At 10:30 the previous night, six bright headlights washed across my front windows.
I was in the living room. Reading. A blanket on my lap. A cup of chamomile tea going cold on the side table.
I saw the lights sweep across the wall. Across my bookshelves. Across the framed photograph of the Tidewater team on the day we closed the sale.
Ezoic
Nobody drives down my road at night. Nobody drives down my road at all, unless they’re coming to see me.
And nobody comes to see me without calling.
I stepped out onto the porch.
Two vehicles in my gravel driveway.
A silver Honda Pilot I recognized. My parents’.
And a white Toyota Sienna minivan with Georgia plates. My sister’s.
Plan Family Trips
My mother climbed out first.
Sixty-four. Silver bob. A pale pink cardigan. Smiling like she’d come to deliver a birthday cake.
Ezoic
“Surprise!” she said. She opened her arms wide. “We thought we’d spend the week with you!”
