Tori was relieved to see that her husband’s pickup was not in the driveway. She knew he wouldn’t wait for her, but she was relieved nonetheless. She removed the small bag of groceries and entered the house through the side door. It occurred to her that no one ever used the front door. So strange. It wasn’t as if it was a big walk from the gravel driveway to the front of the house.

They lived in a small ranch. It had been built in the 1950s under the G.I. Bill. A number of similar developments throughout North Carolina had been built at the same time. The tobacco industry and furniture manufacturing had enticed many looking for a decent wage and a safe place to raise a family. Tori and her husband had bought the place from the son of the original owner. After his folks died, he decided to move his family to a less rural part of the state. It was a quaint, historic town, named for Brigadier General Francis Marion, a Revolutionary War hero who earned the nickname “Swamp Fox.”

Located in the Blue Ridge Mountains, it was also in the middle of nowhere and somewhere else. The scenery was beautiful, with the backdrop of the Pisgah National Forest, the highest point east of the Mississippi. For people who loved the outdoors, the hiking trails were magnificent.

It was a relatively quiet, historical town with fewer than eight thousand residents. As far as the crime rate, drunk and disorderly was commonplace, as well as domestic disturbances. When there were serious crimes, the FBI or the U.S. Marshal Service usually stepped in. For the most part, her husband’s job wasn’t dangerous. Almost boring. And so was her life. The only excitement for her was her job. Except for the occasional domestic quarrel during a divorce action, it was a relatively quiet and predictable job. For that she was thankful.

Tori put the groceries away and snatched her white bag of pastry pleasure. She clicked on the TV to watch the last of the news. Not much new. She thought they should rename it S.O.S. for “same old stuff.” She licked her fingers, savoring the buttery morsels of delight. It dawned on her that if something so small could make her feel this good, imagine how good she would feel if she could sweeten the rest of her life. She giggled. Yes, it was a pastry epiphany. Or a sugar high. She was going to be on top of her game even if she didn’t know what the game was. Yet. But she had hope. Faith. She had to remind herself that in spite of fleeing from home right after high school and having a baby at nineteen, she had a good job at a respectable law firm.