can only see the good times and hear the laughter we shared. And there was a lot of it. The first summer, after Mia left, John took Holden and me to one of his poker nights with a bunch of his friends. They were all old, like John. It was at Philip’s house, his friend who took him to Tennessee, and man, Philip was something else. He told Holden and me about his days in the military and all the women he’d “nailed” from his uniform alone. Swear, Holden considered enlisting just on that fact alone. The best, or maybe worst, part was John had bought homemade grappa. Fifty percent alcohol. He made me promise I wouldn’t tell my dad and made Holden do the same. It didn’t end well. Poor Philip probably still has remnants of my puke, as well as Holden’s, in his bathroom. I don’t think I ever saw a deck of cards once.
As I get into my truck in the underground garage and press my keycard to the gate access panel, memories of John invade my mind, causing my heart to fill with the heaviness of grief. I get out onto the road, and the afternoon sun blazes through my irises. I drop the visor, and that’s when I see it, the picture of the water tower Mia had given me. It’s my reminder, my reason. If I turn right, I’ll be home.
I flick on the blinker.
And I turn left.
It takes an hour and a half to see the Welcome sign, the population now 208. This time, I don’t make up stories of births or immigrants finding a new home. I feel like a stranger here, and I don’t think I have the right. I pass green pasture after pasture until I pass Holden’s dad’s driveway and keep going. When the familiar, aged wooden fence comes into view, I smile. I can’t help it. I slow when I see the house, my grin getting wider when I realize nothing has changed. Mia didn’t mention who lives here now, and I know she flew in from New York, so I know she doesn’t. The house and the surroundings are kept, so I assume someone is either occupying it, or Mia’s dad is paying for someone to keep it this way. I don’t know what I’d prefer. Not that it matters. There are no trucks in the driveway, and all the curtains are drawn, so I risk pulling in, just to… I don’t know… look around? The first thing I notice is the porch, of course, and it’s exactly how I left it, how I made it.
I climb out of the truck and stretch my back, noticing the tire swing that has Mia and Holden’s names etched into the rubber. Then I make my way to the porch and climb the steps, light on my feet. I check out the carved letters on the railings. Everything is the same, even the air that fills my lungs, expanding them for what feels like the first time since Mia showed up at my house. The porch swing is still here, but the rocking chairs aren’t. On the railing, there are a bunch of rocks, all different shapes and sizes, and I wonder why and how they got there. I don’t have a lot of time to consider this before a flash of blue floats through my vision—a woman’s walking around the side of the house in a long, light blue dress. A straw hat covers her head, gardening gloves on her hands. I grimace because I didn’t think anyone would be here, and now I have to explain why I’m standing on the porch, practically looking through the windows. “Can I help you?” she asks, and she has gardening shears in her hand. She doesn’t look scared, though. Not even worried. She’s smiling. Weird. She stops at the bottom of the porch, looking up at me. At my silence, she stands a little taller and looks around. “Are you lost?”
I shake my head, find my voice. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I, uh…” What the hell do I say? “I used to know the man who lived here, and I—”
“You knew John?” Her eyes twinkle at the mention of his name.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her gaze drops then, and then moves back up as she sets the shears on the bottom step of the porch. She removes her gloves and sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, but John’s no longer with us.”