Laine walks through the empty house a final time.
“How you like it?” Her husband had asked twenty years ago as he walked her through the house he had built them.
“I like it very much,” she said to him.
“I like it very much,” she now says to herself, stroking the walls. So many memories.
Suddenly, she hears his belly laugh outside.
“Richard?”
She slides open the patio. He’s not there… he’s still dead.
But their tire swing swings. She hears both their laughter so clearly that she knows somewhere in time they’re still swinging.
