Chapter 10: The Red Door
1345 Words
Her Saturday began before sunrise.
Becca awoke to the sound of a truck door slamming outside.
She peeked at her alarm clock.
6:12 a.m.
She groaned.
“Craig?”
Curiosity had her sitting up. She threw a sweatshirt on and padded silently across the house to peer out the kitchen window.
There he was.
Standing out in the backyard.
Paintbrush in one hand.
Coffee in the other.
Staring meaningfully at the chicken coop.
She smiled.
Only Craig would get up on a Saturday morning to talk to a chicken coop.
Late Again…
She stepped out onto the porch.
“You know most people sleep in on Saturdays.” She teased.
Craig turned and smiled wide.
“I’ve been busted.” He spoke.
“You sure have.”
He held up his mug of coffee.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“So, you decided painting was a good idea…”
“I had a thought.”
She strolled across the dewy grass.
“What kind of thought required painting at six in the morning?”
Craig nodded toward the flower boxes below the little red coop door.
“These deserved some color.”
She peered closer.
Already the boxes had been filled with dark, rich soil and Craig had dumped grass seed over their edges.
“You painted all this this morning?”
“I couldn’t decide between red geraniums or yellow daisies.”
Becca chuckled.
“So, you decided to come over BEFORE sunrise.” She shook her head.
His smile grew. “Obviously.”
The Children Vote
Not long after, kids poked their heads out of doors, pajamas still on, bowls of cereal in hand.
The youngest stood in the center of the yard.
“Whoa.”
Craig grinned.
“We need some help making a decision.”
“What decision?”
“Our flower decision.”
The youngest feigned shock.
“This is serious.”
The oldest snorted.
“I’m voting daisies.”
Middle grounded their head to the side.
“Geraniums.”
“What do you think, honey?” Craig asked Becca.
She stared at the little coop.
Tiny red door.
Splintered wood.
Warm morning sunlight pouring across their backyard.
“Daisies.” She said quietly.
His eyes twinkled.
“I was hoping you would say that.”
“Why?”
“Because when you were fourteen years old, you told me daisies were your favorite flower.”
She stared at him in disbelief.
“You remember that?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“All of it.”
“You remember everything.”
“No. Just the good stuff.”
A Trip to the Garden Center
An hour later, they piled into Craig’s truck bed.
Kids hanging off each other while arguing over chicken names in the back seat.
Youngest had added “Nugget” to Craig’s growing list of Nope.
He nodded thoughtfully at the child in his truck bed.
“I’m not sure Nugget is very constructive.”
Youngest frowned up at him.
“Constructive?”
“A confident chicken has to have a strong name,” Craig said with a wink.
The group erupted in laughter.
Becca browsed leisurely through flower rows.
Lavender. Coneflowers. Marigolds. Rosemary.
Craig appeared beside her carrying a flat of white daisies.
“I think we found ours.”
She grinned.
“I think you’re right.”
Eldest grabbed a pot of lavender off the rack.
“Mom really likes these.”
Craig nodded his agreement.
“I know.”
She looked up at him questionably.
“How do you know?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“You always stop and smell lavender when we pass it.”
She hadn’t realized she had done that.
Planting Something New
Home again, all the kids pitched in.
Youngest enthusiastically dug holes twice too big.
The middle child was unexpectedly precise about their spacing.
Eldest carefully arranged the flowers until they were just right.
Craig kneeled beside Becca to plant the last of the daisies.
He brushed dirt off his hands.
“There.” He said proudly.
Becca looked around at their work.
White daisies cascaded softly over the side of the flower boxes.
Purple lavender hugged the little red chicken coop door.
It really did feel like….
Home.
“This is going to look so good when it’s filled with chickens.” She turned to him, smiling.
Craig chuckled.
“It already looks like something from a children’s story.”
“I know.”
“Because every home should have something beautiful.”
A Conversation on the Porch
That evening after the kids had scampered back inside for cookies and lemonade, Becca and Craig sat on their screened-in porch steps.
She leaned back against the cool railing, watching her youngest bounce on the backyard trampoline.
“I’ve been thinking…” She started.
Craig snorted.
“Is this something I should be concerned about?”
She laughed. “I don’t think so.”
Craig’s smile grew warmer.
“Shoot.”
Gazing off toward the woods in their yard, Becca thought about how hard she had worked for so much of her life to just KEEP peace.
To NOT rock the boat.
To SAY the right things and……
Stay quiet.
“I used to think happiness was something I had to work for.” She sighed.
Craig listened intently.
“To earn.”
“To prove…”
“To…”
Craig held up a hand, stopping her narrative.
“I got it.”
For years she had thought if she tried hard enough, she could somehow earn peace.
She shook her head at how childish that mentality seemed now.
“You realize peace isn’t something we earn…” Craig started.
“No,” Becca replied knowingly.
“It’s what we create.”
She turned to look at him over her shoulder.
“Like we created that coop.”
He smiled softly.
“Yeah. Exactly like that coop.”
“One piece of wood at a time.”
“One conversation at a time.”
“One ordinary day at a time.”
Becca reached across the top of the porch railing and laced her fingers with his.
“One choice at a time.”
The Red Door
Evening came quickly across the yard, and kids begged to see their coop just one more time before bed.
Craig opened the tiny red chicken coop door.
Sprawled inside were clean shavings and trimmed wood.
Perfectly cleaned nesting boxes.
Craig hung up a small wooden sign above the entrance that Becca hadn’t noticed before.
Stepping closer to read it, burned into the wood, were the words:
Welcome Home.
Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at Craig.
“You made this?”
He nodded his head.
“I just thought it was perfect.”
Becca traced over the words with her fingertips.
Home.
For so long that word had meant something ugly to her.
Surviving. Struggling to maintain peace. Keeping her words pieced together. Taking one cautious step at a time.
But now….
Home smelled like flowers.
Kids’ sweet laughter.
Coffee on a screened-in porch.
…and a man who remembered the name of her favorite flower from nearly thirty years ago.
Plus, a red door to remind her every time she looked at it that love….
Was something she no longer had to be afraid to walk toward.
Slowly the sun disappeared below the treetops that surrounded their property.
Becca leaned her head back against Craig’s shoulder, lost in the moments of this simple Saturday.
They didn’t say anything.
It wasn’t necessary.
These moments weren’t empty.
They were full.
Full of promise.
Full of healing.
And full of the small, simple moments that had slowly, gently become the life she used to imagine she wanted when she was just fourteen years old.
Standing next to her homemade chicken coop.
With its red door.
And a memory of daisies.
Becca knew something at that moment that made her grin from ear to ear.
The dreams we bury don’t just disappear…
They wait.
Until we are ready to let them lead us, Home.
- Writer
