No Place Like Home

He pushed open the screen door with his elbow, in his other hand carried two beers. Slowly, he made his way down the wooden steps of the back porch towards a large oak tree in the back yard. She sat with her back to him, gently swaying in the swing attached to that large stately oak tree. Still in her funeral black dress from earlier in the day. Her shoes kicked off to the side. Her toes dirtied in that earthy worn out spot beneath her. Her feet traced circles in the dirt as she went back and forth on the swing. It was a hot Texas summer evening.

A slight breeze kicked up, rustling through the leaves. Her hair loosely gathered up, wearing her mother’s pearls and that familiar charm bracelet with her initials... “E. M."... for Ellen Montgomery. Now twisting around, she laid eyes on him and smiled. Stepping to her, he handed her a dressed beer and said, “Figured you could use one of these...”

“Well hello Tre’,” she said as she took the beer from him. “Thank you, you always did have a way with knowing what I need.”

She winked at him. It had been along time since anyone had called him Tre’. His name was actually William Ingram the third... she had always called him Tre since they were little kids. Her family owning several cattle ranches, his family owning the adjacent oil fields. Their fathers being best friends. Two large families of boys, a deep lineage of strong proud Texan men... until she was born. The youngest between both families and the only girl. He was one of four boys, she was the youngest of six.

“You doing okay?” he said. He was glad to see her home but was sorry it was her fathers passing that brought her home. He propped himself at the base of the tree as she slowly swung by him.

She leaned backwards and pushed off again. Hair falling in the evening breeze. He could see a tear rolling off her cheek.

“Feel like my father was the only man that ever truly understood me...” she said.

“He wasn’t the only man...” he said.

Though now forty, she was still the girl he had fallen in love with years and years ago. He was immediately transported in time to the summers of their youth. He was home from college, she was still in high school, and he fell in love with her. She was no longer that odd girl with unruly hair who spent way too much time in the barn. She had grown into a rare, intoxicating creature.

He remembered late summer nights out by the lake. Her wet, naked skin and how he’d trace her name on her bare back, beads of water running off her curves. How she would roll over completely exposed, young athletic supple body, reach for him, kiss him, put his hand between her legs with an insatiable appetite for all things sexual and dirty. How she would beg him to taste her.

He could feel the pace of his heart kick up reliving the vivid memories. He was reminded that sometimes home isn't a specific place, but sometimes, home is a person in a certain place. And he couldn’t help but feel like everything he had ever lost and said goodbye to had returned when she did... she was home.

——

“We should go for a swim...” she says with a twinkle in her eye.