They reminded her of the house in the country her grandparent had lived in, in her memory the old windows had distorted the light in the same way duri...g the summer months, and the silence around her was just the same as well, nothing disturbing it for hours while she played, the treehouse of then only having grown a little bit taller as she matured. The type of games she played had also matured, as had the caliber of her rifle – and she was now even allowed to use it without permission.All in. When we arrived, Melody’s mother was sitting in the porch swing, enjoying the now cool desert night. Her hair was wet and she looked freshly bathed. She stood as we walked up the four steps to the porch and took Uncle Bert’s hand. I remember she looked flushed and happy.“You kids stay outside for a while. Mr. Wilson and I have some business to discuss,” she said, leading him into the house.Without saying anything, Melody took my hand and led me off the porch towards the hay barn. My two. More

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