CHAPTER FOUR – LOST BUSINESS

The bell above the door chimed cheerfully, a stark contrast to the stunned silence that followed. Rebecca turned slowly, her heart sinking as she saw the looks of shock and disappointment on her parents' faces. "Rebecca," her father said, his voice low and controlled. "What happened here?" She opened her mouth to explain, but the words seemed to stick in her throat. "I... there was an accident with the milk delivery. I was trying to clean it up, but..." Her mother's eyes swept over the scene – the puddles of milk, the scattered towels, the overturned baking sheets. "This is unacceptable, Rebecca. We trusted you with one simple task." "I'm sorry," Rebecca said, hating how small her voice sounded. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I was trying to fix it before you got back." Her father shook his head. "That's not the point, Rebecca. The point is that this happened at all. Your carelessness could have cost us an entire day's worth of milk, not to mention the potential damage to our equipment." "But it was an accident!" Rebecca protested. "The crate was heavier than I expected, and—" "Enough excuses," her mother cut in. "This is exactly what we were talking about yesterday. You need to take your responsibilities seriously. This isn't a game, Rebecca. This is our livelihood." Rebecca felt a familiar mix of guilt and resentment bubbling up inside her. "I know it's not a game. I was doing my best to handle it on my own." "Your best?" her father echoed. "Rebecca, if this is your best, then we have some serious thinking to do about your future role in this bakery." The words hit Rebecca like a physical blow. She knew her parents were disappointed in her, but to hear them question her place in the family business... it hurt more than she expected. "I'll clean it up," she said quietly. "I'll stay late and make sure everything's ready for tomorrow. I promise I'll do better." Her parents exchanged a look, and Rebecca could see the weariness in their eyes. Finally, her mother nodded. "See that you do," she said. "We'll help you clean this mess, but after that, you'll be responsible for prepping everything for tomorrow's bake. And Rebecca?" "Yes?" "No more accidents. No more childish behavior. It's time you grew up and accepted your responsibilities. Understood?" Rebecca nodded, swallowing hard. "Understood." As they set about cleaning up the milk-soaked floor, Rebecca's mind raced. She knew her parents were right – she had messed up, and there were consequences to her actions. But a part of her rebelled against the harshness of their words, the weight of their expectations. She thought about the flour fight with Nancy, about the brief moment of joy and connection they had shared. Was it really so wrong to want moments like that in her life? To find happiness and laughter amidst the daily grind of work and duty? As she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn milk stain, Rebecca made a silent vow to herself. She would try harder to meet her parents' expectations, to be the responsible daughter they wanted her to be. But she wouldn't let go of her dreams, her desire for something more than this small-town life. The bakery buzzed with activity, the morning rush in full swing as customers lined up for their daily bread and pastries. Rebecca stood at her station, her hands deep in a large bowl of dough. She was supposed to be preparing a substantial batch of bread for the day's sales, but her mind was elsewhere. As she kneaded the dough, Rebecca found herself daydreaming about her next clandestine meeting with her friends. She imagined the thrill of sneaking out, the cool night air on her face as she ran through the quiet streets of Gilda's Bay. In her mind's eye, she could see the old oak tree by the lake, its gnarled branches reaching out over the water... "Rebecca!" Her mother's sharp voice cut through her reverie. "How's that dough coming along?" Rebecca blinked, forcing herself back to reality. "Almost done, Mom," she called back, giving the dough a few more perfunctory kneads before setting it aside to rise. As the morning wore on, Rebecca found herself constantly distracted. She mixed ingredients on autopilot, her thoughts drifting to the Japanese poem Ms. Watanabe had taught her last week, or to the novel she'd smuggled home from the library and hidden under her mattress. It wasn't until several hours later, as she was pulling the first loaves from the oven, that Rebecca realized something was terribly wrong. The bread was flat. Not just a little flat, but completely and utterly flat, like thick, misshapen crackers. Rebecca stared at the tray in disbelief, her stomach sinking as she realized what had happened. She'd forgotten the yeast. "Oh no, oh no, oh no," she muttered, frantically checking the other loaves. All the same. An entire batch of bread, ruined. "Rebecca?" Her father's voice made her jump. "Are those loaves ready? We've got customers waiting." Rebecca turned, trying to block the view of the ruined bread with her body. "Um, they're not quite... I mean, I think I might have..." But it was too late. Malcolm had already seen the flat loaves. His expression darkened as he stepped closer to inspect the damage. "Rebecca," he said, his voice low and controlled, "what happened here?" She swallowed hard. "I... I think I forgot to add the yeast." "You think?" Malcolm picked up one of the flat loaves, turning it over in his hands. "Rebecca, how could you make such a basic mistake? We've been over the bread recipe a hundred times!" "I'm sorry," Rebecca stammered, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "I got distracted, and I—" "Distracted?" Her mother's voice joined the conversation as Catherine entered the kitchen. "Rebecca, we've talked about this. When you're working, you need to focus on the task at hand." Rebecca nodded, fighting back tears of frustration. "I know, I'm sorry. I'll fix it, I promise." But the damage was already done. As the morning progressed, customers who had come expecting their usual fresh bread left disappointed. Rebecca could hear the murmurs of discontent, the questioning looks cast towards the empty bread shelves. "I can't believe the Harrison's are out of bread," one regular customer complained loudly. "They've never let us down before." Each comment felt like a personal jab to Rebecca. She worked frantically to prepare a new batch of dough, this time double-checking that she added the yeast. But bread takes time to rise and bake, and the morning's business was already lost.