It’s late when I roll into Lavender Creek. The familiar roads stretching out in front of me like muscle memory I never lost. I have been back over the years, holidays, quick stops, but those trips never felt like this. Those trips had expiration dates.
This one doesn’t.
This time, I am home.
Mom had been waiting for me, porch light glowing as I make my way up the long gravel driveway. She pulled me into a long hug the second I stepped out of the truck. Moving back to look at me, her hands stay on my arms, thumbs brushing back and forth like she needs to confirm I am real. Her eyes search my face, like moms do when they are looking for answers without asking questions.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
The house behind her is glowing from the porch lights and the lights inside. The same curtains, same chipped railing that Dad always said he would fix. The same wind chimes sway beside the door.
It doesn’t look like anything has moved on.
“How was the drive?” she asks.
“It was long, glad it’s over.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yes, I did,” I say.
She squeezes my arms before stepping aside. “Your room is the same. I didn’t touch anything, just washed the bedsheets for you.”
“Thanks, Mom, I appreciate it.”
I follow her up the porch steps, the screen door creaks open, and the familiar scent of baked goods and laundry soap wraps around me.
I pause in the doorway.
“Is he awake?” I ask.
“He’s sleeping.”
“Does he want me here?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Mom turns fully to look at me, her expression steady.
“Honey, he never wanted you gone.”
That hits somewhere deep.
She touches my cheek, brief but grounding.
As she makes her way to bed, I take a minute before grabbing my bags to head to my room. Looking around, all the memories come flooding back.
When I’ve visited in the past, I never allowed myself to reopen my childhood memories, but now that I am back here, permanently, I can’t help but remember what I loved about home, and that makes me hopeful that this was the right decision.
Henry and Dad are already asleep. Ranch life doesn’t care about late-night arrivals, but I don’t take it personally. Mornings start early around here, always have.
I crash hard once my head hits the pillow in my old room. It has not changed much, same creaky floors, same view of the field out back, but it feels smaller, or maybe I have just grown.
Henry had built himself a cabin on the ranch a few years back. One bedroom and simple. Perfect for him. Perfect for someone who knows exactly where he belonged.
I wasn’t sure I could say the same about myself. Not yet anyway.
At breakfast, Henry fills me in on what I have missed. New shops on Main Street. A few businesses that didn’t survive. The usual small-town talk.
He shovels down eggs and coffee like he has somewhere to be, which of course he does. The ranch waits for no one.
