“Hi,” I said, stepping inside. The smell of cooking met me. “I think we spoke on the phone. We’re checking in. Grace and Jack.”

“My God.” He examined me, his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl.”

I smiled awkwardly. “I know, it’s been a while.”

“How’re your grandparents?” he asked, his grey moustache moving as he spoke.

“Oh, um,” I hesitated. “They’re dead.”

His eyes remained fixed on me. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.” I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, tugging at the ends of my braids. “We all have to go sometime, though, I guess.”

He nodded, and continued nodding for what felt like a little too long. “Well, I know you’re here now. You can come pay when you leave.” He dug in the pockets of his overalls until, finding what he was looking for, he extended his hand to me. “Here’s a key, but the door is always open. You know where I’ll be if you need anything.”

“Great, thank you,” I replied.

“Nice to see you back here, Grace,” he said as I turned to leave. “I’m sure you’ll see that not much has changed.”

I could hear a muffled television in the next room, the pulsating glow spilling through the open door. Someone sat in a recliner, their back to us. I knew they were listening to every word we said.

“It’s good to be back.” My palms had begun to dampen. I wiped them on the back of my dress before reaching for the door handle.

I rushed through the grass, back toward the house—toward Jack—with a sense of urgency. I thought of my grandparents, how they had loved this place. We would come here every summer, playing board games in the evening, or watching old movies on VHS, then in the mornings, listening to Billy Joel on the radio over pancakes and fried eggs that had been freshly laid.

“Hey,” Jack called as I entered the house. “I turned on the barbecue. Want to sit outside?”

“Definitely.” I walked into the kitchen and wrapped my arms around him, feeling much more at ease.

The mist lifted, leaving us with a clear, warm, and deeply blue summer evening. It was still, perfectly so, the air heavy and threatening, as if a storm were brewing. I could sense the impending electricity of thunder and lightning. The chickens had returned to their coop, but their occasional clucking and purring was still audible. The moon was low and brilliantly white. It seemed only a high jump away.

Jack and I had settled on the swinging wicker lawn chair just outside the front door, the smell from the charcoal barbecue lingering. I opened two beers, passing one to Jack as I sat in his lap, kissing him on the neck between sips. “I love this place.”

His fingers moved along my thigh. “Me too.”

We stayed outdoors until it was dark. The still country air invigorated a sense of rebellion in me, as though I were a child again.