there wasn't.

The sun was hidden, almost completely now behind the mountains, bringing the world into twilight. A cool breeze pushed my hair over my eyes, irritating me. I stood and looked over the railing, lifted my glass, and poured it into the pool water below. I followed Dad's sign of goodbye and patted the old wood that made up the porch before returning into the house, and shutting the glass door.

Home.

I love that word. It fills me with total worth and love from old memories of growing up in a home, not a house. I had been out in the country for the last week with my parents and my older brother, Wes, trying to help them with the after affects of Dad's parents dieing. It had been hard for me to look at their house, knowing they weren't in it. Wes had been everyone's stronghold though. He had taken over the preparations for the funeral for Mom. He had sat with Dad for hours, just waiting for him to finally get everything in his head at a point where he could cry, or scream, or talk. For me though, Wes had pushed me around. He'd bullied me, yelled at me, and argued with me until I couldn't take it anymore and broke down. Somehow, Wes had always known how to take care of me, and everyone else in our now smaller family, even though his tactics seemed horrible sometimes. I had been close to my grandparents, even as I got older. I had had a phone date with them every Thursday night since I had been old enough to use a telephone by myself. I hardly ever got to see them because I didn't know how to drive. To tell you the truth, learning how to drive scared the shit out of me. I always saw them on holidays though, and sometimes when Wes went up to visit, I would tag along.

It was a huge surprise when we got the call from the police, saying they had flipped their RV on the I-15 Freeway twenty miles from Las Vegas, Nevada. Mom had called me, her voice tight and high, I could hear the tears as they fell. She didn't give me all the detail as to why they'd been all the way out there; I was still in shock that they were gone at that point. I remembered later the phone call I'd shared with Grandpa last Thursday.

"I'm taking your Granny to Vegas to renew our wedding vows Sport." He always called me Sport; mainly I think to make fun of me. The only sport I had ever been involved in, beside the football and soccer games I played with friends, was the swim team. Grandpa said swimming wasn't a sport, and the only reason to exercise the skill was so you didn't drown. This from the man who loved to watch figure shaking; though I highly doubt that had been for the sport of it.

"Las Vegas huh? I'm sure she'd love it there, it's a desert."

Grandma despised the country. She'd always complain about the snow, the leaves, the rain, and the sun. She was the one who taught me all the bad words I knew.

"Exactly. I have it all booked; just need to get the old bird in the car."

I loved the old sayings Grandpa had always said. When I was younger, hearing him call Grandma a bird used to send