Apple Pie Angel by Lynn Cooper

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    RUNNING LATE AS USUAL, Lacey Burke grabbed the box of freshly-baked apple pies and let the door to the duplex apartment slam shut behind her.  She carefully set the aromatic, still-warm-from-the-oven desserts in the back seat of her Honda Accord.  The old clunker was a hand-me-down from her great aunt Emma who had recently passed away.  The pig valve in her heart had exploded.  It was tragic, but she was on the high side of eighty-nine and had enjoyed a good life.  Although Emma’s death was sad, it was somewhat expected.  Unlike the community-service sentence Lacey received last month. 
    Fastening her seatbelt, she turned the switch over.  The engine grumbled to life.  It was already dusk, nearing darkness.  The headlights only served to illuminate and amplify the silver paint peeling off above the Honda’s front fenders. The driver’s seat had rips in the upholstery, and the ear-numbingly loud muffler was loose.  It was barely hanging on by a makeshift hook fashioned from a wire coat hanger.  The whole undercarriage rattled every time Lacey hit a pothole; but she refused to complain about the car, her tiny apartment, her low-paying waitressing job at Finn’s diner or anything else after recently witnessing the devastating hardship of others.
    Lacey was always in a hurry for one reason or another which inevitably prompted her to break the speed limit.  She had been cited five times in the last few months.  Knowing she didn’t have the money to pay them, she did what any gal in her predicament would.  She shoved them into the compartment of the dashboard and hoped like the devil they would somehow magically disappear. They didn’t.  Instead, an officer appeared at her front door with a bench warrant, taking her before the traffic-court judge who had issued it.
    Judge Ashmore peered over the rim of his bifocals.  “Young lady, you cannot just ignore a problem and expect it to go away.  Blatant avoidance never solves anything.  The way I see it, you have two choices: pay the tickets or do thirty days in jail.”
    Lacey hadn’t meant to cry, but she couldn’t stop her bottom lip from quivering or her mouth from stuttering.  “I—I don’t have the money to pay them.  And I ca—can’t do jail time.”
    She wasn’t trying to get out of speeding with no consequences, but she honestly didn’t have the money.  Jail was for criminals, and she’d never make it on the inside. 
    “Isn’t there a third choice?” she asked, sniffling back more tears.
    The judge let his head fall forward in what she interpreted as concession.  Lacey would never try to work the system by crying, but she also knew most men couldn’t handle a weepy woman.
    He grunted, then removed his glasses.  “Lacey Burke, this court sentences you to thirty days of community service to be carried out immediately.  You will serve food to the homeless at Eva’s Soup Kitchen down on Houston Street between noon and three o’clock daily.  If you miss even one day, you’ll finish your sentence in a jail cell.  Have I made myself clear?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Court dismissed.”  The echo of his gavel slamming against the sound block jangled Lacey’s already frayed nerves, but she was thankful for the mercy he had shown her.  She wasn’t cut out for prison, and there was no way she could come up with a thousand dollars for the speeding tickets.  She was doggone lucky he hadn’t suspended her license. 
    If she couldn’t drive, she wouldn’t be able to deliver these pies to the homeless.  Her community service at the soup kitchen had been the most humbling experience of her young life.  In all of her twenty-four years, she had never done anything so emotionally rewarding.  Lacey would have loved to continue volunteering even after she was no longer legally obligated, but she couldn’t do it and still hold onto her job at the diner.  Her meatball-loving, Swedish boss—Finn—already