Lion’s Mane
by Vish S. Watkins
Adam Ross, brawny and grizzled, was wiping the counter in his bakery when the peacock blue 1973 Ford LTD with the sunroof pulled up in front. The Closed sign hung outside, but the door was unlocked. Amanda and her mother Melanie stepped out from the Ford into the late September sunlight and pushed open the glass door bearing the painted yellow legend Ross’s Bakery.
He had saved Amanda a French Cruller every day, stashed way in the back, even though they usually came only once a week—the crullers stayed fresh for two days, and he would either give them away the next day or eat them himself. Light golden brown, slightly crunchy outside, smell of vanilla and butter, and tad of lemon adding a little tartness to the sweetness—Amanda loved them, but he hadn’t seen the ten-year-old or her mother since April.
Amanda wore a Navy-blue watch cap now, and as they entered, he realized that she was bald. She had also lost weight. He cringed inside. She walked to him quietly, with measured steps.
Adam had assumed that Melanie and Amanda had taken off for a vacation or gotten busy with summer camps. Now he guessed what was going on.
Usually when they came, often on a Friday, after they had picked out their loaf of bread and dozen bagels, and Amanda had finished eating her cruller, she would say, “Uncle Adam, come for a ride with us. We’ll open the sunroof.” He would rub his bald head and say, “But Amanda, that’ll really mess up my lion’s mane.” Both would laugh.
Amanda’s father, Steve, had been a captain and Adam had been a sergeant in the U.S. Army. Close friends, they had served together in Iraq and Afghanistan. Adam had started the joke one day in response to Steve’s invitation to ride with them and all four had laughed. Four years ago, Steve had died after a drunk driver’s truck hit his car head-on while he was on his way home from Adam’s. One day, a few months after Steve had died, Amanda had invited Adam to ride with them and Adam had replied with the joke. Amanda had continued the tradition ever since.
She stepped up and hugged Adam. “I’ve missed you, Uncle Adam.” He felt her bony shoulders under his hands.
“Let’s sit down,” he said, and led them to a table near the window. The traffic was slow, today being Friday, and it was quiet in the bakery. He let the Closed sign hang outside.
“I am going to the bathroom,” Amanda said, and went down the hall.
Melanie and Adam sat.
Melanie sighed and said, “I should’ve called.”
“It’s okay.” He couldn’t bring himself to ask.
“We found out around Easter,” she said. “She had stomach pains and didn’t want to eat.” Melanie told him about the lymphoma and how chemotherapy had failed. Amanda was in the ten percent of the population of non-responders.
Amanda returned. Adam fetched the French Cruller and then two cups of coffee and a hot chocolate.
“I haven’t eaten one of these in so long,” Amanda said, her eyes shining with delight, the thin fingers holding the cruller. “Thanks, Uncle Adam.”
“I’ve been in the hospital,” Amanda said. She chewed the pastry. “Mom told you about that, right?”
Adam nodded.
“I have a lymphoma and they can’t do any more treatment, Uncle Adam,” she continued. “I am not going to live forever.”
“I am so sorry, Amanda.” The words seemed insufficient. He had no idea what to say to her.
“Don’t be. I have pills for my stomach pain. My friend Emma comes sometimes. I play the piano and watch movies with Mom.” She sipped her hot chocolate. “We play games. I sit and read in our yard.” She looked out the window, the light showing the dark marks under her eyes. “The chipmunks run up and down the trees, and hummingbirds hang at the feeder. A slate-colored junco hopped around yesterday, its cute pink bill pecking for bugs or worms.”
Melanie looked away.
“You should come over and play Scrabble,” Amanda said.
“Sure,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll come tomorrow evening and bring dessert, if you and Mel are free.”
Adam looked at Melanie, who nodded, eyes glistening with tears.
“We could play Pictionary again. I can invite Emma to make four, right, Mom?”
“Yes, Amanda, we can.”
Amanda nibbled at her cruller, Melanie looking out the window. During Covid, Adam would bring them their meals most days and often stay for dinner, having no family of his own. They would play board games afterward at Amanda’s insistence. She had her father’s determination and his sense of humor; her smile reminded him of Steve.
Then it was time for the mother and daughter to go home. Amanda didn’t finish her pastry.
Amanda said, “Uncle Adam, It’s now my turn. I know how you felt.”
Adam looked at her, brows contracted, unsure, reminded of Steven’s death. Memories rose of Steve rushing into a village house that the Taliban shells had ignited, bringing out the young boy and girl on his back, handing them to Adam, and running back inside to carry the mother out.
Amanda grinned and took off her cap. She rubbed her head, imitating him. “I can’t ride with the sunroof open. It will really mess up my lion’s mane.”
Adam’s mouth went dry. A large animal inside his chest squeezed his lungs, constricting his breathing.
Now he was losing Steve’s girl that he had loved as his own daughter. He would have to be the brother that Melanie needed. He picked up Amanda and held her gently. Over Amanda’s shoulder, Melanie looked at him, her face blurring as his eyes filled. Her warm hand clasped his. He wanted to say something soothing, anything, but his mute vocal cords just tightened.
