Finding Home
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"No!" Calla Porter hollered, stomping up the stairs to her room. "I refuse to go with you on some. . .some pilgrimage! You can't do this! I'm not going!" She slammed the door.
That didn't go as planned, Marcus thought, sighing as he sat in his well- worn armchair. She was most definitely her mother's daughter. He was going to miss that about his wife - her spirit. That fire that burned within her. But, in her, it burned no longer; now, it was smoldering inside Calla.
She couldn't believe it. Brooding silently, full of intense rage, Calla pressed herself against her bedroom door. Her father had to be clinically insane. And especially after what had happened! He was just going to pick up and move on like nothing changed at all. She lifted her gaze to the framed picture beside her bed. It had been taken only two months ago. Her mother was always so gung-ho about getting the family portrait taken. Everyone was truly happy behind the confines of the metal frame and glass. Her mom, dad, older brother, younger brother and sister, and herself. So happy. And the happiness was replaced so fast. Anger, hate, pain, and an incredible, overwhelming sadness. Depression. Black. A deep pit of nothing. And nowhere to go but up.
Calla and her father had come so far since the accident and, so it turned out, he had just gone further off the deep-end. Moving. Out of the home she had spent her entire life in. Away from friends and family. Familiarity. How could he do this?
It wasn't that difficult to answer that question, she realized. Maybe he hadn't lost his mind, but thought this was the only way to escape the tragedy that had taken residence in his home and life.
But understanding her father's reasoning didn't mean she agreed. This home, and the family that frequented it were all that Calla had left.
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"You realize that I hate you for this, right?" Calla questioned angrily from the passenger seat, glaring at her father. "I don't want to be dragged on this journey of yours. . .Couldn't you just, I don't know, deal with this at home? Like a normal person would? I doubt you will find your destiny in Colorado."
"I'm not trying to fulfill my destiny, and I'm not dealing with something," Marcus said quietly. "We are starting again. Anew. All over."
"But why in Colorado?"
"You probably don't remember. You were about two and Zeke was four. We were taking a family vacation. On our way to Denver, we stopped in this little place called Everwood. Your mom loved it. Said that it was what Heaven must be like. She always wanted to go back, but. . ."
"Oh. . .How long 'til we get there?" Calla asked, knowing that this was her dad's way of grieving. Chasing memories. But she'd let him follow them. Hopefully he'd see that this was only a small memory from a lifetime of them and they would return to the home that housed all the memories she had that were worth remembering.
.:*:. .:*:. .:*:. .:*:. .:*:. .:*:.
"No!" Calla Porter hollered, stomping up the stairs to her room. "I refuse to go with you on some. . .some pilgrimage! You can't do this! I'm not going!" She slammed the door.
That didn't go as planned, Marcus thought, sighing as he sat in his well- worn armchair. She was most definitely her mother's daughter. He was going to miss that about his wife - her spirit. That fire that burned within her. But, in her, it burned no longer; now, it was smoldering inside Calla.
She couldn't believe it. Brooding silently, full of intense rage, Calla pressed herself against her bedroom door. Her father had to be clinically insane. And especially after what had happened! He was just going to pick up and move on like nothing changed at all. She lifted her gaze to the framed picture beside her bed. It had been taken only two months ago. Her mother was always so gung-ho about getting the family portrait taken. Everyone was truly happy behind the confines of the metal frame and glass. Her mom, dad, older brother, younger brother and sister, and herself. So happy. And the happiness was replaced so fast. Anger, hate, pain, and an incredible, overwhelming sadness. Depression. Black. A deep pit of nothing. And nowhere to go but up.
Calla and her father had come so far since the accident and, so it turned out, he had just gone further off the deep-end. Moving. Out of the home she had spent her entire life in. Away from friends and family. Familiarity. How could he do this?
It wasn't that difficult to answer that question, she realized. Maybe he hadn't lost his mind, but thought this was the only way to escape the tragedy that had taken residence in his home and life.
But understanding her father's reasoning didn't mean she agreed. This home, and the family that frequented it were all that Calla had left.
.:*:. .:*:. .:*:. .:*:. .:*:. .:*:.
"You realize that I hate you for this, right?" Calla questioned angrily from the passenger seat, glaring at her father. "I don't want to be dragged on this journey of yours. . .Couldn't you just, I don't know, deal with this at home? Like a normal person would? I doubt you will find your destiny in Colorado."
"I'm not trying to fulfill my destiny, and I'm not dealing with something," Marcus said quietly. "We are starting again. Anew. All over."
"But why in Colorado?"
"You probably don't remember. You were about two and Zeke was four. We were taking a family vacation. On our way to Denver, we stopped in this little place called Everwood. Your mom loved it. Said that it was what Heaven must be like. She always wanted to go back, but. . ."
"Oh. . .How long 'til we get there?" Calla asked, knowing that this was her dad's way of grieving. Chasing memories. But she'd let him follow them. Hopefully he'd see that this was only a small memory from a lifetime of them and they would return to the home that housed all the memories she had that were worth remembering.
