved her mouth, but, could not speak.

Dara’s heart pounded as she dropped to the floor. She cradled Susan’s head while she dialed 911.