It was a Sunday afternoon and my wife had to go to the mall. I questioned the necessity of the trip, but went along anyway. She had to make a stop at Bath and Bodyworks, and I wanted to look in Radio Shack for electronic doo-dads. The two shops are close together, and as luck would have it, directly across from Jack’s favorite place: Katy’s Pantry, a small deli and bakery that prominently displayed gourmet cookies right at the eye level of every four-year-old who happened to pass by.
Unbeknownst to Jack, the owners of Katy’s Pantry relocated their business to a shopping center near our neighborhood since he had last been to the Mall. We rounded the corner and Jack knew right where we were and where his favorite display case was.
It was at that moment he literally stopped in his tracks. The sign was gone, the cash register missing, and the display case empty and dark. It was like the life leaked out of Jack as he slowly trudged toward the now-vacant case, the light dimming in his eyes. He reached out and touched it, looking up at me with the saddest face I’ve seen on him in a long time and said, “There used to be cookies here.”
Yes. There used to be cookies here. I agree