I ran away in floods of shame. Never tell how close I came. (Mumford & Sons, Home)

Returning to my father's house was like coming home. Driving up to the grounds in a three car convoy made me feel like a little girl again. When we broke through the forest and the meadow opened up before us. The mansion sat there waiting for me. I was home.

“So why were you flying in from Beulah, North Dakota?” asked my father as they started dinner.

“Funeral,” I said. “My assistant was one of the people who died in the shooting.”

“I'm sorry,” said my mother.

“It would have been a lovely spot otherwise. I wonder what it would be like to live a farm. It seems like it would be a nice little life.”

“That would be nice,” my mother said sympathetically. Everything was drenched with sympathy.

But when no one spoke it didn't made anything easier.

“How are you?” Senior asked. He hadn't asked me that since I killed the hippie.

I sighed, “It's been a rough ride the last little while.”

Uncle Tony sat across from me and pulled some heroin out of the canister on the table. He prepared a needle and asked if I wanted one. I hesitated.

“I don't really do that anymore.”

Everyone froze.

“You don't do what anymore?”

“Heroin. Rider made me detox before I moved out. I do a little meth now but that's it.” Okay, so I did more than a little, but I wanted to have some progress to show.

“Your teeth look pretty good for a meth head,” said Uncle Tony.

I gave him a dirty look but a smile broke through. I loved my family.