Intermission 2

The night shattered with the piercing wail of sirens, slicing through the silence like a knife. Red and blue lights flashed through our bedroom window, casting eerie, dancing shadows on the walls, transforming our familiar room into an alien and threatening space. Poppy and I scrambled out of bed, our breaths quickening and hearts hammering as we exchanged wide-eyed glances. The urgency in the air was palpable, each siren's wail a harbinger of impending doom.

"Ellis, look!” Poppy's voice quivered as she pointed out the window. “The fire trucks… they’re heading towards the bakery!" Her voice trembled, echoing the dread that twisted in my gut. My fingers fumbled with the laces, shaking uncontrollably.

'We have to go check it out,' I insisted, yanking on my shoes with a sense of urgency that left no room for hesitation.

But as we reached the front door, our parents intercepted us. “The neighborhood is in lockdown,” Dad's voice was firm, his face a mask of worry. “It's too dangerous. We need to stay inside.” The gravity in his voice left no room for argument, his usually warm eyes now hard and unyielding.

We spent the night tossing and turning, haunted by the wail of sirens and the distant glow of flames. Sleep was a distant dream, chased away by every creak and shadow. Uncertainty gnawed at us, every sound feeding our fears.

The lockdown was lifted the next morning, and Poppy and I hurried to the bakery. Our hearts sank as we stood before the charred ruins, the bakery's once joyful facade now a blackened skeleton. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke, stinging our nostrils and mingling with the faint scent of burnt sugar and charred wood, remnants of the bakery's former glory.

"Penelope!" Poppy's voice cracked as she called out, her hands trembling as she reached for Penelope. "What happened?"

Penelope stood amidst the wreckage, her face ashen and eyes hollow, clutching a soot-stained apron to her chest. Seeing her like that felt like a punch to the gut, my heart aching with a mix of sorrow and helplessness. She turned her head at the sound of our voices, her eyes wide and unseeing.

"It was an accident," she whispered, her voice cracking as tears carved paths down her soot-streaked cheeks, each drop a silent testament to the pain she couldn't voice. "A fire started in the kitchen late last night. Chef Lelong tried to save the bakery, but... he didn't make it."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, my voice wavering, the words feeling hollow as I reached out, my hand trembling. The smell of smoke still lingered in the air, a bitter reminder of the night's tragedy.

We stood there in stunned silence, the weight of her words pressing down on us like a physical force. The kind elderly man we had met a month ago was gone. The realization struck me hard, my breath hitching as the weight of her words settled in. Penelope's tears flowed freely, and Poppy and I wrapped our arms around her, our own tears mingling as we shared in her grief.

"Once the funeral arrangements are done, I'll be flying back to France," Penelope said, taking a deep breath, the smell of smoke still lingering in the air as she tried to compose herself. "But I promise, we will meet again. And I can't wait to see the amazing chefs you both will become."

Her words, though bittersweet, offered a fragile glimmer of hope amidst the overwhelming sorrow. We cried together, the loss of Chef Lelong and the bakery hitting us hard. The weight of the tragedy pressed heavily on our hearts, but Penelope's words gave us a glimmer of hope.