Broken Hero

“And apparently she’s going to be staying for a while. I heard it from Mrs. Masters, who heard it from the barber, who heard it from Phil Rhodes himself.”

“This is truly riveting.”

The Rhodes have talked loud and often about their extended family for years. Hell, several of the cookies in their store are named after their favorites. There’s a sugar cookie shaped like a diamond that’s called Lucy, from the old song about Lucy in the sky. When Claire Rhodes explained the connection to me once, I had to stop myself from pointing out that the song was really about LSD.

Sarah shoots me an exasperated glance. “Mock me all you like, but if I don’t keep you updated on this town you’ll become a hermit. I keep you informed.”

“Maybe I like being a hermit.”

“No, you don’t. Besides, John and I have a plan to change that.” Her tone is firm, and despite being nearly ten inches shorter than me, I know my sister has a will of steel.

It frequently clashed with my own.

I put my hands on the kitchen island and brace myself for a Morris show-down. “What plans, Sarah?”

“John has a co-worker over in Huntersville who is thirty-two, newly single, and has a great sense of humor. I’ve met her and she’s just lovely.”

“Dear God, not this again.”

“We’ve already spoken to her and she’d be willing to meet you. How about a double date on Saturday? I know you’re not busy. You’re never busy.”

“Sarah,” I say. “I’m not interested, and I won’t go on any blind dates.”

“Yes, you will. You’ve been alone for far too long.”

“My dating life is none of your business.”

“Your well-being is,” she fires back.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Sarah raises an eyebrow, like she’s calling my bullshit, and it only makes me angrier. “What do you want? A list of the women I’ve gone out with in the past four years? What will it take for you to back off?”

She scoffs. “A list with a couple of crappy one-night-stands with suppliers or former receptionists won’t sway me. It doesn’t count.”

“I’m not having this discussion with you. Period.”

“Fine, then don’t. But I know you, Ollie. You’re not meant to live alone. You never used to, not…”

The word she doesn’t want to say hangs in the air between us. Before.

“Yeah, well, things change.”

“Which means they can change again.” Her voice is just as steely as mine, and she pats my shoulder as she passes by. “At least think on it, okay?”

The door closes behind her and I’m left alone with my anger. Somehow, she can make me just as irritated as she did as a child.

I’m not relationship material. Maybe I was once upon a time, but I’m not anymore. I don’t have the patience or the skills necessary for it. Painful conversations during awkward first dates… Having to handle the expectation that I’m supposed to be charming or entertaining. It’s not for me.

I’ve wondered more than once if you can ever truly adjust to civilian life-if the paradigm of war ever leaves you. And the memories, all the things I’d seen. Will they ever go away? When I brought up the subject with my sister, she blanched. “You’re home now,” Sarah said. “That’s all that matters.”

I suppose it was all that mattered, even if it didn’t always feel that way.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

I grab a drink from the staff fridge and head upstairs to my office. It’s where I spend most of my time, and where I can avoid both the staff and the guests. Our frequent five-star ratings for customer service would drop considerably if I was forced to interact with people.

Austin lifts his head as I enter and his tail begins its familiar swish across the carpet.

“Hi, buddy.” My hand gets lost in his thick coat, his black-and-white markings distinct. “Have you been guarding my office?”

He looks up at me with brown eyes, as if to say what else was I supposed to do? The border collie has been by my side since the first day I got him, nearly four years ago.

“Good boy.”

My email inbox has filled up, just in the short amount of time I worked outside. Business is truly picking up after a couple of sluggish years and it’s showing. Both Sarah and I work longer hours, and we are hiring new people every couple of months. But it took a lot of work to get us here. Being a business-owner was as tough a fight as any I’d battled, although there was considerably less risk to my health.

There’s an email from Phil Rhodes, who delivers the bread to us every morning. I groan as I read it. He has business out of town tomorrow and wonders if we can pick-up instead. It has to be early though, I’m thinking. We need the goods before breakfast starts for all those birdwatchers.

I run through the list of employees, trying to find someone who can do it. But I quickly give up and type back a reply. I’ll be there. Getting up early isn’t a chore these days-I barely sleep through the night as it is. Besides, if you want something done properly, and on time, you’re better off just doing it yourself. Sarah might think I’m a hermit, but I’ve learned my lesson.

You’re stronger alone.

Claire and Phil, in their usual fashion, have been hard at work since the early hours of the morning. I heard them working from my studio upstairs and laid awake for a while, listening to the familiar sounds. The scent of newly baked goods-of rye bread and French loaves, of muffins and brown butter toffee cookies-climbed up the stairs until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I crept downstairs to help out a bit with baking, but mostly to eat any of the imperfect ones.

“Are you sure you’re OK with this?” Claire asked me as I munched away on a blueberry muffin.

I hadn’t worked in the bakery since I was sixteen. I’d never worked there alone before either, but I’m not one to back down from a challenge. “Yes, I’m sure. You’ve given me the full run-down twice, and I won’t be baking or making anything. Just handling the cash register and front desk.”

“Claire, she’ll do just fine!” Phil is waiting by the door, a heavy-looking crate in hand. “You forget that she’s spent years working in the big city. And we’ll only be a phone call away.”

“That’s right,” she tells me. “I won’t put my phone on silent, not even during the meeting.”

“Thank you, Auntie, but I promise I have it under control. Now go, or you’ll be late.”

She gives me a final worried glance, but Phil shoots me a thumbs up behind her back. The door closes behind them and they’re off, away to a meeting with a potential distributor. Someone passing through town had gotten a taste for their famous cookies and wanted to buy the recipe for national distribution. There was no way they weren’t going to take this chance, and I told them so.

The store is quiet in their absence. It’s still early, the sun just about to rise, and the place smells heady from yeast and bread. I look around at the homely environment, this little nest of heaven. It feels like just yesterday that I spent my summer days here. As if the past months of hardship are washed away, and I’m once again young, and hopeful, and happy.

“I love this,” I say out loud. “I love this place.”

The bakery doesn’t say anything back, but I feel better for having told it all the same.

It’s nearly an hour until opening, so I sneak back into the kitchen. I can bake exactly one thing, and that’s carrot cake. It doesn’t take long to whip up the batter. My idea is brilliant-I’ll use one of Claire’s fancy icing kits to decorate it. It’ll be a surprise when my aunt and uncle get back, to celebrate their good fortune.

I turn the radio on and sing along while I work. For the first time in a long while, I’m just happy and enjoying the moment. The knot of unease in my stomach is slowly coming undone. Claremont was the right decision.

I’ve just popped the cake into the oven when I hear a sharp knock on the store’s front door. It’s exactly eight o’clock, and the bakery is officially open.