Vicki Scott

Rule of Three

The thirty year-old woman guided her rented Civic up the quarter mile of gravel driveway. She glanced to the left, the way she had done a million times before as the white farmhouse with the blue trim came into view between two ancient oak trees. Her heart felt bruised, barely moving inside her chest as she pulled to a stop next to the three concrete steps that lead up to the side-porch door. She waited for her grandmother’s face to appear, blurred by the screen door, but vibrant, and excited to see her.