✓ [18+] A THOUSAND MILES FROM NOWHERE

IV. Why You Gotta Look So Damn Good?

A/N: #RipNateDaniels
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IV. Why You Gotta Look So Damn Good?

REBEKAH

As soon as I had walked through the mahogany front door with a sunflower engulfed wreath hanging in the center, I was warmly greeted by my Grandma Elena. She had wrapped me up in her loving arms and we had swayed back and forth for what felt like eternity. Tears were forming in her grey eyes when she pulled away. She'd quickly wiped them with fragile looking fingers and laughed it off.

"I can't believe you're finally home after all these years Rebekah. Goodness I've missed my only grand-baby so much," she wrapped her shaking arms around me again, nearly suffocating me. Dad had to pry her away from me with a chuckle.

"I've missed you too Grandma," I smiled at her and felt a much needed sense of peace envelope me. It was good to be home. Even though I wish the circumstances were better on why I finally came back home after all these years, but that fact didn't take away the feeling of comfort that walking into this house again brought me.

After I had settled in, my dad had to leave for work and Grandma had filled me in on all the gossip in town since the last time I'd seen her while we ate lunch. If there's one thing I've learned in the last eight years since I've become an adult and on my own, is that there's nothing that compares to your own bed or a cooked meal that's been prepared at your childhood home. Anywhere else it just doesn't feel or taste right.

I didn't realize how much I've missed it until that moment. I'd pick all the deep fried, home cooked meals Grandma could make over the fancy, western style food out in California. The one thing I missed most of all though, was her company. She had stepped up big time from just being Grandma to a motherly figure in my life after Mom died.

On nights my Dad would have to work late, she'd come by and spend time with me so I wasn't alone while Papa worked the family business. We'd bake and she'd teach me how to cook meals that were the quickest way to a man's heart. She'd tell me stories about when she was younger and how different society was at that time. I always enjoyed her stories about her and Papa and how he'd finally convinced her in high school to be his sweetheart.

After lunch we'd made our way over to the other side of town where a large lot stood. In the middle of that lot was the family business, Miller's Bar & Grill. Both my great grandfathers started it up back when they were in their twenties. They were best friends and business partners. Like most business owners, they wanted to have their own place where they could set their own rules and were their own boss. It was a major hit and still is to this day since the closest bar is in Jamestown the next county over.

You can imagine by their surprise years later when their children grew up to fall in love and take over the business. Those would be my Grandma and Papa now and they've taken great pride and joy in continuing the business. Papa use to say his dad had one request on his death bed, keep the business in the family.

The place still looked the same outside except it's had a fresh coat of red paint recently and a new layer of gravel in the parking lot has been added. When I first stepped through the double glass doors, I was welcomed by the nostalgia of coming in here as a child. It was like a second home for me.

The first thing that caught my eye out of everything inside was the small stage—left of the bar—next to the jukebox in the corner. I remember sitting at the bar as a kid, watching my mom sing while Joe Blackthorn played the guitar. My mother had a beautiful voice and would've become a professional musician if she didn't have me at such a young age. She didn't resent me for it though. She use to tell me she would do it all over again if given the chance. My mother enjoyed being my mom more than she ever did standing up on that stage. I use to sing as well, getting my talent from her but I haven't played an instrument or sang in years, especially the last five. I just wasn't allowed to.