Takeoffs and Landings (21 page)

Then they were turning into their own lane. Swaying above the porch, Gram's hanging flower baskets were full of blooms now, instead of mere buds. The morning glories had climbed higher on the lamppost. One of the tabby kittens tumbled down the porch steps, and he was bigger than two weeks ago, almost full grown.

Lori felt like she was seeing everything with two sets of eyes or thinking with two separate brains. Part of her was still the pretrip Lori, and part of her was—she didn't know who she was now. It was like she didn't recognize her own home anymore. Had the shutters always been such a bright shade of green? Had the weeping willow in
the front yard always been such a huge tree? Everything looked different than she remembered. And, somehow, at the same time, everything was so familiar, she felt like she'd never left.

That's what Mom meant,
Lori thought,
when she said she would never leave Pickford County.

Lori hadn't left, either. She'd just carried Pickford County around with her, everywhere she went. She understood now how that worked. She could fly to the moon and not lose Pickford County. And not lose herself.

It's ground into our souls. Like dirt,
Lori thought.

That was such a silly thing to think that she laughed out loud.

“Glad to be home?” Gram asked.

Lori looked out the window again. Somehow her two ways of seeing merged into one. She couldn't separate out her reactions anymore. She just saw.

“Yeah,” she answered Gram. “We all are.”