Short Story - I’m Home
They arrived in spring.
I was already old when the Grady’s first opened my doors. Joe Grady carried Maggie over my worn threshold. It felt so good to be Home again.
Maggie dashed from room to room, throwing open my doors and ducking her head inside, only to turn and run to the next room and do the same. Joe chased her, laughing at the delighted giggles that erupted each time she discovered a new space.
She ran to my back door and, after a breathless pause, stepped out and onto the grass, taking in the soft greens, the vibrant whites, and the subtle pinks of the garden, the lilting song of the fairy wrens with their cornflower helmets, and the scent of the flowers warmed by the sun, elements of paradise in the middle of town. A refuge of which I was particularly proud. The warm breeze carried tendrils of sweet orange blossom into my stuffy rooms through my back door, left open and forgotten as the two explored.
They soon came back inside and headed into my kitchen. As Maggie began unpacking boxes, setting out the toaster and unwrapping crockery, piling the newspaper on the scarred linoleum in the corner, Joe grabbed a couple of glasses and filled them with juice from the refrigerator.
‘I can’t believe we’re here,’ said Maggie.
‘I know the place is a bit run down but –’
‘Oh no, it’s perfect.’ Maggie waved away his concern with a flick of her wrist.
I would have been offended at being called run down if Joe didn’t have such a look of love on his face as he scanned my dated kitchen.
I felt a shift in my joists. These two would bring freshness and life to me again. And if I’m honest I was a bit run down, hadn’t had so much as a coat of paint in decades.
Joe put his arms around Maggie and pulled her close.
‘I’ll have it fixed up before you know it, Mags. It’ll be everything you want.’
‘You mean we’ll fix it up. You married a capable woman you know.’
‘Capable huh? Hmm I’m not so sure,’ said Joe with a cheeky grin that would become so familiar to me.
‘I’ll show you capable,’ said Maggie.
She slipped out of Joe’s arms and pulled him out of my kitchen, along the dim hallway and into my parlour. The sagging lounge was shoved haphazard into the middle of the room and a scratched and stained coffee table hid behind the door.
Maggie lay back on the lounge, her strawberry blond hair spread like spider-silk over the floral cushions. She drew Joe’s solid frame down with her, pulling at his clothes and twining their limbs together.
As their pleasure grew, I retreated up and into my eaves. The faded red roses on the wallpaper in my upstairs bathroom bloomed bright as the day it was hung.