Homecoming
An almost volcanic heat rose from the dark green lake in heavy, steaming clouds, while the sun, smoky and dim, lent the day a faded, dusky cast. Andrea peered up at the thick, leathery trees, which clung to the perimeter of the water like towering ancient sentries, then back at the squat, vine-encrusted hut where she and her husband, Zemon, had lived for the past seven years.
A strange world, with little that resembled the home she’d grown up in. But Zemon was a native, and she’d decided to follow him back. It had been a difficult adjustment, and even now, she couldn’t say she loved this world. The days were intolerably hot, the locals could be private and standoffish, and while beautiful, the alien plants and wildlife, along with the brilliant emerald green oceans that covered ninety-eight percent of the planet’s surface, were irreconcilably different from her world of bright sun and blue skies.
But today, things were going to change. Today, they were going to pass through the Iron Gate and move back home to her family.
Ready, Andrea?
Her husband’s words unfurled inside her mind without sound. After all these years, the experience still sent a shuddering thrill across her body.
Soon, dear.
He came up behind her, his eyes reflecting back the dim, uneven light from above, and encompassed her in his lithe, silvery arms. She could sense his sadness. He tried to mask it, but she knew him too well, and it was impossible for him to be anything but himself with her.
Andrea reached out to give his hand a gentle squeeze.
It’ll be all right. We’ll only be gone a few years, and then you’ll be home again.
It was the compromise they’d struck the day they agreed to spend the rest of their lives together. Seven years in his world, followed by seven years in hers.
Zemon nodded.
A curious combination of anticipation and guilt fluttered in her chest as she conjured a mental image of her hometown in Iowa. She thought of her parents, her grandmother, her nieces and nephews, all living together under a single roof. She thought of fresh baked bread, biscuits and pie. Most of all, she thought of endless corn fields and navy blue skies, all priceless treasures of an ordinary life she hadn’t appreciated until after she’d gone away.
Now I know how you felt when you gave up part of your life for me.
At least there’ll be cornbread, she replied.
Zemon’s eyes lit up, a bright yellow rush of avaricious desire.
Yes, cornbread.
And grits.
Yes, he agreed. And grits.
Once more, Andrea would be the native and Zemon would be the foreigner. But he loved her as much as she loved him, and through that love, they would forge a path through the next seven years.
Come.
They clasped hands, and together they set off for the Iron Gate.
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