Randy and Josh have worked hard to make a home together. They've been together a good while, plan to grow old together. So when Randy gets a job offer that will take them somewhere else, make them start over, it's a tough decision. But they have the one thing that will make any house they live in a home. Deep, abiding love.
Filled with all of the small details of an everyday love, along with the kind of heat only a longtime couple can generate, Life as a Porch proves that as long as you have each other, you can face any challenge.
Josh rocked slowly, chair creaking wood on wood, the sound so familiar he almost didn't hear it.
The early evening light left long shadows across the lawn, a light breeze rustled the big maple that shaded the porch. It wasn't cold yet, by any definition, but he wore a heavy cable sweater. He felt the cold more as he got older, felt it enough he was starting to seriously consider Randy's suggestion that they move to warmer climes.
Well. He had the occasional thought about it. Thing was, he loved their home, loved living in this neighborhood where they knew everyone, where they had lived and loved and fought and worked to be accepted by the community as a couple.
The thought of not watching the old maple that graced their lawn changing with each season, of not watching the kids growing from toddlers to teenagers and moving away, bringing back kids of their own, well that made him sad.
"Hey Mr. Keller," called out Robby Winston as his skateboard rumbled noisily along the sidewalk.
"Evening, Robby," he called back, smiling.
It was a good neighborhood.
Warm hands fell on his shoulders, the soft brush of mustache on his cheek familiar and welcome. "Hey, Mr. Keller." The drawl was soft, muted, Randy's deep rumble still thrilling him.
He chuckled, the sound husky, wanton -- Lord, he was nothing but an old hound dog. "Evening, Mr. Preston." He reached up and stroked the back of Randy's hand.