It was a clear night, the moon gold and orange, the leaves hugging my house starting to turn butter yellow and scarlet red. We drove out to Tory’s ex-home. I took my dull gray car and Tory took her car, a Porsche like Grandma’s, in case Lacey became tired and needed to leave. Tory’s home is on an acre plot in the country with white flowering cherry trees lining a long drive to the front door. Her ex, Scotty, was not home, but he would be in a few hours. He was on a business trip and his plane was arriving late. Tory’s yellow home with white gingerbread trim all over, the one she’d slammed out of months ago, was true country style, down to the white picket fence. A white deck surrounded the front of the house, with five rocking chairs and a porch swing. She had a polygonal tower, a red front door with a glass oval cut out in the middle, and three dormer windows. We squished into Tory’s Porsche in the driveway as she declared, “I hate Scotty.” I held her hand. “It was Scotty who wanted to live in the country.
What do You think about If You Could See What I See?
