The Cop and the Cupcake

Mom had been busy in the kitchen all morning long. She was like that when it came to Thanksgiving dinner.

Dad lounged in front of the new color television set with Deputy Walt Woodstock as Marcy, Deirdre and Adam ran around outside playing. I sat on the swing set, watched Dad and Walt through the large sliding glass window as they discussed the football game.

Deputy Woodstock had come into our lives by way of the fact that Dad had been a police officer himself and knew the Deputy was separated from his family. It was over 2,000 miles of loneliness Dad saw in the deputies face and so he offered him a warm meal every night and a family to be around.

“Suppertime!” Mom called out the front door.

Abruptly the noise stopped and the sound of padded feet could be heard rushing up the walk way and into the house. I followed suit, right behind Dad and the Deputy.

We all sat down at the table. Grace was offered and the platters of food passed around.

Soon everyone was stuffed with turkey and potatoes with gravy. Each person had eaten more than their portion of stuffing and cranberry sauce and yams.

“That was delicious, ma’am,” the Walt said to Mom.

She responded, “Why thank you,” Then she added, “Does anyone want dessert?”

It was as if nobody had eaten anything all day the way all six people at the table jumped at the idea of pumpkin pie and the other sweets soon to be offered. The excitement was interrupted though by the deputy’s radio.

It suddenly made a hideous tone alerting him that he was needed by the department. He stood up, trying to politely excuse himself from the table.

“Would you like to take a plate with you?” Mom offered.

“Naw,” he said as he picked up his hat, “But I’ll take a couple of those cupcakes.”

He grabbed two and unwrapping one, shoving the entire cake into his mouth. He opened the door and headed towards his cruiser.

We four kids gathered around to watch him leave, hoping to hear the siren and see the lights of the cruiser.

Without warning though he stumbled and fell to his knees. He was there for only a second or two then got up.

But it was long enough for Adam to shout, “Walt’s fallen down!”

Dad raced out to help him up and to make sure he was okay. I was already there.

Walt looked at us and said, “I got to remember not to stuff my face like that.”

He smiled and got in his car and took off.

Dad and I returned to the house to find Mom standing in the middle of the kitchen. She was as white as a sheet.

“What’s wrong?” Dad asked.

She held up one of the cupcakes and produced from it a quarter.

“I put one in each cupcake,” she answered.

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