Homecoming

The new moon has cast darkness over my home. I’ve lived here since I was a child. Sixty years ago. A home sealed with squeals, laughter and cries for mom.

I line up the cutlery and perfectly position the crystal glasses for my guests. Thirteen places. One for each. I lay out my finest plates. The bouquets of roses etched on the rims remain vivid, even after all these years. I only ever bring them out on special occasions, and when I do, I always follow mom’s advice and use a gentle detergent to wash,and a soft cloth to dry.

I step back to examine my design. The table sparkles with the promise of new life. I know my grandmother will appreciate seeing the silver-plated candle holders she left to me when she passed .

Outside, it is still and silent. I must wait for the right sign. They are not far away. The wind stirs the leaves in the yellow maple tree. I hear their voices.

I peer out the window. Shades drift down the driveway toward the house. I can see Claire. She clutches Freddie the teddy and holds mom’s hand.

I go to the bathroom. Check my reflection for the last time. Put my hair up in the style Jason likes best. I’ll show him I’m wearing the tear-drop pearl earrings he gave to me for our thirtieth wedding anniversary. My dress is simple and black; the dress I wore when I said goodbye.
Maggie appears as I open the cabinet door to take the pills from the shelf. I feel comforted by her presence. We met at college. Mom said we were inseparable until the car accident. I notice that Maggie still has a fractured skull. Seeing it reminds me of the pain I felt as I watched her take her final breath.

Time to go now , she whispers.

Maggie accompanies me to the kitchen and stands by my side while I turn on the gas. We return to the dining room, arm-in-arm; as if we had never been apart.

I pop the cork from the bottle of cabernet I’ve been saving since 1982. I pour two glasses. She jokes, and we laugh, as I wash down the pills.

At last everyone has arrived.