Page 64 of Breaking Through

"Do I want to know?"

"Let's just say he's been experimenting with sculptural pastry techniques." Her eyes danced. "And possibly defying several laws of physics in the process."

The door started to close, then opened again. "Oh! Your parents called. They're five minutes away. Your mom sounds... different. Less corporate, more..." Sarah waved her hands, searching for words. "More like someone who's finally figured out that success doesn't always wear a business suit."

Before I could respond, she disappeared back inside. On the inside, they'd covered the storefront windows with brown paper. Some light shone through, allowing me to glimpse movement on the other side. Rafe directed what appeared to be a complex operation involving multi-tiered stands.

My phone buzzed with a text from Wade:

Just finished morning session. Mike says to tell you the new participants are already asking about camera techniques. You've created art therapy monsters.

I smiled, remembering how the program had grown from tentative beginnings to a vital part of park services. Another message followed quickly:

Heading to the Bean now. Though I may need backup - Tom's threatening to have me make a speech.

I'll protect you from excessive public speaking. Though I can't promise Sarah hasn't planned something equally traumatic involving experimental baked goods.

"Holden!"

I turned to find my parents approaching, and for a moment, I didn't recognize them. Mom wore jeans and one of Gran's old hand-knit sweaters she'd found in the attic. Dad had swapped his usual tablet for a leather portfolio I recognized from Gran's art supplies.

"We brought something." Mom's voice was slightly uncertain. "It's from your grandmother's papers."

Before she could elaborate, Sarah pushed the door open. "Okay, NOW you can come in!"

They'd transformed the Little Blue Bean. Rafe's creation dominated the center of the room. It was a scale model of the park rendered entirely in spun sugar and pastry, complete with a miniature visitor center that emitted aromatic steam. Tiny sugar pine trees dusted with edible snow surrounded a chocolate version of the therapy shelter.

"We may have gotten slightly carried away." Rafe adjusted a delicate spun-sugar eagle perched atop the visitor center. "Though in my defense, Sarah kept sayingbiggerandmorespectacular,and then Tom started suggesting architectural details..."

"I merely mentioned that the shelter's roof line needed more definition," Tom protested, reaching out to steady a wavering chocolate tree. "I didn't expect you to actually calculate the exact angles in pastry form."

"Don't touch!" Sarah swatted his hand away. "That ganache hasn't fully set. Besides, you've already knocked over the north trail marker twice."

Another kind of art plastered the walls. Parker and Cole created a gallery of moments: my Polaroids interspersed with anonymous sketches from program participants, each telling part of our community's story. Next to them hung newspaper clippings and letters from families.

"The response has been incredible," Parker gestured to his laptop, where social media notifications kept appearing. "That shot of the sunrise therapy session has been shared over 200,000 times."

Cole nodded. "It's phenomenal. Those photos of Parker kissing me are far in the past." He spotted me appearing concerned. "Don't worry—we're keeping all participant information private. The focus is on the healing process, not individuals."

Mike Sullivan stood with a group of veterans near their displayed work. "The key was starting small," he explained to a newcomer. His voice had a hint of quiet authority. "Single lines leading to bigger truths, like here." He pointed at a charcoal piece showing hands reaching through darkness. "Sometimes you don't need the whole story at once."

"Watch the topographical details!" Maya shouted across the room, attempting to rescue a sugar work stream before it could collapse. "Rafe got the elevation changes perfect. He used the park's survey maps and everything."

Tom puffed his chest out proudly. "That was my idea. Though I didn't expect him to carve the watershed patterns in blue fondant."

"You try showing proper water flow without accurate elevation modeling," Rafe muttered as he piped another tiny pine tree into existence. "Artistic integrity matters, even in pastry."

Wade stood slightly apart from the chaos. I wasn't sure whether he was proud or overwhelmed. He had his Ranger uniform professionally pressed, a sure sign he was nervous about the event. When our eyes met, his tension eased slightly.

Sarah stage-whispered to me. "Your boy had been pacing outside for twenty minutes. We had to send Tom to distract him with trail maintenance reports before he wore a path in the sidewalk."

"I was reviewing documentation." The tips of Wade's ears turned red. "The quarterly numbers needed—"

"Sure they did, honey." Sarah patted his arm. "The same way I needed to make seventeen different test batches of celebration scones. Speaking of which..." She produced a plate of something that sparkled suspiciously. "These are the winners. They're dusted with platinum because some occasions demand extra sparkle."

"The platinum dust was non-negotiable," Rafe added thoughtfully. "We had a whole meeting about it."

"A meeting?" I raised an eyebrow.

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