By Marjorie Valès-Thedford
It was just my husband and me when I moved to Beacon in 2006. No children yet. I was an avid runner back then: the kind who logged recovery miles before church and thought stuffing a house key into my waistband was a solid system.
One Sunday morning, I returned home sweaty, hungry, and locked out. The key was gone!
This was before GPS watches or location sharing. So, I wandered Main Street looking for a phone. BJ’s Restaurant was open, and Miss Barbara was alone in the kitchen prepping for the after-church crowd. I told her my story, and she pointed me to the phone behind the counter.
When my husband didn’t answer, she looked me over and said, “Well then, go wash up. I can use you.”
A borrowed apron later, I was taking orders and refilling coffee. By the time my husband arrived, Beacon no longer felt like a place I’d just moved to. It felt like home.