Something is Missing

It had been twenty-four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. Although in recent years, the white paint had started peeling off the wooden siding. Not to mention the shingles that had come loose in the latest storm. And of course, the weeds had nearly consumed both the flowerbed and the gravel driveway. But looking beyond all those ravages of time, Carrie could still see the house as it once was: the home her grandparents had built as newlyweds.

She stands now at the corner of the yard, facing the old house. The wind shifts. The leaves on the oak tree swish together, applauding her return. The sweet scent of the blooming rosebush fills the air, awakening Carrie's memory. All those years ago, she had walked through the yard with Grandma, helping her pick flowers to put on the kitchen table. Carrie smiles at the recollection.

As if a dam had broken, a tidal wave of memories washes over her, sending her careening back through time. All those times she had climbed the old apple tree, while the branches creaked and swayed under her feet. The day she listened to the mewling of the kittens that were born in the back corner of the barn. Catching fireflies while Grandma sat on the porch swing, its chains squeaking in the quiet night air. Sitting on Grandpa's lap, the tractor's engine rumbling beneath them, as Grandpa drove out into the field.

The memories are beautiful, of course. But one thought keeps running through her head, putting a damper on the happy musings: something is missing.

Carrie's mind jerks back to the present as something presses against her ankle. She looks down at a gray cat, weaving figure eights between her feet. His purrs vibrate against her legs. She reaches down to scratch the soft fur behind his ears. The rumble of his purrs grow louder until the feline decides he's had enough attention and meanders away.

Straightening herself up, she inhales the fresh air. The pleasant aroma of flowers, trees, grass, and earth is tinged with just a hint of manure. On the other side of the dirt road, the cows low, and she wonders if they've just caught her scent too. Most people would find the cows' presence to be off-putting. But to her, they just bring more memories of peaceful childhood summers. She waves hello to the herd of Holsteins. They "hel-low" in return, and she giggles at her own silly thought. But once again, the smile fades at the notion: something is missing.

Finally, she turns back toward the house. When her grandparents had died, all those years ago, the house had been passed to her uncle. Then whenever he'd passed away three years ago, the house became Carrie's. Ever since, it has sat abandoned while she's planned and saved for the day when she could restore it to its former glory. Now, it's time to get to work.

Her footfalls are barely audible as she moves across the porch's concrete floor. She tugs the handle of the screen door. The disused hinges whine in protest, startling a bird out from the rafters. Carrie turns just in time to see its brown wings disappear around the sun-drenched side of the house. Add "oil the hinges" and "bird nest removal" to the to-do list, she thinks.

A cluster of metal keys jingle as she pulls them from her pocket. She slides the metal pieces between her fingers without looking, challenging herself to feel out that single oddly-shaped one. A moment later, she grins. She's found it, that unique key with the triangular bow. She slides it into the lock, grips the triangle-shaped end, and twists. It takes a bit of effort (better add "fix the sticky lock" to the list), but the lock finally disengages.

Carrie twists the knob. The wooden door swings open and she steps inside. The screen door, screeching its way forward, slams against the frame. She jumps at the sudden noise and goes face-first through a cobweb. She flails helplessly at the invisible strings, stumbling backwards into the doorframe. The abrupt contact launches a plume of dust, which sends Carrie into a coughing fit.

Eventually, the chaos dissipates, the coughing fades away, and Carrie manages to pull the last of the spiderwebs from her skin. She places a hand across her pounding heart. Her face grows warm as she thinks about the sight that must've been. Thank heavens no one was around to witness it! She chuckles at the mental image.

As her heartrate returns to normal, she takes a look around the room. Her face falls. It's not due to the thick layer of dust or the bevy of spiders that have made themselves at home. And it's not due to the dead plants hanging by the window or the moth-eaten curtains. She had expected all those things. It's the thought that keeps niggling at the back of her mind: something is missing. She shoos the idea away and gives herself a shake. There's too much to do right now, she'll figure out whatever's missing later.

For the next year, every spare second goes toward revitalizing the house. Workers come to repair the roof and the siding and the cracked windows. Carrie pulls weeds from the flowerbed until the irises rest their colorful heads against the walls. She polishes the family photographs and adds more of her own. New curtains are hung and fresh plants are placed in the windowsills.

At last, the work is complete. The place swells with new life. Carrie stands at the corner of the yard, admiring the changes. The wind shifts and the birds sing a cheerful tune in celebration of a job well done. Carrie smiles at the finished product of her labor of love. Still, the little voice in her head tells her: something is missing. Burying the thought down deep, she forces the smile to remain on her face. Company will be here soon! Then, she heads inside to get ready.

As Carrie pulls the cookies from the oven, she hears the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway. She sets the sheet down and hurries to the door. At the sight of her daughter and grandsons climbing out of the car, her face lights up. Her heart feels near to bursting at the sight of her loved ones. She beams at them and realizes that this must've been how her own grandparents had felt when she'd visited. She realizes that this is what was missing. This feeling of joy and love, this is what made her grandparents' house a home.

The joy and love had returned to that precious place again. This time, they were hers to share with her own children and grandchildren. And that was all that mattered.