Lawrence was on his way to Simcoe for the annual county fair. He was staring through the smudges on the bus window when a young woman in her early twenties, about his age, sat down beside him.

“Hi,” she said, sticking out a hand.

Lawrence shifted uncomfortably at her friendly approach, but shook her hand anyway and introduced himself. “Hi. I’m Lawrence,” he said, then went back to looking at the maple trees whizzing by.

Sally was a chatter and not easily discouraged. “I’m Sally,” she said. “I’m going to Simcoe for the county fair. My grandfather collects clocks and I’m trying to find a good one for his birthday. Something artisan. Hand-carved. Something in the shape of a bird, or a fish, or a moose or...something.”

Lawrence smiled at her, an awkward, hesitant smile, then went back to looking out the window.

“I’m a cake decorator,” she told him, calling his attention back to her again. “I work in a bakery and I’m the best cake decorator in town. I’m also the only cake decorator in my town, but that’s not why I’m the best. I’m the best because I’m good. I can make cakes in the shape of birds, fish, moose and all that stuff. Surely someone's doing the same with clocks, right?”

Lawrence smiled awkwardly again. “Sure. Probably. You can find almost anything in the shape of almost anything, I guess.”

Sally nodded, her hair swishing around her face adding emphasis. “Exactly! Like me with cakes. I can make non-animal shapes, too. It's just that my family is an outdoors-y family. When I make cakes shaped like books, or dresses, or cartoon characters they aren't really impressed. I'd like to see my mother shape a cake like a dress. She can barely make a round cake in a round cake pan, you know? Seriously, once she tried to squeeze a recipe and a half into a single cake pan. It climbed up over the pan, spilled all over the oven, and collapsed in the middle. It looked terrible. Yet I make a cake that looks like a china doll, and no one cares. I think that's why I started a bakery. I have customers crying when I make them a cake that looks like their mother-in-law's favourite cat. That's a good feeling. I love that my art makes such an impact for other people's families, you know?”

Lawrence shrugged. “I don't know a lot about art. Or the art of baking. I'm glad it makes you happy.”

Sally let Lawrence return to the window for a moment while she checked her inbox for any new orders. Then she tapped him on the shoulder. “I like your hair,” Sally told him. “I’ve always liked short hair on guys. My last boyfriend had a ponytail. We didn’t last very long. I like how your hair is the exact shade of brown that your eyes are. Did you dye it that way?”

Lawrence shook his head, looking her direction, but avoiding eye contact. Instead, he stared at her blue bangs.

“I like your suit, too. It looks very professional. I don’t really like black normally. It's too depressing. But it looks great on you. Very professional.”

Lawrence shifted his gaze to Sally's boots. “Thanks. I just left work. You look very...bright,” he said.

“You like it?” she asked. “I’ve always thought blue was a great colour for hair, but mine’s too dark. I wanted it to match my eyes, but I couldn’t find a light enough shade. I did get it to match my boots. I just had to get these. How many times do you find bright blue cowgirl boots?”

“I don’t know. I’m...happy for you.” Lawrence straightened up, blushed, and looked toward the front of the bus.

Sally frowned, and then tapped him on the shoulder. “What do you do for a living?” she asked.

Lawrence turned his head back towards her and cleared his throat. “I’m a mortician. I...do the arranging for the final farewell. Preservation, hair, make-up, clothes, casket selection sometimes...” He still didn’t meet her eyes.

“Oh, so you are an artist! Just a very different kind. That suits you.” Sally said. “Are you going to the county fair, too? I think it's the next stop. I'm so excited. I'm getting at least two candy apples this year.” She bounced a little in her excitement, accidentally jostling Lawrence.

Lawrence scooched over a bit and nodded. “I am. I go every year. Not for the candy, though.”

Sally smiled. “More for me, then. What are you going for? The rides? The horses? The funnel cake?”

“No,” he said. He looked at the floor. When he'd scooched over, he'd stepped in something sticky. He hated buses. The floor was always sticky on the bus.

“So why are you going?” Sally prodded.

“To get a clock fixed. I also heard about the clock shop setting up a booth there. Mine is broken. I’m hoping there's someone there who can fix it.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked out the window again.

“Is that what's in your bag?” Sally asked, looking at the backpack on the seat beside him. She reached across him and tugged at the backpack. “Oh, that's got some weight to it. I'll bet it's a sturdy clock. What broke it?”

He took a deep breath. “It’s a long story. It takes a long time to tell.”

Sally leaned closer to him and asked, “Do you know that you repeat yourself a lot? I think it’s cute. So how’d your clock break?”

Lawrence sighed and looked at Sally, making eye contact this time. “It was broken in a fight,” he said.

“Who was fighting? Were you fighting? I want the whole story. Go.” She leaned in.

Lawrence couldn't scooch any further away without climbing on top of his backpack. He shifted nervously, then looked from her to the window several times before settling in to his story. “After my grandfather died, my father and my aunt both wanted his clock. It’s an old clock, from Germany. My grandfather and grandmother liked to travel, and they got the clock when they were touring Europe on their honeymoon. My grandfather didn't put the clock in his will. My father and my aunt argued about it for a year. It’s a really nice clock. And it's family history. Grandma used to polish it every week. It was a real showpiece on their mantel.”

Lawrence stopped.

“So how did they break it? How did you get it?” Sally asked.

Lawrence looked down at her boots. “My dad and my aunt argued a lot. It ruined a few family get-togethers. Then my aunt decided she was going to just take it. My father followed her out of the room, telling her to put it back. My aunt kept going, so my dad grabbed a book from the coffee table and threw it at her. He hit her in the back with it and knocked her down. My aunt fell on the clock and broke it. They're both incredibly superstitious, and my grandma once said she'd haunt anyone who broke her honeymoon clock. No one wanted a haunted clock, so I took it. I’m hoping to get it fixed at the fair.”

“Wow, that's insane,” said Sally.

Lawrence winced.

“Don’t worry, every family has its own brand of lunacy,” Sally sympathized.

Lawrence finally met Sally's eyes. “I'm a mortician with a clock that broke in a family feud, and you don't find me weird?”

Sally smiled. “Oh, please. I have blue hair and my own family drama. Wanna hear about it?”

The bus stopped. The both stood up. “I do, actually,” said Lawrence. “We're both going to the fair. We could both go to the fair...together. If you'd like.”

They stepped off the bus as Sally responded. “I'd like. Come on, we'll find the clock booth, and then you're winning me a stuffed bear.” Her eyes twinkled. Lawrence wasn't sure if she was joking.

He tried a joke himself. “Does it have to be a bear? That's so outdoors-y.”

Sally stopped, looking at him with a huge grin and a newfound appreciation. “There is a sense of humour in there somewhere. Okay, win me a giant, blue, plush cupcake,” she said.

“Do they have those?” asked Lawrence.

“Probably somewhere. You can find anything in the shape of anything,” she said.

Lawrence adjusted his backpack straps, blushing again. He was a different kind of uncomfortable now. A good kind. “What happened with your family?” he asked as they walked down the sidewalk toward the entrance to the fair.

“Oh, okay. See, when my dad and my uncle were younger, my uncle tried to convince my dad that a bear (Yeah, there's a huge thing in my family about bears. I think this is how it started.) a bear was trying to break into his bedroom at night. My grandparents' house is right next to a woody area. There could have been a bear. We've seen bears near the property. So my dad, trying to protect himself because his room had a huge window, put a bear trap right under the window. My uncle stepped in it. Snapped the bone. He still limps.”

Lawrence stopped for a second, picturing a leg in a bear trap. “That's horrifying,” he said.

“Yep. Makes throwing a book look tame, right? I told you, I've got family drama, too. I think that's why I like cute, cartoon-y cakes. It's a nice change of emotional energy, you know?”

They arrived at the ticket booth as Sally finished her story. The line for pedestrians was shorter than the line of cars, so they didn't have to wait long.

Sally insisted on paying for them both. “I need to know two things,” she told the young woman in the ticket booth as she pulled out her credit card. “One: Where are the candy apples? Two: Where is the clock booth?”

“Candy apples are near the entrance,” the woman said, pointing to her left, “and near the horse barn,” she added, pointing over her shoulder, “and also near the far exit. The clock booth didn't come this year.”

The young woman waved them through. Sally stood still, gaping in disbelief and disappointment. Lawrence glanced over his shoulder at the family shuffling impatiently behind them. He took Sally's hand and pulled her in past the booth, over to the side. He set down the backpack and stretched. “Well, we can still look for a plush cupcake,” he said.

“I guess,” Sally said glumly. “But my grandpa's birthday is in a week. I was hoping they'd be here again this year because I can't get to them before the party. I have so many orders to complete this week.”

Sally leaned against a nearby tree and sulked.

Lawrence pondered for a moment, then unzipped his backpack. “It needs a repair, but if you gave him this,” he pulled out his grandmother's clock, “with the promise to get it fixed as soon as you can, would that work?”

Sally gasped as Lawrence pulled out a clock shaped like a wizened old tree. “That's beautiful!” she said. “Is that a real Black Forest German cuckoo clock?”

Lawrence smiled as she picked it up and examined it. “It is. And it's probably not haunted. I haven't seen anything haunted about it. I know it's not a bear, but the leaves are hand-carved, the bird inside is lifelike, and I always liked that the pendulums look like pine cones. Is that suitably outdoors-y?”

“It's absolutely perfect!” Sally exclaimed. “Can I buy this from you?”

Lawrence nodded. “Sure. My family doesn't want it anymore, and while it's beautiful, it's not really my taste.”

“You are awesome! Here, take one of my business cards. I will pay you and bake you a cake in whatever shape you want for your next birthday, half price for saving the day. Thank you so much!”

Lawrence helped Sally put the clock back in the backpack for safe-keeping, surprised by how happy he was to see her so happy. He'd avoided his unhappy family by withdrawing into his work. Lawrence spent his time beautifying the deceased so their families would have something lovely in the midst of their tragedy. He'd spent so much time virtually alone that he'd almost forgotten he could be responsible for good moments in normal, everyday life.

Lawrence was surprised by how badly he wanted to create more good moments for Sally. “Did you still want a plush cupcake? Or a candy apple?” he asked, looking at her face, this time hoping to meet her eyes.

Sally heard something new in his voice and looked at him curiously. Then she blushed. “Sure, I'd love that.” As they made their way toward the candy apples, she reached out for his hand and held on tight, realizing Lawrence was someone worth holding on to.