window and pictured something I had never really had: holidays where I did not have to wait to see if I was invited. A tree because I chose to put it up. Quiet that was not emptiness but peace.
“I’ll take it,” I said.
Carol blinked. “You don’t want to think about it?”
“I’ve done enough thinking.”
She watched me for a moment. “My husband came back from Vietnam and did almost the same thing. Bought land before he bought furniture. Said he was tired of other people deciding where he fit.”
“I can relate,” I said quietly.
Within a month the papers were signed. My name sat alone on the deed. No co signer, no “and family,” just me. The first time I turned down that gravel road knowing it was mine, something shifted in my chest. I had always had places to sleep, barracks, apartments, spare rooms, but they were all temporary, all dependent on someone else’s rules. This land answered to me.
