Page 27 of Beautifully Broken

Caleb

The bell over the door jingled when I unlocked it that morning, same as always.

That sharp little chime cut through the thick Oklahoma heat like it had somewhere to be.

The hardware store smelled like paint and sawdust—familiar, grounding.

The kind of scent that clung to your skin and said, this is where you’re rooted .

Some people hated it. I didn’t. It was steady.

Predictable. One part of my life that hadn’t unraveled.

I’d thrown on what I always did: faded jeans, a T-shirt soft from too many washes, and an old flannel I hadn’t bothered to button. My hair stuck up in places from sleep, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

Dad was out meeting a delivery near Little River, so the store was mine for the morning. Just me and the low hum of the ceiling fan, the creak of old floorboards, and a silence that should’ve felt peaceful. But today, it didn’t.

Today, the quiet had teeth.

Nate’s voice had been rattling around in my head since our last talk. "Hannah wouldn’t want you just existing, man. She’d want you living."

Living. Like that was something I still knew how to do.

I kept thinking about the reunion Emily had mentioned.

Ten years since high school. Since Hannah’s bare feet on my dash and her laugh filling up the cab of my truck.

Since nights at the creek and mornings where everything felt possible.

We were supposed to grow old together. Instead, she died two years ago on a wet stretch of highway, and I’d been standing still ever since.

The bell over the door chimed again, and I looked up to see Irene Bennett step inside.

Hannah’s and Nate's mom.

She wore a chambray shirt rolled at the sleeves, khaki pants, and sandals. Her silver-streaked hair was pinned up the same way it always had been. Seeing her still caught me off guard sometimes—how she could look so composed when I still felt like a cracked pane of glass.

"Morning, Caleb."

"Morning," I said, stepping out from behind the counter. "What can I help you with?"

"Need some paint," she said, walking slowly toward me. "Figured I’d finally redo the kitchen cabinets."

I nodded. "Still that buttery yellow?"

"Since Hannah helped me paint them." Her voice was calm, but her eyes didn’t meet mine.

I grabbed a swatch booklet and handed it to her. "You thinking light? Warm?"

"Yeah." She paused, thumbing through the pages. "Something soft. Not too different, just… a refresh."

We stood there for a beat too long.

"It’s not about forgetting," she said finally, her voice low. "It’s about finding our way to keep going. Making space doesn’t erase the memories."

I swallowed hard. There wasn’t anything I could say that wouldn’t fall flat, so I just nodded.

The bell jingled again, and sunlight followed someone in like it was drawn to her.

Emily.

She wore a sundress the color of ripe peaches, soft and summery. Her hair was down for once, falling over her shoulders in waves, and her white sneakers made her look like she’d stepped straight out of a July afternoon.

Irene lit up. "Emily, honey."

"Hi, Mrs. Bennett," Emily said, walking straight into a hug. "You look amazing."

"Look who’s talking." Irene gave her a once-over, then leaned slightly toward me. "Pretty as a peach. Don’t you think, Caleb?"

I looked.

Not just glanced— looked .

I’d seen Emily a thousand times, but something about today... the dress, the light, the ease in her laugh. It all hit at once. The swell of her hips under soft fabric. The way her smile tugged at something deep inside me. My gaze lingered too long, and guilt punched me in the gut.

Betrayal. Twice over.

To Hannah. To Emily.

Irene must’ve noticed. She reached out and patted my hand. "It’s okay to notice, Caleb. Noticing doesn’t mean forgetting."

Emily glanced between us. "Okay… what’d I walk into?"

"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just paint."

"Creamy white," Irene added. "He’s helping me choose."

"Excellent choice," Emily grinned.

"I’ll get your gallons," I said, already stepping away.

Irene followed me to the register and pulled out her card, but I waved it off. "I’ve got it."

She narrowed her eyes. "You’ll do no such thing. Put it on my tab."

I obeyed, rang her up, and handed her the receipt. She squeezed my wrist gently. "Keep going, Caleb. You don’t have to know where you’re going yet. Just don’t stop."

She left, the bell over the door jangling as it closed behind her.

Emily stood by the paint aisle, hands on her hips. "Need anything?" I asked.

"New hammer. Some nails."

"Back left. Next to the levelers."

"Thanks." She started walking, then paused. "Hey… you made up your mind about the reunion?"

My stomach twisted. "Still deciding."

She gave a half-smile. "You’ve got a week to make up your mind."

I watched her disappear down the aisle, her peach dress swaying like a memory I didn’t know I had.

I didn’t want to go. Not really. Too many people. Too many looks. Too many quiet conversations wrapped in condolences. We’re so sorry she’s gone. You doing okay?

But there would also be people I hadn’t seen in a long time. Friends who’d drifted. Parts of myself I’d lost.

Maybe Nate was right. Maybe Irene was too .

Maybe living looked different now. And maybe… maybe noticing wasn’t the same as letting go.