Page 8 of Abbott’s Lost Spoon

Everyone had their own needs and desires, and Chained was a place where those things could be experienced by grown-up people in a safe environment.

As I wheeled the handcart with the freezer and other things piled on it toward the rear exit, I cast a longing glance toward the comfortable sofas and chairs just off the main floor. It would be nice to stay and visit, but I had to get back to the shop. To put everything away as well as see how the afternoon had gone without me.

Karen had brought her own car and would be going straight home. She’d been a big help this afternoon, and we’d had to give up a couple of cake orders for it. But she was the only one in the shop I knew would be comfortable, even enjoy the atmosphere of the little room. We were getting so many cake orders, I thought maybe I should see if we could train another person to help. But that would have to wait for another day.

After such a great day, my thoughts returned to the decision to open the store. It was never my plan, but always my dream. From the first time I visited a soda fountain as a child, I thought people who sold ice cream had the best job in the whole world.

That opinion had not changed.

So, instead of putting the building on the market, I did some research and turned it into an old-fashioned ice-cream shop with new flavors and ideas. It had done well, so far, and with the inspiration I received from the afternoon’s event, I could see more money streams as possible. My product was delicious, made with the best ingredients, as many local as possible, and I was interested to see where we could expand.

I remembered pictures of vendors in pushing their wheeled cart along park pathways on sunny afternoons. Would it be possible to find one of those and rehab it? Or even make one?

Maybe…

After parking in back of the store, I carried everything inside and either put it away or by the sink to be cleaned. The bowls were delicate and would not handle the super-hot and somewhat-violent commercial dishwasher, so I filled the deep stainless-steel sink with soapy water and settled them in, followed by the spoons. I could have just left them all for the morning when someone else would wash them, but I didn’t like leaving things around to attract vermin. The Health Department frowned on that as well. Setting a dishwasher rack in the other side of the sink, I washed each bowl and utensil and laid them in the rack before spraying away the soap. They’d be fine to put away tomorrow, as long as they were clean. Then I reached into the washing side to pull out the stopper and my hand closed around one last spoon. But it wasn’t one I’d provided.

Oh no.

One of the littles had accepted a bowl but when I offered him a spoon, he shook his head and held up his own spoon.

He was the cutest of them all while he told me it was the best ice-cream-eating spoon, and he always used it. His special spoon. Many littles had items they were especially attached to, and as a daddy, I respected that. And then I walked off with someone’s favorite spoon. I didn’t know how it happened, but I had to make it better.

What to do?

Most of the littles who frequented Chained knew one another. I hadn’t run into this little before but with getting the store ready and opening it, I hadn’t gone very often, so I could easily have missed him even if he was a regular.

I rinsed and dried the spoon carefully then took a picture of it on the counter and texted it to Jovan.

I ended up with this after the party, and I know it’s special to its owner. Can you show Ernie and see if he knows who it belongs to? Please! I feel so bad.

Chapter Seven

Abbott

When I got home from the party, the adrenaline was still rushing, or maybe it was all the sugar. Probably a bit of both. But every time I let my mind wander at all, it went back to that daddy. The richness in his voice, and how he didn’t make me feel bad about my spoon, and the way his smile lit up the room.

I still didn’t know his name. I should’ve asked. And even if I hadn’t been brave enough to ask him, Ms. Lily would’ve told me, and there was nothing scary about her. I talked to him twice, and all I learned new about him was that he made ice cream. Really, really good ice cream.

I locked my door, ready to hit the shower. I was sticky. It made sense that I had some on my hands and my arms, but I could feel my jeans sticking to my knees. I’d gotten my sundae everywhere, or sat in other people’s or picked up toys that had ice cream on them. That poor cleaning crew needed triple pay tonight.

You did a good job today, Abbott. If no one was there to praise me, I was going praise myself because I was proud of me. I didn’t get overwhelmed. I didn’t shut down. I stayed the entire time. I played with my friends. I made a couple of new friends. The night was a success.

I dropped my backpack, kicked my shoes off at the door, and headed straight into the bathroom. I didn’t want to risk getting my apartment full of sticky. I peeled my clothes off and almost forgot that I had my shorts on underneath my jeans, until they got stuck on the zipper. I tossed my dirty clothes into the hamper and climbed under the hot water, scrubbing myself clean.

When I came out, I felt like myself again. I threw on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt and went to the kitchen to get some real food, not wanting to go to sleep with a belly full of sugar. I took out some microwave chicken nuggets and fries. Hardly the midnight snack of champions, but it only required me putting them on a paper towel and setting a timer, so they worked for me.

And that was when I remembered my spoon was in my shorts which were in the hamper. Please don’t let it be too sticky. I dug in and pulled out my shorts. No spoon. Next, I grabbed my jeans. No spoon. I checked my shorts again. Still spoonless.

Panic started to set in and I proceeded to tear the hamper apart, taking everything out one by one, rolling it, shaking it, putting it back. When that was done, I did over and over again. As if my spoon would magically appear after the second, third, or fourth time.

My spoon wasn’t here. No. That couldn’t be right. I’d been so careful with it. It had to be here. I probably hadn’t been paying enough attention when I put it in my backpack, the place I normally kept it. At least that was what I told myself.

I went and grabbed it and followed the same protocol I did with the hamper, taking every little thing out, putting everything back, shaking it, rolling it, doing it again and again.

This could not be happening.

I could not lose my spoon.