The chains that suspended the red porch swing creak as it gently sways back and forth on the veranda. For me, it's a comforting sound. I've spent many evenings with my mom on this very swing, sipping hot tea under the moonlight and talking about dreams, recipes and what the future had in store. We've witnessed the seasons change from this very swing starting from the time my feet couldn't touch the hard wood planks below me. Now I find myself numb from the events of the past week.

It's been too much. It's a nightmare I want to wake up from.

I keep telling myself, this isn't real, but unfortunately it is. And I just can't escape.

So now, I sit here in this swing and figure out what to do next. How to do it. My impulse is to call my parents, since we've always been close, but that's an impossibility now.

Now it's just me and Caleb.

Two weeks ago

"Mom, Dad, I did it! I did it! I finished, and I'll even graduate at the top of my class. Chef Pierre said I made the best chocolate cake that he'd ever eaten!" I say as I look at my parents over the computer screen, a grin breaking out on my face.

"Oh sweetheart, that's great! We are so proud of you." My father states, smiling.

"Did you use the Dauntless Cake recipe?" Asks my mother, Natalie. My warm smile matches hers.

"You know I did mom. It's the best one." I answer. I pause before I continue, "Aunt Edith told me I could stay, find work here in Paris, or she'd even help me open my own bakery. She said 'not to limit myself inside the walls of Chicago,' whatever that means," I say as I roll my eyes. My parents chuckle, looking at one another knowingly.

"Beatrice, please be respectful of your Aunt. She's been very generous with you by letting you live with her and showing you France," My mom says with a slight smile.

"I know mom. I am thankful, and I've thanked her many times. I'm just ready to be home. I've decided I want to help you and dad at the bakery. That's what I love."

"We're ready for you to be home too. I've missed my little girl," My dad gushes.

"Dad," I whine. "I'm not so little anymore. I'm twenty three years old."

"Still my baby," retorts Andrew. "Your brother said he made arrangements to pick you up at O'Hare?"

"Yes, sir. I'll see you in a week. I love you guys." My hands form a heart shape over my chest, and I offer them a soft smile.

"We love you too baby. See ya soon," says mom. Dad blows a kiss at the computer screen and I act like I catch it, then logging off.

The next week with Aunt Edith goes by quickly and she takes every opportunity to ask me if I've changed my mind about leaving her and returning to the US. And, of course, I have not. I love Paris. It's a beautiful city full of rich history and magnificent art. But, my Aunt runs in the aristocratic circle of attending numerous fancy parties, wearing uncomfortable elegant dresses and keepoing pretentious companions. I want to watch Sunday night football with with my dad, wear a baseball cap to the farmers market and eat deep dish Chicago style pizza with a nice cold beer.

Simplicity is something I've come to love.

I smile as I consider my cousins, Matthew and Nita-who live here in France, just like I have been recently- drinking beer from a bottle. It wouldn't happen. They would rather sip campaign from a crystal flute and eat caviar for breakfast. I do like them, but the lifestyle they'd expect me to maintain just doesn't match my personality. And, one thing I've learned from living in Paris for the past couple years, is to live life to the fullest. That's exactly what I intend to do when I get back to my home and start my life in Chicago.

C'est la vie.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I hear from the overhead speaker as I'm aroused from a light sleep, "This is your captain speaking. Please prepare for landing at O'Hare International Airport in approximately 10 minutes. The weather looks good and we should experience no delays. Thank you for flying Bureau Air."

I buckle myself in my seat and gently pat the gentleman who is sitting next to me. I think he was asleep before the plane departed from Charles de Gaulle. He's been drooling the entire time and I've had to request a cloth from the flight attendant to keep the never ending river of spittle from coming my way. I will be happy to get off of this plane.

"Sir. We're going to land in a few minutes. You might want to buckle up." I say.

He shoots me a thankful smile and moves to work on his buckle. Sure enough I feel the plane start the descent and it's only moments before I am back on US soil. Back in Chicago.

I'm home.

As I strain and reach upward on my tip toes, the gentleman across the aisle chuckles lightly at my struggle but reaches to helps me retrieve my bag from the overhead compartment. I give him a grateful smile, and make my way to the exit.

I walk quickly through the terminal and find the luggage return and wait for my red Mossimo suitcase to make its way around to me on the carousel. With a strong tug, I pull my luggage over the lip of the carousel and pull out the handle as soon as it plops down. Dodging between sharply dressed executives and random groups of tourists, I find my way to the exit and quickly spot Caleb pulling around in his blue Porsche Targa. He pulls up and stops at the loading zone and jumps out to help me.

"Beatrice," He says as he picks me up in a hug and then sets me down. "I've missed you."

"I'm so glad to be home. I love Europe, but I think I love Chicago more." I smile widely at my brother who nods in return. "What's this?" I ask as I point at his sweatpants and t-shirt. "This is more my style."

Usually, my brother arrives to anything decked out in a button-up shirt, crisp tie, and perfectly ironed dress pants. This... this is a big change for him.

He answers as he rubs his hand through his unruly hair and continues to exit the crowded parking lot. "I know, I've had a lot going on. I lost track of time and had to hurry."

"Cara?" I ask as he loads my bags and we buckle in the sports car.

"Yes. Aaaah, I mean no. No. Well, we broke up a few weeks ago." His hand moves down to his neck, rubbing at it nervously- a habit he had developed in early high school.

"What? I didn't know. I just Skyped with her a few weeks back. She said she was busy with school, but she didn't say anything out of the ordinary. What happened?"

"She said I was a distraction and she just wanted to concentrate on getting through medical school."

"Hmm, do you want me to talk to her? Maybe she just feels overwhelmed and needs a little space for a bit," I suggest.

"No. I don't know," He sighs and rubs his hand through his hair again and glances over to offer me a small smile. "She made it pretty clear that she was done."

"I'm sorry," I state and reach over and lay my hand on his slightly trembling hand that is clutching the gear shift. He glances intently into the rear-view mirror. That's when I fully take in his features. He has puffy dark circles under his eyes and he almost looks like he may have been crying recently. I can totally understand why. Cara and Caleb have been dating since they were eighteen years old.

"Just give her some time. Send her some flowers and let her know you care," I advise.

"Yeah," he sighs. "I might." Again, he looks into the rear-view mirror.

"Is mom making something good for dinner?" I ask wanting to change the subject.

"I don't know. I haven't been home all day."

We sit in silence for quite a while. Caleb changes lanes and curses under his breath at the congested traffic all the while he speeds down the freeway, weaving in and out of traffic.

"Caleb, no worries. Calm down. We'll get there."

"Beatrice, I am calm!" He snaps. "I've just had a long day and I'm ready to be done."

"I know but you don't have to cause an accident on the way. Relax!" I retort.

"Look, ah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just tired."

"Tired from what? What did you do today? I ask.

"I've done a couple errands for the bakery. I've just been busy okay? And I'm tired," He says shortly, clearly irritated with me.

I reach over and turn the radio on and then lean my head back against the headrest and try to enjoy the rest of the ride home. I must have dozed off because I feel Caleb downshift and the motor of the sports car growl in response. Caleb pulls into the dark driveway of our childhood home. I've always loved the simple white colonial style house with the red brick accents and black trim.

"Well, you're home," Caleb says and looks at me with a half smile. "Go on in. I'll bring your bags."

Excited to be home and see my parents I leap from the car and run to the front door. I ring the doorbell and wait. No one answers. I knock and wait. No one comes. Before reaching for my own keys I try the knob and it opens. I push the door open and step inside the dark house.

The silence is deafening.

"Mom! Dad! I'm home!" I scream. I'm greeted with silence. "Mom! Dad!" I yell again and continue my way through the living room and dining room and into the kitchen.

There, before me, is a sight that no one should ever have to take in. My dad is slumped in a sitting position at the kitchen table with a pool of blood collected at his feet. My precious mother lies on her back on the floor by the sink with a broken plate near her head. A huge red spot of blood has soaked it's way through her favorite white apron. My hand flies up to my mouth, tears pricking at my eyes.

This isn't real. This can't be real.

I begin screaming and screaming, running towards the front door where Caleb is removing my luggage from his car. "Caleb! Call 911! Something bad happened!" My vision blurs, and I begin feeling light-headed as I'm frantically screaming and running to my brother until I collapse into his arms and sob.

I am a prisoner of my own thoughts. What will I do without them? I'm only a little girl, their little girl. I need them to be there for me whenever I'm feeling lost, filling me with words of wisdom. I need them to protect me, watch out for me, and guide me through this crazy road we call life.

I hear the front door open and Caleb talking to the detective assigned to our case. He thanks Caleb and then closes the door behind himself and takes a seat by me on the swing. His long legs reach the wooden floor easily. We sit in silence for a few minutes before I look over at him. I see the weariness in his face but he offers me a smile anyway. His teeth look pure white against his tanned skin.

"The service was beautiful today. Thank you for letting me attend and also come to your house for the reception afterwards." He states.

"You're welcome, Detective Eaton. I know you're just doing your job."

"Well, that may be so. I wanted to see if I saw anything or anyone out of the ordinary today that would give us any leads. And, I'd like to think that we've actually become friends being that I've spent so much time with you and your brother this past week. I'm sorry we met under such horrible circumstances though." He pauses and offers a small, sad smile. "Please, call me Four."

I do my best to muster a small smile. "Thank you, Four. And, please, call me Tris." My eyes tear up at hearing myself use the nickname my dad gave me in third grade while playing softball. He said Beatrice was too long of a name to shout, so he shortened it to Tris.

"I will keep in touch Ms. Pr- Tris. Please don't hesitate to call me for any reason. I left some of my business cards on the kitchen island."

With that, he stands to leave and I stand as well. Instead of the handshake that I'm expecting, he gently pulls me to his side and give me a side hug.

"Don't forget to call me for any reason," He reiterates. I smile and watch him walk to his car and drive off.

I return inside the house and find Caleb and Christina finishing the cleanup from the funeral reception.

"Christina," I state. "I didn't realize you were still here.

She smiles at me. "Of course I'm still here. There's no place I'd rather be. Besides, you couldn't get rid of me even if you wanted to."

"Seriously though, thank you for everything. We couldn't have done this without you taking care of all the food and making the arrangements. You're more than a friend.

"You're my sister," I say into her hair. She reaches to me with both arms open wide and embraces me.

"You're just figuring this out?" She jokes, a smiling lighting up her face-but it doesn't reach her eyes like it usually does. "I've known that since we were in second grade." She releases me from her warm hug and continues. "I'm going back to the bakery tomorrow and check on things and get things in order and make a few phone calls to clients. Are you still aiming to re-open next week?"

"Yeah. I think that's what my parents would want. I wanted to come back and work at the bakery. I just didn't think it would be like this."

"I know honey," states Christina. "But, you know, your parents were so proud of you and talked about you coming back to the bakery every day."

"I don't know if I can do it, Chris. I don't know if I can run the bakery like my parents did." I state, my eyes welling up with fresh tears.

"Well," replies Christina. "You can run the bakery. Hell, we've been working there since high school. You can do this Tris. Anyway, where are you staying tonight?"

"Ah, I thought I'd stay here tonight," I say as I offer a small smile.

"Then I'm staying too."

"What about Will?" I question.

"He'll be fine. Do you have room in your bed?" she asks.

"For you? Always." I reply. "I'm going to shower." I look over to Caleb, who has been noticeably quiet all evening. "Are you alright brother?" I ask.

He shrugs his shoulders and sighs, "Yeah, I just- it's just been... Tough without them."

"I know. I know," I say as I hug him and rest my head against his chest for a brief moment. I feel him pat my back lightly and then release me. I turn and head upstairs to shower and go to bed.

"Lay down

Your tired & weary head my friend.

We have wept too long

Night is falling

And you we are only sleeping

We have come to this journey's end

It's time for us to go

To meet our friends

Who beckon us

To jump again

From across a distant sky

A C-130 comes to carry us

Where we shall all wait

For the final green light

In the light of

The pale moon rising

I see far on the horizon

Into the world of night and darkness

Feet and knees together

Time has ceased

But cherished memories still linger

This is the way of life and all things

We shall meet again

You are only sleeping."

― José N. Harris