What a name. Hannah Hammer.
Joe would always remember her.
The drive away from the city and into the suburbs droned on. The bumpy ride, the cold wind, the gray skies, offset by the warmth of human connection, lulled the senses into reverie of a distant world, of a past world, of conveniences taken for granted. Of loved ones sitting around a dinner table at Thanksgiving with a sportscaster broadcasting a football game in the background, spilled gravy on the tablecloth, of bickering siblings, of pumpkin pies, cornbread stuffing, and turkey with all its trimmings.
Of birthday parties, and pink plastic flamingos on grassy yards spelled out in ‘Happy Birthday.’ Of Christmas joy and sparkling lights, of children ripping presents open, families sharing memories, the aroma of pies baking, of eating on fine china.
Of trips to see the grandparents and friends, of busy airports with harried passengers, of summer vacations, little league, school plays.
Of life.
Joe glanced at Lexi. Her gaze was planted off in the distance, over the horizon of a city once thriving with the busy hum of humanity. Though she had to be in pain because of the extracted tooth, she never complained. During the defining moment, he made a vow he would stay by her side to the end.
Oscar was laying between Joe and Lexi. The big dog sensed the group calming, and when they did, Oscar settled in and lowered his head to his paws. He closed his eyes, his body rocking with the steady rhythm of the car.
Ethan had Becca and her two children, Tyler and Kinsey. Though young and full of youthful inexperience, bravado, and teenage angst, those two kids had what it took to thrive. Through diversity, they had come together as a team, brother and sister to rally around their mother. Tyler, strong with the body of a grown man, yet not old enough to have a driver’s license, had stepped up to the plate. Without his knowledge of vintage cars, their situation would have been much worse. Even deadly.
Kinsey demonstrated grit when she searched for someone to help her injured mom by navigating a minefield of the horror of mangled bodies and smoking debris from the wrecked stadium. She overcame confusion and self-doubt to break through the crowd seeking guidance from the downed pilot, leading her to the man who pushed aside his needs to help a complete stranger.
Ethan had appeared as a guardian angel to Becca’s family, and they would rely on him during the coming days and months.
An hour passed and the trip to the burbs was uneventful. The time had come to part ways—Ethan and Becca’s family going one way, Lexi and Joe another way.
It had been decided to leave the car with Becca’s family since Tyler knew how to drive it.
Reaching the end of the tollway, thirty miles from the inner city, they drove past the suburbs and to the community of Fulshear. Churchill Fulshear, one of Stephen F. Austin’s original Old Three Hundred, was granted the right to settle the area in the early 1800s. In 1888, Churchill Fulshear, Jr., granted San Antonio and Aransas Pass Railroads to build railroads through his property. This tract would later become FM 1093, then later extended to the well-known Houston street of Westheimer, and finally the Westpark Tollway.
Churchill Fulshear Jr.’s decision in the late nineteenth century proved to be the pathway leading to the rising number of settlers making Texas their home. It eventually led to the development of Houston and the surrounding cities of The Woodlands, Katy, and Sugar Land, all rising to be major metropolitan hubs of the 21st century.
Due to Fulshear’s close proximity to Houston, it caught the eye of developers who were snapping up pristine land with gently rolling hills full of magnificent oaks, native plants, clear creeks, and pastures for grazing.
Roads had been widened and houses built to meet the demand of the exploding population.
Tyler braked the Model T to a stop along a dusty back country road. He kept the engine running, not trusting it to start again. “Is this the right house?” he asked dubiously. He glanced over his shoulder at Lexi.
Towering oaks obscured most of the weathered, two-story farmhouse set back from the road about fifty yards. The surrounding amenities of a windmill, smokehouse, barn, water well, and a cistern added to its old world charm. Thick brush grew near the fence line.
Lexi rested her head on Joe’s shoulder. She thought about how to tell her grandmother about how Wanda had died at the stadium. She thought about how devastating it would be for a woman to learn about her only daughter’s death. While Lexi and her grandmother hadn’t seen each other for a while, Lexi had fond memories of her, and no amount of time would break the bond they shared.
“Are you okay?” Joe asked.
“It’s hard.”
“I know. I’m here and not leaving you. We’ll help your grandmother get through this. From what you’ve said, she’s a great lady.”
“Is this where she lives?” Tyler asked again.
“Yes. This is the house.”
“It’s very…um…” Tyler trailed off, wanting to describe it as ‘bleak’, then decided it best to keep his mouth shut.
“Livable?” Lexi said.
“Yeah. Exactly the word I wanted to use.” Tyler diverted his eyes, afraid he’d give away the fact he’d lied.
“Don’t worry,” Lexi reassured him. “I understand. It doesn’t have any of the modern conveniences like cable TV or internet, ‘cause my granny never believed in any of it. She grew up in this house, and the only means of communication
