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It’s a four-hour drive from the city to my hometown. The last late summer light slipped away hours ago, and all that is left are the twinkling stars and my blinding high beams. The radio crackles and switches to a new station, the kind my dad would like. Ahead, the only stoplight in town blinks at me sleepily, coating the grocers and the diner in swaths of red light

There’s a light on upstairs when I pull into the driveway. I leave my bags in the car and let myself into the back door, the old paint cracking as it separates from the frame. I slip my shoes off by the door and hear my socks shush against the floor as I climb the stairs to my room.

 My bed is too small now, and the flannel sheets I crawl under are too warm for summer. Still, the crickets are singing that same song, and I quickly fall asleep.

 Waking up feels like a dream, feet hanging off the bed and six pairs of black doll eyes staring right at me. I get out of bed and pull a hoodie on, a garish embroidered image of the high school mascot across my chest. This door creaks too as I push it open and head down the hall. Past the bathroom, a room hides behind a chipped yellow door with a quilt square hanging in the center. I try the handle, but it doesn’t turn.

 As soon as I walk into the kitchen, my mother jumps up and pulls me into a crushing hug.

 “Bill!” She calls. “She’s home!”

 The familiar sound of my dad’s old slippers comes with another pair of arms wrapping around us.

 “Hi sweetie,” he mumbles. “Make it in all right?”

 I pull back from their hug and nod, the cool morning air settling across my still-hot cheeks.

 “The service is at 10, we’ll meet your brother there. The bus he’s taking is running late.” My mom sits down at the table and folds her hands in her lap, almost like she’s not sure what to do with herself. I join her, and my dad puts a cup of coffee and a crumbly muffin in front of me. On the mug, a picture shows off two little kids missing teeth, one with hair so blonde it seems white.

 “Thanks,” I say, the word awkward, caught somewhere behind the lump in my throat.

 I eat quickly and go upstairs to change. The dress left in my closet fits snugly, and I can’t lift my arms without it stretching. The careful stitching holds up though, and by the time I’ve pulled on my tights and shoes, it doesn’t look bad. Reaching up, I push my brown hair away from my face.

 When I go back down the stairs, my mom is waiting by the door. We step out into the bright sunlight together.

 “You know, Christopher’s mother told me he was planning on coming today,” she begins, trailing off as she turns to glance at me.

 Keeping my voice steady, I reply, “I don’t see why he wouldn’t.”

 Already my voice bends and stretches, my old accent unwieldy from going unused. After sneaking one more look at me, my mom sighs.

 “I just didn’t know how to begin. It’s so odd without her here.”

 The rest of the walk to church is quiet, both of us waiting for someone else to fill the space. The silence is broken when we reach the doors, the murmur of full pews floating out into the air.

 We open the doors and walk carefully to the front. My mom tucks herself next to my dad and seems to shrink in front of my eyes. I squeeze in between my dad and brother, whose eyes are bloodshot and sunken. College has made him broader and sharper, but he still is the same tow-headed boy I remember.

 The service is quick, but my brother sniffles through it next to me. He always was more emotional than me, but I still toy with the hem of my dress. My fingers catch on the embroidered flowers there as the preacher calls for a final prayer.

 “Lillian was a beloved friend, mother, and grandmother,” he begins. “Let us pray for her as she crosses into His Kingdom.”

 Hands clasp and heads bend, and I close my eyes and finally let her image come to my mind. Eternally bent over her sewing machine, weathered hands carding through my hair, the smell of her rosewater perfume.

 Before I know it, the church is again filled with soft noise as people stand to leave.

My family files to the door, forming a line to shake hands and accept condolences.

 The slightly surprised faces blur together, each person hiding their confusion under sympathy to quickly shake my hand. I watch them as they go, turning and muttering to each other about how long-gone they thought I was.

 I turn my face back to the line and reach out my hand. My palm meets another and I spot the crooked smile that accompanies all of my memories of this place.

 “Hey stranger,” Christopher says. “New hair.” He smirks at me, eyes tracking across my face and hand still gripping mine.

 “Thank you for coming,” I reply, shifting my eyes to look over his shoulder.

 “Of course. Family is still family.”

 I pull my hand back. “She would have wanted you to be here.”

 He tugs on his tie, a lilac one with elaborate stitching along the end. “I was hoping you might want me here as well.”

 I close my eyes for a moment and an image of Christopher bent on one knee flashes past.

 “We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, voice steady.

 “Christopher,” I whisper.

 He reaches for my hand again and gives it a quick squeeze before moving to shake my brother’s hand.

 Soon, almost everyone is gone. The only person left is the pastor, who is talking to my mom with a sincere look on his face. My brother kicks my foot.

 “That guy sucks,” he says, and I nod gratefully. “And grandma never blamed you, by the way. For leaving.”

 The pastor comes over to us and shakes our hands.

 “Your grandmother was a special person,” he says. We both nod and he grins. “I can still remember her running down the street with those blond braids flying.”

 We all laugh, and he goes back into the church. My brother wraps his arm around my mom’s shoulders and I grab onto my dad’s arm. Slowly, we walk through the streets of town.

 When we get back to the house, I hug everyone goodbye. The sheets sway on the clotheslines, the summer sun just beginning to warm them.

 “Don’t be a stranger,” my dad whispers when he pulls me in.

 My mom is next. She grips me tightly, squeezing before letting go. I hold onto her hand and she brushes a hair from my forehead.

 “Oh, honey,” she says. “She loved you a whole lot.”

 My eyes burn as I turn to my brother. He skips our usual awkward side hug for a real one, and I notice how his pants are a little too short. He lets me go and I step back from them and towards the car.

 The screen door swings shut, and I’m alone again. When I get in the car, the radio starts playing again.

 Pulling out of the driveway, the street, and the neighborhood feels easier the second time. When I’ve almost left the edges of town, the single red stoplight blinking behind me, a stupid singalong song about missing home crackles to life on the radio.

 Almost immediately, the road ahead blurs. Tears gather and my nose burns and my breaths are shaky. I grip the steering wheel harder and turn down the radio. Tears leak slowly out, but I just press my foot further into the pedal.