Alpine Lighthouse

A jaded man returns to his hometown, where childhood relics await…

I squirmed in the stuffy railcar, as out-of-place as my bulging travel bag in the overhead rack. Still clutching my ID from onboarding, I stared at it, trying to pierce the foggy secrets of my existence as I did so often in the mirror. Pierre Leblanc, Berlin. Thirty-two seemed as jagged and barren as the snowcapped peaks I was headed for.

The train rumbled past dull gray cities, following the river. I studied the map on the back of a pamphlet. What awaited me in my old hometown, aside from lots of Christmas lights? What about my dear friend, Genevieve?

My mind wandered back twelve years, when the world beckoned with opportunities far beyond my tiny alpine village. I reflected bitterly on the enthusiastic ambition motivating my flight from perceived captivity into the mad rush of city life. How much had I lost when I wrote Genevieve I'd found, not only a steady job, but someone to marry, to settle down with? We hadn't agreed to be sweethearts, though it lurked in the back of my mind until I met the woman I'd married.

Unfortunately, she turned out to be more looks than character. Now, after a painful divorce, I was returning to the only real home I'd ever had, avoiding Christmas in an empty apartment. I hadn't bothered letting my parents know I was coming; we'd lost touch years ago. My ex-wife had made sure I didn't maintain contact with Genevieve.

I stared out the window at drifting snowbanks, remembering the fun Genevieve and I had as kids. She always insisted I play house with her. We would haul a wagon with her doll, my teddy bear and a picnic basket up the mountain to a secret cave. There, we played for hours, using pebbles and flowers as currency for a pretend shop, of which I insisted on being the sole proprietor.

Growing older, we transitioned from playing to helping each other study. I cringed at the thought of crawling back, disillusioned and alone, asking if she's still my friend when we hadn't spoken in a decade. I yawned, deciding not to try reinitiating contact. Better to remain alone than to raise uncomfortable questions.

***

Getting off the train at my destination, my eyes scanned for changes. I inhaled clean mountain air, a far cry from Berlin's dusty smog. Sunlight streamed from a pure blue sky, outlining every detail as clearly as if clipped from cardboard. My hometown appeared unchanged: sturdy spruce trees lining cobbled streets, postcard-perfect timber lodges, and of course, red ribbons, pine garlands and a wreath on every door.

At my parents’ house, I hesitated. A Christmas tree twinkled in their front window. My sudden appearance was uncalled for, though we'd parted on good terms. I peeled off a mitten and knocked, my breath frosting in nervous puffs.

Mom answered, dusting her hands on her apron. Cinnamon and apple spice wafted behind her.

“Heavens, it's Pierre!” She threw her arms around me and hauled me inside, where a lively fire crackled in the Delft fireplace. “What's become of you? Your father talks about going to Berlin to track you down. We've missed you so.”

Dad leaped from his armchair, dropping his whittling project, eyes glowing.

“It's been a while, Son. How are you?”

“Meh… Could be worse.”

We sat around the kitchen table with Mom's fruit muffins and cider, catching up on everything. People I'd grown up with moved out, elders passed away, but life kept rolling.

“A divorce is awful over the holidays,” Dad remarked.

“Yeah.” I stared at my plate. “At least we didn't have kids.”

“You got plans for the future?”

“No… I mean, I still have my job. What else is there?”

“You considered moving back here?”

“Maybe you could marry a decent local girl and start a family,” Mom added. “It's never too late.”

I almost choked on my cider.

“No way! I'll be single forever, thanks.” I wiped my mouth and tried to laugh it off. “I don't need a woman. I'm quite happy with peace and quiet.”

Mom and Dad glanced at each other and shrugged. Dad smiled mischievously.

“You probably won't feel that way for long, Pierre.”

I stifled a groan. The last thing I needed was my parents matchmaking over Christmas. Maybe I should tell them I'm considering the monastic life. I wanted to inquire about Genevieve, but now was definitely not the right time!

***

Next morning, I ventured out to market with Mom's shopping list, a cart and a fistful of Euros, feeling like a kid again, excited to keep the family kitchen operating smoothly. Bells jangled on shop doors, buskers strummed classic carols, people shouted greetings, and the atmosphere was chaotic yet jolly. I smiled, thinking of the traffic jams, sour memories and irate strangers I'd escaped from.

At the fruit stand, I inspected imported oranges, being fussy. One tumbled off the crate, rolling away on the pavement. People chuckled, sidestepping it. One young lady stuck her foot out to stop its progress, bending to retrieve it. When she approached to replace it in the crate, her eyes searched my face with growing recognition. My heart sank at her unmistakable wavy Titian hair and blue eyes.

“Pierre! How are you?”

I hadn't heard my name in her softly lyrical voice in ten years. I glanced around for somewhere to hide while I sorted out the feelings flooding through me.

“Genevieve! Is it really you?”

“Of course,” she smiled. “I'm so glad to see you again. How's your wife?”

“Oh…” I stared down, scuffing my shoe on the cobbles. “We're divorced. Irreconcilable differences.”

Genevieve's expression saddened. She held out a hand.

“I'm sorry. Are you staying with your parents?”

“Of course. Where else?”

“Wonderful. I'll help you shop and come back with you. It's been a long while, my friend.”

“Seriously?” I stuttered. Recovering, I gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Sure. Mom would love some help. And, uh, I'd love to catch up.”

***

We spent the rest of the day working with Mom and Dad as they prepared for Christmas. Genevieve laughed and talked; I hung back, trying to avoid getting pulled into awkward conversations. I wasn't quite ready to reestablish our relationship, especially not with my parents looking to get me remarried. She was still single, writing books and doing research, as had been her dream.

On Christmas Eve, the house was a whirlwind of ornaments, tinsel and fresh-baked pies. I dreaded Mom's traditional afternoon guests, spinster ladies who would discuss my pathetic plight with her over hot chocolate and stroopwafels. I knew those acrimonious women from childhood. I could hear them talking:

“Dear me, a single man is a danger to society.”

“Quite true… I wonder if it was his fault she left?”

As it drew closer to their time of arrival, I paced back and forth, wondering where to escape to. Dad was out in the woodshop, polishing up a set of matryoshka dolls he was making as a gift. Maybe I could help? Anything to get away from an increasingly stifling atmosphere…

Someone knocked, shattering my thoughts like ice. Since Mom was busy, I answered the door. Genevieve stood, smiling, her teal velvet hooded coat setting off her rosy cheeks and hair like a fine painting.

“I thought you might like to take a walk.”

“Yeah, definitely!” I grabbed my hat and coat, and we strolled down the sidewalk together. “Anywhere you were planning to go?”

“I did have something planned,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes.

We stopped in front of her house. She went inside and came out pulling a little red wagon with a blanket draped over. I rubbed my eyes with a mittened hand.

“What's in there?”

“You'll see.”

We walked through and out of town, towards the mountains. Snow drifted across our path, wind rushing against our faces with a whistling freshness. As we climbed upwards, her wagon bumping on uneven ground, I noticed familiar landmarks: a boulder shaped like a heart, two pine trees joined at the base, a frozen pool tucked between mossy rocks.

After a half hour of hiking along the cliff side, the land widened out into a cozy clearing tucked between rock walls. Genevieve led me straight to the same cavernous opening where we used to play as kids.

“I can't believe you still know where this is,” I marveled, settling down on my favorite boulder.

She unpacked the wagon, revealing a picnic basket, a rag doll, and a teddy bear. I recognized her old doll, limp but still smiling, with a newly sewn dress. Chills rippled down my neck as Genevieve handed me the teddy bear. It was mine, the same one I'd loved as a boy and hauled up here with us many a day, still wearing Mom's hand-knit blue sweater. I stared at it, stifling the childish urge to clutch it to my chest.

“Your mom had me take care of Teddy for you. Go ahead, give him a hug.”

Genevieve deftly set a light picnic supper. Sitting at the entrance to the cave, the whole town was spread out below us like a miniature Christmas village.

“So… Why are we here?” I nibbled at a ginger snap, bitterness dissolving on my tongue.

“To rediscover peace and quiet. Is there anything you need to say?”

“I, uh…”

My mind was blank. I stroked Teddy's fur. Was it possible to recover innocence? Why bother? I could never be a kid again, playing house and shop with Genevieve, no matter how faithfully she preserved our toys.

We sat quietly for some time, savoring our meal, watching the winter sun sliding past the mountains. As the last bits of golden glow faded away and darkness settled in, lights awakened one by one in the houses and streets below, until our whole village was lit up in a patchy, twinkling constellation, as if the stars had fallen and taken up residence under snow-covered roofs.

Seeing life from such a breathtakingly removed perspective was… Well, it should have been enlightening. I still couldn't figure anything out. I looked over at Genevieve, silhouetted against a velvet violet sky, cradling her doll. How patiently she waited for me! How warmly she accepted me back! What motivated her? I gathered up my courage and asked an abrupt, simpleton question,

“Do you love me?”

She smiled and laid a hand on my knee.

“I only want the best for you, Pierre. Is that the love you're looking for?”

“I… yeah. I could use a friend like you.” I squirmed. “Ugh, that doesn't sound right!”

She laughed, a joyful sound like holiday music. I chuckled, rubbing my hands as she watched me fumbling for words.

“I mean… Can we be more than friends, Genevieve? Is that what you were waiting for all along?”

“I'm here if you need me. I don't want to rush you into anything more than what we always had.”

“I really appreciate that… And you. And… Everything. Even the bear.”

I hugged Teddy close with one arm and put the other around her shoulder, drawing her into an embrace for the first time in many years. She squeezed my hand. We sat awhile in a different kind of silence, admiring the view. As the moon rose, she slipped away and stood up, tapping my shoulder.

“Come on, let's head home.” She giggled like bells. “I think your mom's busybody friends are gone by now.”

We cleaned up our cave, packed the wagon, and set off, retracing our steps downhill. Despite the chilling wind, I was suffused with a warm glow inside, as if I'd internalized all the village lights.

My steady job in Berlin suddenly seemed dull and insignificant. I couldn't return to childhood, but I could still reclaim the heart and home I'd left behind. The woman picking her way alongside me had made sure of that.

Notes ▶︎

Words: 1987.
Written for "The Lodestar Contest" 
Prompt:


Also written for the December 2025 Official WdC Contest, Short Shots.
Prompt: image used as the cover art.