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A Trip Home

Wish you were here! read her daughter’s postcard from Padre Island.

“Well, I hope Percy means it,” Moira said to Mitzi, who began weaving herself between Moira’s legs.  “I’ll be back in a week, old girl,” she said, scooping the tabby up on her walk to the bedroom to take a final inventory of her suitcase contents.

Funny how the kids vacation only 25 miles from where I grew up, she thought. Sunny Corpus Christi with its warm, blue-green gulf. Now we all shiver in this unrelenting Minnesota cold where every step could result in a hip fracture.  

As Moira struggled to heave the suitcase, she wished she had accepted Percy’s offer to lend a roller bag.  She felt her heart skip a beat.  

I’m excited to finally be getting out of this frozen tundra, she reasoned, tapping Uber to summon her airport ride.  Breathless, she continued shoving her bag out the front door and into the building’s corridor, stopping only to bend down and kiss Mitzi goodbye. 

“God be with ye, Mitzi.”

Her heart now pounding so heavily that an idea, one that Moira thought might be profound, had trouble forming in her mind. Then with a burst of clarity, it came to her:  The pounding of her heart was really the rhythmic pounding of the surf, the waves crashing down and the tide tugging, pulling her out to sea. With that insight firmly in her mind, she loosened her grip on her bag and let herself sink into the sand, relaxing in the waves washing over her, taking her home. 

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