Chapter 20 - The Sweetest SoundOn a cool, clear Sunday evening in November, I returned home from a weekend design trip to Sedona.
I unlocked the smart deadbolt of my father’s craftsman house with a soft electronic chime, set my leather overnight bag in the entryway, and turned on the warm accent lamps scattered across the living room.
The house was spotless, warm, and fragrant with the rich scent of dried lavender and fresh cedar. Chief Miller’s daughter, Sarah, who had been babysitting Maya, greeted me with a warm hug before heading home to her family.
I walked up the creaking wooden stairs to Maya’s nursery. My two-year-old daughter was fast asleep in her crib, her soft dark curls spread across the mattress, her tiny chest rising and falling in deep, peaceful slumber. I leaned over, kissed her warm forehead softly, and whispered, "I love you, sweetie."
I walked back downstairs to the quiet kitchen, made a hot cup of chamomile tea, and walked over to the mahogany clock hanging above the pantry door.
I opened the delicate wooden side door of the clock, pulled out the hidden storage compartment, and picked up my father's old leather-bound journal.
I turned to the very last blank page, pulled out a fine-point pen, and wrote:
Thirty-two today.
Maya is safe. The house is ours. The future is bright.
Your shelter stands unbroken, Dad. The account is balanced.
I closed the journal, placed it carefully back into the hidden compartment, and shut the wooden door with a soft, satisfying click.
I walked out onto the wrap-around white porch with my warm mug, leaning against the sturdy wooden railing that my father had hand-sanded decades ago. The autumn stars stretched out across the dark Arizona sky, bright and endless.
May you like
I smiled, took a slow sip of tea, and listened to the sweetest sound in the entire world:
The perfect, unbroken quiet of my own home.
