Page 12 of Love in Tandem
“Room service,” she called out, balancing the tray in one hand, knocking with the other.
Not the most glamorous of jobs, delivering food trays in a hospital, but as a broke college student who’d put off finding a summer job until the last minute, Sophia had to take what she could get. Which meant part-time hours and the occasional whiff of pureed roadkill at a hospital thirty minutes from Bailey Springs.
She waited a beat, then cracked open the door. “Room service?”
“Cake,” a warbled voice said back.
Sophia pushed the door further and stepped into the room. “No cake, I’m afraid. But there is a brownie. Kind of.” It had been blended into pulp, but chocolate was chocolate, right? Certainly more appealing than the salad.
As her eyes adjusted to the dark—goodness, talk about depressing—Sophia fumbled her way to a bedside stand and set down the tray. “Can I help you set up your food tray, ma’am?” From what Sophia had gathered, most of the patients on this floor were here because of a stroke.
“Cake.”
“Brownie, remember? You didn’t order any—”
“Cake!” A hand, small and fierce, latched onto Sophia’s forearm.
“Oh my,” Sophia muttered back, not sure how an old woman could possess such supernatural strength. The stroke obviously hadn’t affected her motor skills. Sophia tried peeling the woman’s skeletal fingers off her wrist, certain a pair of police cuffs would be easier to remove.
“Cake,” the patient whispered, leaning forward with the same fire in her eyes that Sophia’s mother had whenever they played the game Password and she was trying to get Dad to guess the right answer using only one-word clues.
“You’re not talking about preferring a different dessert here, are you?”
The patient shook her head back and forth, her gaze peering straight into Sophia’s soul. Wow. Who knew delivering food trays could be so intense?
Well, this patient had gotten the right kitchen staff worker. Sophia loved intense.
Sophia read the patient’s name on the whiteboard hanging beneath the mounted television. “Okay, Melba. You don’t mind if I call you Melba, do you? Since you’re currently cutting off all circulation in my right hand, it just feels like maybe we should be on a first-name basis. I’m Sophia.”
“Cake!”
“Okay, we’ll skip the formalities. Is there anything else you can tell me? I’m excellent at riddles.”
“Cake.”
“Besides that.” At least in Password, if you didn’t guess the correct answer, you got another one-word clue.
Melba’s eyes scrunched shut. The flickering light from the television revealed the frustration puckered all over her pruny little face.
Sophia glanced to the hallway. She still needed to deliver more trays. Maybe this was a waste of time. Maybe this lady just liked cake.
“Date.”
Sophia’s head snapped back to Melba. A different word. Hallelujah. Let the other patients’ trays go cold. This woman needed her.
“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Cake. Date. Cake date. Cake date?”
Melba nodded in the same frenzied manner Mom did whenever Dad grew closer to the right answer. Too bad Sophia felt nowhere close to the right answer. “I’m sorry. I’m just not getting—”
“Cake girl,” Melba interrupted, then knocked her fist against her forehead. “Ohhhh,” she muttered. “Cake. Cake girl. No. Cake girl.”
“Wait. You’re not talking about that new place in Davenport, are you?” Some of Sophia’s friends at college had mentioned the trendy new restaurant with the killer cheesecake. It wasn’t called Cake Girl though. It was something like . . . “Cake Lassies?” Sophia mumbled.
Melba lunged forward.
“The place with the amazing cheesecake, right?”
Melba grinned like a maniac, her head bouncing up and down.
