Come Home

Home is Calling (Ch 22)

Chapter Twenty-Two


Home is Calling


         Rose stays a week there at the house with Dad. She taught him how to used the new conveniences. Then it was time for her to go home.  Dad begged for her to stay.


         “I will be back.” She tells him. “I have to go see my family.” Then she began to cruise up the newly repaired road.


         Dad returned and went back into the house. He decided to go to the kitchen, and made him a sandwich. He grab a soda. He walked around the house looking for Blunder. “I guess that he is doing his own thing.”


         After Dad ate, “I can not stand the windows being covered.” Then he removed the curtain from the window that had once been Sara's waiting place. However, Dad did not remove the curtains from any other window. That night he waited to see Sara. She did not show up, but the words did. This time they were different. Instead of “come home”, the words were “bring her home.” Dad did not notice the difference. He turned over and went to sleep.


         Rose wasn't comfortable at home. Though it was nice to be with her family, she did not feel as though she belonged. She felt that she had left things undone at “home”. Wasn't she at home?


         She lays down beside Bob. “Hey, nice to have you back.” He says as he leans in to kiss her. It seemed as if she had not been kissed forever. She leaned into his arms. She felt herself melt with even his simple touch of her arm. She has to give in to her own lusts. They sank into the bed holding each other. His hands ran over her arms, his lips kiss her neck, and then he was removing her night gown.


         This was the beginning of a whimsical night of love. Rose loved Bob, but something was telling her that this night would be their last night enjoying each other in this manner. She shrugged the feeling away. It was just a thought that came from being away from home for so long.


         Three o'clock, Rose opens her eyes to see “come home” printed on her bedroom mirror. She gets up and tries to wash it off. It went away. Waking up, Rose was sure if the writing was real or just a dream. She looks over to the other side of the bed. Bod was already gone to work. A rose was on his pillow with a simple not. “You still make my heart beat fast”. Rose smiles.


         Rose tries to keep busy until her family came home. However, she could not get Dad out of her mind. She had to do something. She went grabbed her purse. She climbs into her pickup, and off to Dad's she went.


         She arrived there about noon. Dad was walking around the property looking for berries. We all used to enjoy eating the berries right from the bucket. Dad was making home-made wine. She remembered trying to do the same as a teenager. All she had created was a stagnated molding berries.


         “Are those for me?” She asked as she pulled into the yard. “You know how I love those berries.”


         “Of course,” Dad replies.


         “I told you that I would be back to check on you.” She says.


         The two of them spent the evening fishing and hunting berries. It was nice to feel close to the man that she had spent her life trying to impress. Fish after fish found their hook that evening. Rose baited her own hook. Removed the fish as if she were Dad's son instead of his middle daughter. When they brought the catch home, Rose grabbed one fish after another. Picked them up with their lower lips. They put them one by one on the newspaper. She gut them right behind the first fin. Cut down the belly to the rectum. Her bloody hands pulled out the intestines. Then she listens to the neck break as she twists the head off.


         Dad watched my sister batter the fish and fry it in lard. My dad loved lard. He didn't eat if you used butter or oil. Rose fixed Dad a plate of fish and fried potatoes. Dad poured each of them a glass of half fermented berry wine. Rose, goes to her old bedroom. Climbing in between the new bedding. She felt at home this is where she belonged. That night Rose was so happy. She dreamed about being a little girl running and climbing the trees by the road.


         The next morning Rose thought it would be easy to leave. She told Dad that she would be back to help out in a few days. When she passed the graveyard, She pulls the car over to the wide spot that Timothy had created in case family ever remembered to visit.


         She walks through the elementary. She found herself standing at the foot of Sara's feet. Rose knew that Sara had to be lonely waiting to be reunited with her children. Rose lost track of time. “Oh my,” she thinks out loud. “I guess that I should just go back to Dad's because it is so late, and go home tomorrow morning.”


         That night Rose looked through the bedroom door. There in the window that Dad had uncovered was Sara. Rose just looked at her for a minute. She realized that Sis and Less were always telling the truth. Sara looks back at Rose. She smiled as if to say welcome home. Then Rose slipped back off to sleep.


         The next morning there were no words on the glass. IT was as clean as when the window was installed. Rose made coffee for her and Dad. Then she went on doing chores around the house. “I'll just do a few things, and then I'll be on my way.” She tells herself.


         She was happier than she had been for a very long time. She was not going back to her family. She just did not know it yet. Minutes passed quickly to hours. Hours flashed into days. Days was soon weeks. Rose had not realized how long that she had been across the river with Dad.


         Rose had found home with the lose of what home should be. Her husband had tried to contact her, but there was no signal where she was. He sent Timothy with word that he needed her home. The children missed her. Rose did not try to contact her family.


         So her life was falling a part. She could not feel it. She was home. Her family was no more than strangers to her. She was with her dad who she had tried to earn his respect. She was not going any where. She was where she belonged. She was home.

















My words are ways to leave peices of myself behind for my children.

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