Where The Fireflies Sing.

Chapter one: Addison Thatcher

It's a beautiful fall day out and I am pulling into my hometown of Abilene Texas after eight years of not living here. The houses surrounding the small town are covered with pumpkins, pinecone wreaths and fall welcome mats and signs. There are yellow and orange leaves falling from trees that are placed sporadically along the back road I am driving on in my white 2016 Chevy Malibu. Right next to my dad's house is the Boone family ranch, the Boone's moved in shortly after my mom died and just before I went off to university in New York to get my veterinary degree. The Boone family consists of two kids and a pair of loving parents. I never got around to introducing myself when my dad was in and out of the hospital because I would make the long drives between my finals or between my off seasons and they were never around when I came.

I always felt safe when with my dad because he was my protector, he always made sure I had everything I needed after my mom died and he stepped up to be the shoulder I cried on when I got my heart broken in high school. It has been six months without him and it feels like just yesterday when I was sitting on a bench in the cold airport waiting for my flight back here to see my dad through his surgery to remove the fluid from his lungs. He had been diagnosed with stage four mesothelioma cancer a year after my mom committed suicide and he had found out too late so his life expectancy was significantly shortened. My mom committed suicide because she couldn't cope with the trauma of her sister dying in a car accident she caused, for the year before she committed she was like an empty shell and my dad had to step up to care for me and all of the responsibilities around the house while also providing for us.

The two years my dad lived with cancer was rough as he was in and out of the hospital until he was finally put on hospice when he could no longer do anything on his own. By the end he had so much fluid in his lungs that he couldn't breathe without oxygen and he struggled to get up or to even use the bathroom and shower on his own. I missed my graduation to be there for him to help him like he helped me for years, he always encouraged me to stay in NewYork no matter how bad he got and it makes me kind of sad because I know he hated me seeing him in such a vulnerable time in his life but I loved him and always saw him as the big fun loving cuddly bear he was and I will always miss his welcoming hugs or the way his eyes twinkled with happiness every time he saw me.

My eyes tear up as I pull into the driveway of my childhood home where the green paint is peeling off the top half of the house and the gray bricks on the lower half of the house are dirty and full of overgrown weeds. The grass is tall enough to come up to my knees and the windows are covered with an unknown amount of grime. The house really got run down while he was in the hospital and instead of feeling welcoming like it always did, it fills me with dread to see it because I have no clue what the inside looks like. I know the town's librarian and his best friend came out and did basic cleaning on the inside of his town shortly after he died but it has been six months without anyone living there.

Taking a deep breath I grab my phone and pocket it before stepping out of the car and shutting my car door. I stalk up the driveway before arriving at the front concrete porch where a lonely wicker chair sits and a table that still has an old coffee stain on it from when my dad would spill it. This porch was his favorite place to sit outside and enjoy nature while he drank his coffee. Growing up I used to draw on the concrete with chalk and he would sit out here watching me and making commentary on everything I drew. My heart grows heavy as I bend down to pick up the house key from under the welcome mat and unlock the front door. I used to walk in and out all the time when I would snake out or when I would go meet my friends outside and stay out till dark.

I walk into the house the air smelling musty with a slight hint of my dads cologne and the front entryway still has his tennis shoes he would wear to every transfusion, infusion or doctors appointment, he used to call them his lucky shoes and the thought of it makes me snort a little before closing the door behind me. I strode toward the living room where his old brown leather couch sits and his small tv above the fireplace sits, his coffee table has water stains on it and a clean mug that he always kept near him that says 'Number 1 dad' on it. Tears prick my eyes as I swipe them away and push myself further into the house until I get to my old room, I open the door and bright pink walls greet me with old Kane brown, Luke combs and Brett young posters sit on the wall, in the far corner of my old room is my white writing desk that sits a old journal where I would write down my feelings after my mom died. On the opposite side of the room is my twin bed that still has the horse covers on it from high school and my backpack sitting next to it. He never moved anything and it breaks my heart to see how much he held my stuff dear to him. Next to my old bed is a picture frame with him smiling with his arm wrapped around me. I was about eight in the photo and I am holding up the first fish I had caught on our family weekend up to his family's cabin. My mom is smiling and looking happy in the background while she is talking to her sister who is looking directly at the camera and giving it a big goofy grin.