Epilogue

Fifteen years after that fateful day, I'm standing on a porch.

It's quite a picturesque scene.  The porch is trimmed in white; the boards beneath my feet are a weathered brown.  There's a swing to my right; it's covered with those atrocious plastic-coated patio cushions.  The chains creak as the chair sways in the light breeze.  To my left is an array of potted plants.  Some are indigenous to this region; most are not.  It's been quite a fight to keep them alive during the harsh winters.

In front of me, beyond the white picket fence, is only grass, grasses of brown and hazel, amber and gold.  They stretch for approximately seven miles before the earth curves too much for me to see any further.  The horizon there blurs almost seamlessly with the sunset of saffron and fuchsia: a promenade of fire in the sky.

Sometimes, I can still hear the gunshots.

Sometimes, I still hear the sounds of plaster, wood, and steel shuddering around me as everything that was my world collapsed around me.

Sometimes, I can still feel his breath lingering on my skin.

Sometimes...

"Arienne."

A voice, deep and soft, breaks me out of my reverie.  I hear the screen door softly shut behind the speaker.  Arienne.  That's me, that's the name I chose.  My name.

He's soft around the edges, he is, my husband of ten years.  But he's strong.  I feel safe when I'm in his arms.

But his eyes, oh, his eyes.  They're brown.  Oh, they're so brown.

I can't look at them when we make love.

But there's someone accompanying him on this venture onto the porch.  It's a girl, one who is smack-dab in the middle of her teen years.  She's tall for her age, and lanky.  Barefoot.  She steps up to me, leans her head on my shoulder, slides an arm around my waist.  She's not as tall as I am, yet.  "Come inside, Mom."

Twisting, I kiss the crown of her head.  I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of her conditioner.  Her long, sleek, dark crimson hair is a stark contrast to my sun-bleached strawberry-blonde bob.  I cut it all off a few years before I got married and left it short; I couldn't stand to look at it anymore.

My husband steps around to my other side and slides his arm around my waist as well.

"Mom, is today one of those days?"

I'm thinking about the unopened letter that sits in the bottom of my desk.

I've never read it.  Maybe it's time.

She looks up at me when I nod.  Her eyes... they still shock me every time I see them.

They're a perfect shade of emerald green.