CHAPTER THREE – A BAD SPILL

The girls froze, turning slowly to face their mother. Catherine stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with horror as she took in the scene before her. Every surface of the kitchen was covered in a thick layer of flour, including her daughters. "Rebecca? Nancy? Explain yourselves this instant!" Rebecca and Nancy exchanged guilty glances. "We were just..." Rebecca began. "Having a bit of fun," Nancy finished lamely. Catherine's face darkened. "Fun? You call this fun? Look at this mess! The order for the festival... is it even finished?" The sisters looked at the abandoned pastries on the counter, half-formed and now dusted with a layer of airborne flour. "We... we got distracted," Rebecca admitted. "Distracted?" Catherine's voice rose. "Rebecca Harrison, I expected better from you. And Nancy, I'm surprised at you for going along with this childish behavior." Nancy hung her head. "I'm sorry, Mom. It won't happen again." But Rebecca felt a spark of defiance. "Mom, we were just—" "No, Rebecca," Catherine cut her off. "I don't want to hear your excuses. This is exactly the kind of irresponsible behavior we've been trying to correct. Do you have any idea how this reflects on our family? On our business?" Rebecca bit her lip, the warmth of the moment fading rapidly. "It's just flour, Mom. We can clean it up." "Just flour?" Catherine echoed incredulously. "This isn't about the flour, Rebecca. It's about responsibility. Duty. The values we've tried to instill in you. How can we trust you with the bakery if you treat it like a playground?" The words stung, and Rebecca felt her cheeks burning with a mixture of shame and frustration. "We work hard every day," she protested. "Can't we have a moment of fun?" Catherine's expression softened slightly, but her voice remained firm. "There's a time and place for fun, Rebecca. This isn't it. Now, both of you, clean this up immediately. And when you're done, you'll remake every single one of those pastries. I don't care if it takes all night." With that, she turned and left the kitchen, leaving Rebecca and Nancy standing in stunned silence. After a moment, Nancy sighed. "Well, I guess we'd better get started." Rebecca nodded, reaching for a broom. As they began to clean, she caught Nancy's eye and gave her a small smile. "It was fun while it lasted, though, right?" Nancy hesitated, then grinned back. "Yeah, it really was." As they worked to restore the kitchen to its former spotless state, Rebecca found herself cherishing the memory of their brief moment of carefree joy. It had been a rare break from the rigid routine of their lives, a reminder of the bond she shared with her sister beneath the layers of duty and expectation. Hours later, as they finally finished remaking the last of the pastries, Rebecca felt a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. She looked at Nancy, flour still streaking her hair, and felt a surge of affection for her sister. "Thanks for playing along," she said softly. "I know I got us in trouble, but..." Nancy nudged her gently. "Hey, it takes two to have a flour fight. And you're right, it was fun. We should try to do stuff like that more often. Maybe just... not in the bakery next time." Rebecca laughed. "Deal." As they cleaned up the last of their supplies, Rebecca found herself thinking about the day's events. Yes, they had gotten in trouble, and yes, there would probably be consequences. But for those few, flour-filled moments, she had felt truly alive and connected to her sister in a way she hadn't in years. It was a feeling she wanted to hold onto, a reminder that even in the midst of her struggle with family expectations, there were moments of joy to be found. The next morning dawned bright and early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as Rebecca arrived at the bakery. She yawned, still tired from the late night of cleaning and baking, but ready to face another day of work. As she unlocked the door, she noticed a note from her parents on the counter: "Rebecca, We've gone to pick up some supplies. A large milk delivery is scheduled for this morning. Please handle it on your own. We trust you can manage this responsibility. Mom and Dad" Rebecca sighed, running a hand through her hair. Great, another test of her reliability. She knew her parents were still upset about yesterday's flour incident, and this was probably their way of giving her a chance to prove herself. She had just finished preheating the ovens when she heard a truck pull up outside. The milk delivery was here. The delivery man, a burly fellow named Frank, greeted her with a nod. "Morning, Rebecca. Got a big order for you today. Where do you want it?" Rebecca pointed to the storage area. "Just through there, please. I'll help you unload." As they began moving the heavy crates of milk, Rebecca couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed. There were more crates than usual, and they were heavier than she expected. "Careful now," Frank warned as she struggled with a particularly large crate. "These are—" His warning came too late. Rebecca's arms gave out, and the crate slipped from her grasp. It hit the floor with a sickening crash, milk bottles shattering and sending a wave of white liquid across the tiles. "Oh no, oh no, oh no," Rebecca muttered, staring in horror at the spreading puddle. Frank winced sympathetically. "That's a shame. Want me to help clean up?" Rebecca shook her head, her mind racing. "No, no, it's fine. I can handle it. Thanks for the delivery, Frank." As Frank left, Rebecca stood frozen for a moment, panic rising in her chest. Her parents would be back soon, and she had to clean this up before they arrived. She rushed to grab mops, buckets, and towels, her heart pounding. As she began to mop frantically, she realized with growing dread that her efforts were only making things worse. The milk spread further with each swipe of the mop, creating a slippery film across the floor. "Come on, come on," she muttered, redoubling her efforts. She was so focused on the spill that she didn't notice her own feet sliding on the slick surface until it was too late. With a yelp of surprise, Rebecca felt her feet go out from under her. She landed hard on her back, knocking the wind out of her lungs and sending the mop clattering across the floor. For a moment, she lay there, staring at the ceiling and fighting back tears of frustration. This was a disaster. How could she have messed up such a simple task? Gritting her teeth, Rebecca forced herself to her feet, ignoring the ache in her back. She had to keep trying. She grabbed fresh towels and began to soak up the milk, her movements becoming more and more frantic as she heard the distant sound of a car approaching. Just as she thought she might have the worst of it under control, her foot slipped again. This time, she managed to catch herself on the counter, but not before knocking over a stack of clean baking sheets. They clattered to the floor with a deafening crash, adding to the chaos of the scene. And that was the moment her parents chose to walk in.