A Crack for a Crack

Cal had until six to mend twelve porcelain plates for the Bellweather Hotel's anniversary dinner. The first eleven took gold seams cleanly. When he warmed the final plate, a sharp tick came from the shelf behind him. His own coffee mug now carried the exact crescent crack he had just sealed. Cal chose a chipped saucer from the scrap bin and repaired it. Across the room, one of the finished hotel plates split neatly in two. The front bell rang. His sister entered, holding their mother's blue urn. "The funeral home dropped it," she said. "Can you fix it before the memorial?"