CHAPTER THREE ╱
Home Is Where The Heart Is

Crossing the Chatham County lines charged my blood with both anguish and relief. Relief, because love is all-consuming when at home. Anguish, because of the circumstances surrounding my return. It all just feels pathetically ironic.

Pearl has been crooning most of the ride, belting Linda Ronstadt lyrics at the top of her little lungs.  I smile softly to myself, my earthly eyes darting up toward the rear view mirror just in time to capture her clutching the dainty cross necklace hung loosely around her neck, eyes that mirror my own pressed shut, and her mouth agape. Her expression exudes passion with a voice to match her fervor.

Shaking my head, a smile still etched into my lips, I loosen the grip of my right hand around the steering wheel. I prop my left elbow against the door. My head slacks against my open palm.

Carved into a sizable slab of pine wood painted a bright shade of teal, a sea oat ornamenting the cursive lettering off to the side, the "Welcome to Graceland!" sign emerges.

My stomach lurches as well as my Volvo.

"C'mon, old girl, don't give out on me now." I murmur and luckily she doesn't concede, instead puttering along through downtown Graceland.

Nothing has changed. Miller's Hardware is still up and running, farmhands filtering in to gather supplies, local mechanics as well. I can discern between the two by the varying oil stains and Stetson hats.

Mira's Diner is closing up for the evening. Mirabel Bowers turns the sign, her eyes flicking up to mine. A smile stretches across her lips, stained a bright hue of red, fingernails to match. Her eyes, the shade of the sea, twinkle and crease around the rim. I smile back, perusing my hickory lenses over to the vacant building across the street from Mira's.

Driscoll Supply & General. The sign is still the same, bleeding green and rotting around the edges. A sad song belts from the speaker. A country twinge is evident in the crooning voice and I find myself sighing wistfully.

"Grandpa! Grandpa!"

"Hey there, pumpkin'!"

I can feel his arms absorb me, even still. That pine scent whisks through my nostrils as if the air conditioner is rippling his flannel in the passenger's seat. I look just to be sure he isn't there. He isn't, of course.

Still puttering down the familiar street, I bypass Ford & Son's, a local auto shop run by Ruthie's current boyfriend, Austin Ford, and his father, Walter Ford. A few more miles and I finally hone in the partially graveled entrance of Leanna Lou Lane, an homage to my late great-great grandmother on my mama's side. Leanna Lou was my grandpa's mama. Legend says she was the sweetest woman in the whole state of Georgia, some swear the entire Eastern Seaboard, and that her apple pies were otherworldly.

            My stomach gurgles. God, I'm starving! I shimmy the window downward to input the gate code, only to find the metal barrier snapped open.

            Waiting for me.

            The tires of my Volvo bump along a paved lane. Veering off the fork in the road, I hang a left. The car plows forward, hurling along until my childhood home takes shape. I exhale a breath, taking everything in like I'll never see it again.

            I ease the car up the drive and settle the engine. Slouching against the driver's side seat, I prepare myself. There's no welcome sign waiting for us and I silently extend gratitude to Ruthie, hoping she's here now so that I'm able to do it in person.

            Mama's already looping Pearl's legs around her hip by the time I rip the keys from the ignition. My favorite people fill the wraparound porch. A fresh can of white paint is smeared along the banisters, the roof still slated and gray. Willow trees act as canopies, shading every memory kept within the confines of the place I used to call home.

            A lot has changed since I'd last visited this place. Dad finally got around to cementing the driveway, but apart of me longs to feel the bumpy, gravel terrain once more. The tire swing I battled with Sawyer and August to take a turn at no longer dangles from one of the branches of Mama's beloved, and rather lonesome, sycamore tree. Left as a reminder, a single cord of rope, frayed at the edges as if it'd been torn away by the jaws of a wolf.

            Stepping out of my car, I round the hood just in time to step into Sawyer's arms. Gust is a step behind him, his long arms flailing around the two of us. I didn't expect to see my twin flame, assuming him to be miles above us, piloting a sea of strangers to God knows where. Gust grips the two of us fondly, no doubt savoring it because there's no chance it'll happen for another five years. I don't spot the look on Sawyer's face, but I know it's all scrunched up from the double dose of contact.

            A mixture of citrus, musk, and cinnamon cloud my senses as I sniffle, swiping away at my wet cheeks.

            "Oh, come on now, June Bug, don't cry." Sawyer grumbles. Of course, he isn't fond over the idea of someone hurting me enough to warrant tears, but it's mostly because they generally make him uncomfortable.

           I can feel the stiffness of his shoulders, even now. Gust counteracts, mumbling sweetly, "Let it out, Junie. Mama took Pearl inside already."

            "Do you always have to be such a twit?" Sawyer argues, his grip around me tightening as my body shakes against his, and not from sobbing as I'm sure he assumes, but from snickering.

            "You're really absorbing our British ancestry, brother."

            They act as if their indignant whispering evades my eardrums. I feel Gust's fingers glide down the braid I'd strewn together into a tangled mess. Sawyer doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to, because I know for a fact he's firing a warning shot Gust's way with cannons from those navy blue eyes of his.

            I tilt my chin upward, resting it against Sawyer's rigid chest. He peers down at me with a soft smile tugging at the ends of his dimpled cheeks. Gust's smile is a bit wider and much brighter. Through shining eyes, a grating sound departs from my lips in the shape of gladden words, "You have no idea how happy I am to see you two."