Meant
If you walk down a dirt road in Pas Alto, Texas, you will see a bright yellow light, glowing in the window of a rickety farmhouse.
The main house has seen brighter days. Thanks to a season of abusive weather, its failings are encompassing the property faster than its elderly owners can keep up with them.
But, inside, it is the same as it was twenty years ago; soothingly decorated and colored. Bland as the owner's fresh white bread.
There is a blonde woman, sitting by that candle. Her sweater is wrapped tight about her shoulders, to keep away the encroaching winter freeze, a chill that her flowered dress cannot block out.
"Tula." A corroded voice comes from a rocking chair. "Tula, put the candle out. We ain't got much tallow left."
The sweater shrinks beneath a shrug. "I know she ain't commin'. But it's nice, to think."
His smile is comforting as the scent of his sweat; his sameness as relaxing now as it was when she met him years ago.
"Roxanne's a star." He says. "She's just everyone's baby now."
"I know." But Tula Carter can't quite comprehend why her daughter's chatty, if poorly spelled, notes have gradually thinned in content and length, until they arrived at a complete standstill a month ago. It's enough to make any mother worry.
But Roxanne Hart hadn't had a steady address since her very unfortunate separation from her husband, Amos. Tula has no way to contact her daughter, but she's used to that, and therefore tries to mask her worry.
"Supper on the table?"
She nods. "Same as always."
Bill Carter is making his crooked way into the house when a truck comes rattling down the path. As it approaches, the obvious dilapidation of the truck becomes more obvious. Rusting, lurching, it comes to a stop and a slim-legged figure gingerly climbs down from the cab. Then with a rattle and a cloud of dust, the truck slowly pulls away.
Leaving a blonde-haired figure in its wake.
Tula squints, trying to make out the person's shape. Slim, sure in stride even as it fails her, and carrying the scent of Teaberry Gum in her wake but Tula she cannot make out the features. But the light changes when she hobbles against the dirt road. Recognition comes at last in the form of a ratty silk dress and battered mink stole of the feminine shadow before her.
"Roxanne?"
The girl smiles lamely. "Hi, momma. I'm home."