Chapter 7: No Answer
*Lia's POV *
She walked into the bakery ten minutes early.
The owner handed her an apron and started with the basics—how to wash her hands, how to read the labels—then pointed out the register and the pickup shelf. Lia listened carefully. For the first time in her life, she found rows of little paper tags rather endearing.
"Start by restocking the bags, then wipe down the front counter. If you're not sure about something, ask."
"Got it. At least the bread here won't get drunk on me. I feel good about this."
The owner gave her a look.
She promptly shut up and grabbed a cloth to wipe the glass.
The afternoon crowd built steadily. Customers picking up pre-orders piled up behind those waiting to place new ones. Everything was already bagged and ready, yet the owner still had to call out from the back, asking for names one by one.
At first, Lia kept her head down and focused on the bags in her hands. Overstepping on your first day was a quick way to be written off as all talk and no work.
But when the third pickup customer craned their neck trying to see into the back, she spoke up.
"The ones that are already paid for—could we hand those out from over there? I'll confirm the name first, then pass the slip to you for verification. Pickup customers can come to this side, and people ordering can still line up here."
The owner looked at both ends of the counter, then nodded.
"Check every bag—name and quantity."
"I will. If I give someone five when they ordered six, I won't be able to sleep tonight either."
She cleared a bit of space and directed the pickup customers to the right side. Sales didn't noticeably increase, but the doorway was no longer jammed, and the person at the register didn't have to stop and wait for bags anymore.
During a brief lull, she gazed at the small pickup window and thought: If I ever had my own shop, I'd arrange the bags somewhere more within reach.
Then she quickly bent down and picked up a piece of wrapping paper from the floor. A shop of her own was a long way off. The floor, at least, she could keep clean right now.
"Lia."
She turned. The owner clipped a used order slip into place, her tone noticeably softer than it had been that morning.
"You did well. If you can finish this shift and keep coming at the same time, this position is yours."
"A regular shift works for me."
The words were halfway out before Lia caught herself.
"I arranged someone on the caregiving side for today. Let me confirm with them first, and I'll give you a definite answer."
The owner nodded and turned to the next order. Lia tightened her apron, already running the numbers in her head at the mere thought of a real job.
With steady income, she could buy herself a pair of shoes that actually fit, then sort out the housing situation. And if something came up, she could hire someone to cover a few hours instead of reaching for that envelope that grew thinner every time she touched it.
Five o'clock came.
During a gap at the counter, Lia dialed Walter's number.
No answer.
She tried again. Still nothing.
"Excuse me—two coffees."
"Coming right up." She slipped the phone back into her pocket and turned to take the order.
She knew Walter tended to doze off in the afternoon. The old man had fallen asleep, that was all. She couldn't very well wake him up just to put her own mind at ease. She handed the cups across the counter, told herself this once, and her hand drifted back to her pocket anyway.
At 5:08, something felt wrong. She called Kelt.
He picked up this time.
"What is it? I'm busy."
"Walter's not answering his phone."
"Probably asleep. Ask the caregiver."
The empty paper bag in Lia's hand crumpled, a sharp crease pressed into it.
"You're not there?"
"I stepped out for a bit."
"How long ago?"
"I left this afternoon. Someone's there—what are you so worked up about?"
She stared at the order slips on the counter. Names she could have read at a glance seconds ago now seemed to blur together.
"You said you'd stay until I got back."
"You actually expected me to sit there all day? I hired someone so there'd be somebody watching him. They haven't called me, so what could possibly be wrong?"
Someone on his end called out to him. He hung up.
She dialed the caregiver's number. The phone rang and rang until it cut off automatically.
Lia's hands went cold.
The owner came out from the back carrying a tray. Seeing Lia frozen by the counter, she asked, "Something happen?"
"I need to make a call."
She stepped aside and dialed the hospital, gave them the room number, and asked the person on the line to check on Mr. Reed.
They said they'd contact the nurse on duty. Lia waited, hearing footsteps and voices in the background, then someone else asking for her number, saying they'd call back once they had confirmation.
"Please hurry. There's supposed to be a caregiver with him, but no one's answering the phone."
"All right, I'll let the ward know right away."
When she hung up, she still hadn't heard the one sentence she needed: He's there, he's fine.
The line outside had grown longer. The owner was bagging orders and greeting customers at the same time. Lia went back over, finished the order in front of her, and handed it across with a smile that sat stiffly on her face.
Five more minutes.
Maybe the callback would come any second. Maybe the caregiver found the ringtone annoying and had put the phone on silent. Maybe Walter was sleeping soundly. When she got back, he'd probably scold her for worrying over nothing.
"Change here." The owner reminded her.
She quickly took the coins, counted them twice before handing them over. The customer had been standing there with an outstretched hand for a while.
No. I can't do this.
"I need to go back to the hospital." She turned to the owner. "Give me half an hour. I'll come back and finish everything after."
"Right now?"
Another customer walked in. The owner glanced at the line. So did Lia.
"I can stay late afterward—closing cleanup, anything."
"Lia, I told you, this is the time when someone needs to be here."
"I know. Is there anyone who can cover for me?"
The owner set down her clip, called toward the back, and had someone come out to help with bagging. Only then did she look at Lia again.
"The person I could call in is still waiting on my answer about the regular shift. If I bring her in today, I'll have to give her the position. I can't ask someone to come all the way here just to cover your missing half hour."
Lia opened her mouth but couldn't think of another solution.
The owner waited a few seconds, then softened her tone slightly.
"The hospital hasn't told you anything's wrong, have they?"
"No."
"Then why don't you wait for the callback?"
Lia very nearly nodded.
It was hot behind the counter. The smell of bread clung to her clothes, and the phone in her pocket stayed silent. If she finished today, tomorrow she could show up on time and finally have stable work.
She even reached for the order clip.
Then she remembered Walter gripping her sleeve yesterday, managing only half a sentence: "Tomorrow—"
She took out her phone and checked one more time. No missed calls. No messages.
"I'm sorry. I can't finish this shift."
The apron knot was tied too tight. She tugged at it twice before it came loose, and a small, absurd thought flickered through her mind: If I can't untie it, maybe I can stay a little longer.
The owner took the apron. She didn't yell at Lia—just glanced at the clock on the wall.
"However long you worked today, you'll be paid for that. I'll have the front desk log it."
"Thank you."
"The regular position—I'll need to contact someone else."
"I know."
This time she heard it clearly. She took her pay for the shift without counting it a second time, shoved it into her bag, and left.
On the way back to the hospital, she tried Walter once more.
No answer.
Lia wanted to run, but her legs—still sore from carrying someone the day before—seized up the moment she tried to lengthen her stride. She gritted her teeth through the intersection and didn't reach the hospital entrance until the callback finally came.
"We've passed your concern along to the ward…"
"I'm here."
She cut the call short, stepped into the elevator, and pressed the door-close button an extra time.
The corridor was the same corridor. Someone carried a bag of takeout dinner; someone else told a phone they couldn't make it tonight. She pushed open the door to the room and saw first the empty half of the bed.
"Walter?"
Then she saw his feet.
He was on the floor beside the bed, half his body pressed against the ground, his left hand reaching forward. In the chair next to him, the caregiver sat slumped with her head drooping, her phone sliding off her lap, eyes closed.
Lia hit the call button and pulled the door open.
"In here! Someone's fallen—hurry!"
The caregiver jolted awake and lunged to grab Walter's arm.
"Don't move him!"
Lia blocked her, her own voice so loud it startled even herself. A nurse was already coming through the door the next second. Lia stepped back and gave up the bedside.
"When did he fall?"
"I don't know. I just got here."
As the words left her mouth, Lia looked at the person by the chair. The caregiver's lips were trembling. She couldn't manage a single coherent sentence.
The nurse called for more staff and told Lia to step back further. She retreated to the doorway, her back striking the doorframe. She didn't feel it.
Someone bent down. Someone else wheeled equipment in. She couldn't see his face. She could only call toward him from where she stood.
"Walter."
No answer.
Lia called again. She wanted to tell him she was back, that she'd finished her shift.
But when his name reached her lips, she found she couldn't even bring herself to finish that lie.
