Three weeks later...

*Hattie* 

I sit alone in a rocking chair on the Monroes' porch, which seems to creak in rhythm with the cicadas. My dress is stained with blue juice and dirt. Charlie and I spent all afternoon picking blueberries, and now she and the children are in the kitchen washing them. The sun hangs low, slipping toward the hills like it's trying to escape. How I envy it.

A thousand memories from home drift through my mind like the songs I heard on the ...