Here Comes the Sun

Laurel stood at the threshold of her bakery, the soft whisper of the ocean waves mingling with the scent of freshly baked pastries and hot coffee. As she kicked off her shoes, she felt the grittiness on her feet. Beneath the layer of ever-present sand, the wooden boards were still cool, waiting to be warmed by the sun that would soon rise. It had been nearly a month since she had opened Sweet Waves on a quiet beach in the south, and almost a year since she had lost her husband, Bradley.

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She had fled to this small town that she’d only ever been to one other time – on her honeymoon. Amidst the pain of her loss and the uncertainty she’d felt, this was the place that seemed to call to her. Looking back, she’d realized she hadn’t known what to expect – or put much thought into it at all. She had reacted out of a place of darkness and fright, fleeing to a place where she thought there would be a stronger connection to Bradley. Of course, he had been just as far away in this quaint small town as he had been in the large city they’d called home. Instead of finding a connection with him, she had gone through another grieving process, or maybe just a new phase of the one she was already in.

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What she had found, though, was a network of people that she had needed more than she’d realized. Her friends here had buoyed her throughout these months, encouraging her through each of the painful first steps. They had surrounded her with love and acceptance, mourned along with her, even though they had never known Bradley. She could feel the smile returning to her face in those moments.

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Now, as Laurel looked out toward the ocean across the wooden deck worn to gray, she saw the first streaks of light painting the sky. The water had begun to take on an ethereal luminescence that accompanied the changing light. A tune played through her head, and she whispered the words “here comes the sun”.

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Behind her, an oven timer beeped, and Laurel went to take out a batch of muffins, which were quickly becoming a favorite of the other shopkeepers and business owners along the boardwalk. With less than a half hour before opening, the bakery was alive with the aroma of breakfast. Laurel filled her coffee mug and walked back outside, sitting in one of the chairs she had placed near the railing, positioned where she could see the beach. From this vantage point she could see both the almost motionless water and the brightening sky. A tendril of steam rose from her mug, and Laurel peered over it to the horizon. The bakery behind her faded into the background as she drifted with her memories.

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In these moments of quiet, her mind unsurprisingly wandered to her husband. Her heart squeezed as she thought of Bradley, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady herself. So many of the recipes she was baking for other people now were ones she had baked for him.

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Since they were kids, she’d wanted to write a cookbook. They had grown up together in a small town, and she had spent hours baking cookies, cakes, pies and everything else for him and her aunt, the only family she’d had as long as she could remember. Ann was actually her great aunt, and had been the one who’d guided Laurel through growing up. She had given Laurel her old recipe box, filled with myriad recipes – some on cards, others on torn magazine or newspaper pages. All of them held a memory, Laurel treasured that box, but not nearly as much as she treasured the recipes themselves.

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Laurel remembered hours standing in the kitchen with her aunt, baking things for church potlucks and neighborhood teas. There was always a radio on somewhere in the house, usually on the oldies station where her aunt could hear her beloved Beatles. It made Laurel smile to see her aunt, who you could definitely describe as a typically church lady, bellowing out the lyrics to Hard Day’s Night or I Wanna Hold Your Hand.

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One day, as her aunt sang along to Here Comes the Sun, she turned and touched Laurel on the tip of her nose as she sang “little darling”. In Ann’s southern drawl, it sounded more like lil darlin’, and had been what she had called Laurel since she could remember. As Ann sang along about ice slowing melting and the ending of cold winters, she had watched Laurel finish decorating a cake for a wedding shower the next day.

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She had baked tiny macaroons filled with strawberry cream to decorate the edges of the cake. After they had eaten a few of the leftover macaroons, Ann had made a show out of presenting Laurel with the recipe box. It was green metal with rusty hinges on the back, and had a worn sticker on the front that at one time had said “My Recipes” in Ann’s wide looped writing, but it had long since faded.

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“You’ve outgrown my help, lil darlin’,” Ann said. “Take this, and turn it into something amazing.”

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Now that box sat on a shelf in her bakery, a symbol of her lifelong love of baking and the encouragement from her aunt. She had planned to turn them all into a cookbook, accompanied by the stories of her life. Bradley had been completely behind her, encouraging her and telling her he was certain she would be successful.

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But when he died, she stopped baking. Each time she pulled out her favorite mixing bowl, she would remember the last time she’d baked something for him and would put it back in the cabinet. A year later, and there were still a few things that held too many moments she wasn’t ready to recall. But she was making progress.

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Over the last month, she had found herself taking deeper breaths. Despite the early hours and hard work, her shoulders felt more relaxed. She was sleeping better. She had bought the old bakery months ago, not long after arriving in town, but it had required hours of hard work to bring back to life.

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Despite being the newest resident in town, Laurel had rarely spent an hour in the bakery by herself. Her new friends and neighbors would be alongside her scrubbing, painting, decorating, and planning. In those hours of hard work, they’d shared plenty of tears, but had also had moments of side-splitting laughter. They had all flatly refused any payment, insisting the role of taste tester was plenty.

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Surrounded by this growing community of friends, Laurel had begun to feel more like herself, even if it was only a small bit at a time. She felt as if she’d known them for a lifetime, instead of for a number of months.

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One of her closest friends was Sara, who she met not long after arriving. In those first weeks after arriving, Laurel would spend hours walking along the beach, especially enjoying the twilight moments before darkness fell on the water. She stared out at the ocean and wonder how she could ever be peaceful again. One night, a dog had bounded up to her, a mass of wet paws and holding a toy in her mouth she seemed intent on Laurel throwing into the water. Sara had followed close behind, her face full of laughter. Since then, they spent countless afternoons on the beach with Maxie, a beautiful blond retriever. Between throws of Maxie’s toy into the waves, they talked about their lives. About grief and recovery and life, and Sara was careful not to press Laurel too hard, to ask her to talk too much about things that made her cry.

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Sara had spoken of the ocean’s healing power, how standing at the edge of it could make one feel connected to something far greater. She had explained that the ebb and flow of the tide was like taking a breath, even when you were afraid it would hurt to. One night, she stopped and pointed behind them.

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“See our footprints?” Sara asked. Laurel turned and saw a few shallow footprints, slowly filling with the shallow tide.

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“Only a few of them, the rest are being washed away,” Laurel replied.

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Sara smiled and nodded. “Think of them as pain, as problems. You know they were there, but something greater than you and I washed them away.”

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They continued walking for a few moments. When she spoke again, Laurel’s throat was tight and her voice was strained.

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“I don’t want to forget everything, because I’m afraid I’ll forget him.”

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Sara had looked at her with eyes full of compassion. Laurel steadied herself for a lesson on how she needed to think positively, or be assured that of course she wouldn’t forget him. Instead, and to Laurel’s great relief, Sara had embraced her. They had cried together, and Sara became the one who Laurel had loved with her entire heart.

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As the opening day of Sweet Waves approached, Laurel was tired and emotional. She felt like she was leaving Bradley behind in a different way by pursuing this new dream on her own. The day before the grand opening, she was surprised when her friends descended on her as she locked the door. They carried baskets of sandwiches and cold drinks and blankets folded over their arms as they ushered her to the nearby beach. On the sand they ate together, reminiscing about their favorite moments helping her get the bakery ready.

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The sky began to darken, and lanterns were lit around them. In the glow of flickering light, she smiled at each of them. From the shopkeeper down the boardwalk who had taken her in and given her a place to live when she first arrived, to the handyman who had helped her get things in the bakery working again after years of idleness. There were friends who were farmers, that provided her fresh eggs, milk and butter; friends who had helped her search for the perfect furniture among thrift shops in neighboring towns. Laurel’s heart swelled as she realized how completely they had welcomed her into their lives, and her eyes filled thinking of how important each of them were to her.

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The first day of business had been terrifying, but once she lost count of the smiles she saw on visiting faces, she began to relax. The first days had turned into weeks, and the bakery flourished. Laurel found solace in the rhythmic routine of baking. There was something therapeutic about kneading dough, watching it rise, and transforming simple ingredients into something beautiful that made people happy.

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A month later, Laurel watched from her chair as the horizon began glow above the water. It was the start of a hectic day, but it was a day that was possible because of people who loved her. She wasn’t certain of what the rest of her life would be like, but she had a growing confidence in it. Her life today reflected her past – the love and loss, the resilience to start over. Her story had not started in this place, but it had brought her here for a reason.

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She raised her mug of coffee to her lips as the sun came into view. Below her on the beach, someone called up to her.

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“Good morning, Laurel,” one of her regular customers had called to her. “I’m on my way to get some breakfast! And good timing, too, because here comes the sun!” They pointed to the sky, where the bright glow was building by the minute.

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She waved to them, and motioned for them to come on up. While she waited for them to climb the stairs, she looked out over the beach and smiled broadly. Yes, she thought, here comes the sun – and it’s alright.