Page 561 of End Game

Same church three blocks from their house.

Same park where Aunt Rachel used to meet Mom with all of us during summer break because neither woman apparently believed children required indoor air conditioning.

I stop at the red light across from the park and glance toward the playground.

For a second, I see Hannah hanging upside down from the monkey bars.

Caleb chasing me with a water gun.

Eli was small enough that Aunt Rachel still had to push him in the baby swing.

Elijah.

Never Eli to the adults.

A name from a prophet should apparently be used in full.

He's eighteen now.

That feels impossible.

The light turns green, and I keep driving.

My parents' street is lined with trees old enough to arch over the road. Dad has complained about the roots every spring for as long as he's lived here.

Their porch light is on when I pull in.

Mom knows I'm coming.

I texted this morning and asked if they would both be home tonight because I was going to stop by real quick.

Nothing else.

I didn't want them preparing.

Didn't want Aunt Rachel showing up.

Didn't want Mom spending six hours imagining emergencies.

I especially didn't want Dad opening a Bible before I had even spoken.

The porch looks exactly the same.

Same heavy planter Mom changes every season.

Same brass house numbers Dad insists don't need replacing even though the seven hangs slightly crooked now.

I stand outside longer than necessary.

Finally, I knock.

Mom opens the door.

Her smile is immediate. “Hey, honey.”

There is no hesitation when she hugs me.

I close my eyes.