Chapter 4: Coming Home
1332 Words
The final morning dawned all too soon.
Becca stood on the dock clutching a cup of hot coffee.
Misty clouds rolled across the lake like silent ghosts concealing the mountains. Daylight eventually reclaimed the peaks as the sun rose above the horizon.
She breathed in deeply.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything quite so silent.” Craig stepped next to her with his own mug in hand.
“I don’t think it’s silent.”
Her eyes sparkled. “What?”
“No.” He leaned back on the railing, taking his own sip. “It’s peaceful.”
She peered across the glassy surface.
“You know…” He interrupted her train of thought.
“I used to think that peace meant nothing was happening.”
“What?” She chuckled.
“That everything just kind of… stopped.”
“I get it,” she nodded.
“Now I think peace is knowing that everything doesn’t have to happen at once.”
Becca smiled at him.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
One Last Walk
Before returning to the truck, they took one last stroll down the trail.
Wildflowers bordered both sides of the path. A family of ducks darted near the lakeshore.
Craig bent down and picked something up off the ground. He cleaned it off with his shirt and gave it to Becca.
“A souvenir.”
She laughed. “You’re not actually taking me home with a rock?”
“It’s not just any rock.”
“It looks like every other rock you’ve ever seen.”
Craig grinned. “Look closer.”
Curious, she rolled it around in her palm. Sure enough, it kind of did look like a heart.
“It’ll go right on our windowsill.”
“So, you’ll look at it every morning.”
She slipped it into her pocket.
“I don’t think I’ll forget.”
The Drive Home
The camper rolled along the curvy mountain roads. Soft music played from the radio.
After a few minutes, they simply sat and enjoyed the ride.
Becca grinned, snapping Craig out of his reverie.
“I have something to confess.”
He glanced over at her.
“Should I be concerned?”
“I think I overpacked.” She giggled.
“You mean with clothes?” He chuckled.
“I wore about half of what I brought.”
“And I noticed.” He teased.
She bumped into his arm playfully.
“You could’ve said something.”
“I’m learning there are certain things men just don’t mention.”
She started laughing so hard she had to put her head on his shoulder.
“You love me.”
“I will never let you live that down.”
Home Sweet Home
By late afternoon, they drove up the gravel driveway. Craig hadn’t even parked yet when the front door swung open.
Little feet came running down the porch steps. “They’re home!”
Her middle child was close behind. The eldest took her time trotting towards the truck.
Once she reached them, their youngest child tackled Becca in a hug.
“I missed you so much!”
Becca hugged her tightly. “I missed you too!”
Craig hadn’t even made it out of the truck before his other child joined him for a hug.
“Hey Buddy! Did you catch any fish?”
Craig sighed theatrically. “One.”
“One?!” he whined.
“It was a very smart lake.”
Both kids laughed. The youngest turned to her mom.
“I knew Mom wouldn’t let you fish!” She jabbed playfully at Becca.
“You know that’s not fair,” Becca scolded her daughter.
Souvenirs
Everyone crowded around the kitchen table. Craig pulled out a small paper bag.
“I got our favorite people something.” He began placing items on the table.
The little girl received a stuffed black bear complete with a ranger hat.
Without hesitation, she hugged it close to her chest.
The middle child got a pocket compass.
“You’ll always know how to find your way back home.”
The oldest one opened her gift. It was a leather-bound journal with wildflowers etched into the cover.
“You got me flowers!” She giggled.
“No,” Craig replied. “I got you something better.”
“Weed flowers?” she asked, looking slightly confused.
Craig shrugged. “Someday, I thought you’d want to write your story.”
Her blue eyes glistened as she stared up at him. “I think I have my story already.”
A New Tradition
That night they cooked hamburgers on the grill.
The fireflies began to come out as dusk crept over the yard.
Sharing stories from their mini vacation, Becca knew one question was inevitable.
“Was it fancy?” The youngest child asked.
“No.” Becca shook her head.
“It was simple.”
“And was it fun?” Craig jumped in.
“The lake was perfect.”
“We skipped rocks.”
“We hiked.”
“We drank way too much coffee.”
“And Dad let you win checkers.” She pointed it out.
Craig looked stunned. “What?”
“Three times.” She laughed.
“You actually let me win?”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Mom won?”
Craig nodded vigorously. “Yes, I married a very competitive woman!”
“I heard that conversation,” she muttered under her breath.
“You were supposed to.” He winked at her.
The Porch Light
Once their children went inside for the night, Craig and Becca took their seats on the swing on the front porch.
Remembering days spent there while growing up, they talked about everything from hopes and dreams to fears and forgiveness.
Craig reached into his pocket and pulled out the heart-shaped stone.
“I almost forgot this.” He placed it into Becca’s open palm.
“You want me to keep this?” She smiled.
“It’s not going anywhere.”
Inside, she placed it on the windowsill above their kitchen sink.
Sunrise would catch it each morning, reminding her of still lakes, mountain air…
And new beginnings.
One More Dream
Standing side by side, they drank in the familiarity of the farmhouse kitchen.
Becca’s eyes landed on a wooden recipe box sitting on the counter.
Curiosity was getting the best of her; she opened it. One single recipe card fell out.
Written in her grandmother’s familiar handwriting was a recipe for:
Old-Fashioned Cinnamon Rolls.
Craig watched as her face broke into a smile. “What are you thinking about?”
Running her thumb across the creases of the card, she hesitated.
“I want this dream to be more than just a dream.”
“The bakery?”
Nodding, she responded. “For the longest time, I’ve just… waited for the right time.”
Craig moved closer to his wife.
“Maybe there is no right time.”
“What?”
“Maybe the right time is whatever we make it.”
Turning to him, she asked, “You really think I can do this?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into the cabinet and pulled out a mixing bowl.
Then he set it down in front of her.
“I think your very first customer is right here.”
Laughing, tears filled her eyes. “You know those take three hours to make.”
He smiled at his eager bride. “I waited years for you. Three hours I can wait.”
Wrapping her arms around his neck, they both watched as the porch light came on behind them.
Night had fallen across the small farmhouse. Little feet ran up and down the stairs indoors.
Moments later, the aroma of yeast would fill the kitchen.
It wasn’t the day their bakery opened.
Not today.
But every dream starts with the first recipe.
And Becca was finally ready to begin.
- Writer
