Frankie turned the truck off the main road on to a dirt track. Passing crop fields, she
sped towards the barren land ahead of her. Different now, but still familiar. Half a
mile away, a combine harvester was chewing its way across a field. There was
nothing else to see but the cloud of dry dirt following the truck. The house eventually came into sight. Its apparent closeness always fooled newcomers, but Frankie knew the journey would take her another ten minutes.
Meg had seen the truck. She didn’t recognise it and figured it must be Frankie. She was back out on the porch with two glasses of lemonade by the time Frankie got to the yard.
“That’s a good sign,” said Frankie. “Harvester in the north field. Who’ve you got
“It’s Rayburn’s field now. Sold it to him six months ago.”
“Well, he’s wanted it long enough.”
“Yeah, Rayburn always gets what he wants eventually.” Meg spat the poison from
Frankie was tempted by the porch chair and the lemonade, but stayed standing.
"This is the last time Meg."
Meg continued to move gently on the porch swing.
"I mean it. I won’t keep doing this." Frankie took the newborn from the makeshift crib,
and Meg stilled the swing.
Frankie's truck started with a roar. Meg watched the cloud of dust travel back down
the dirt road. When it disappeared, she let the swing move again.
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Excuse the tapas ;)