Note: Dead work-in-progress. Probably no more updates.

Home Is Where The Heart Is



In a two-storied colonial styled villa, (with three bedrooms two bathrooms and family room), Mrs Melanie Charles sits in the kitchen drinking a glass of red wine. It is her third this morning and it is only ten AM.

Picking up the filled crystal glass with careless grace, she heads to the front porch and pointedly ignores a retriever's whine for comfort. When they first brought the house it didn't have a porch but Jarod was insistent. So after a couple of days and a few distractions caused by Melanie, they had a porch. A climber is tangled in the trellis it's still small but in the summer produces pretty purple flowers; it will take many more years to grow. Melanie wonders if it's one of the most interesting things in her life.

Sitting in one of the deck chairs she can see the neighbours - most middle-aged with two and three children. A few are elderly and only come out for a daily mail check. Melanie knows all the women well; they come over every Tuesday for brunch. The one she waves to now needed the concept of brunch explained, but they are nice enough people and this is a nice enough neighbourhood - full of golden retrievers and white picket fences. It's the kind of neighbourhood that the American Dream is built on.

In the back of her mind Melanie knows that an alcohol doused part of her brain is protesting; crying out in abject terror against her fairytale life and doll-like house. The red wine keeps it quiet and Jarod buys her a couple of bottles everyday on his way home from work. $500 a bottle but he says she's worth it.

In a past life Mrs Melanie Charles was known as Miss Parker, a cold frigid bitch that was owned by a company with no soul. Her every thought and action was carefully controlled and recorded. Then three years ago she was freed, the horrible place she had grew up in crumbled, toppled and finally fell.

Jarod had found her a broken shell of a person, devastated by loss and grief. There had been no hope for her, no hope at all.

While things didn't get immediately better Jarod gave her a love and hope. Eventually he gave her a life with a white picket fence; a dog that she can't stand and a couple of bottles of wine to get through the day.

Miss Parker is gone, nothing remaining but shattered memories and penchant for high heels. Though he doesn't say it she knows Jarod has felt good riddance on more than one occasion.

At 11:40 Jarod drives up in his black BMW, he works in the local hospital, Chief of Paediatrics. He's well liked and respected around the neighbourhood and many of the younger wives blush when he goes past.

"Honey, I'm home," he greets and kisses her on the forehead.

Melanie smiles at his predictability, his response unchanged in all the years of their marriage. It's a constant in her life and it will be until they grow old together.


"I want to grow old with you Parker," he whispers in her ear, her face is pressed up against his chest and she can smell the sent that is only him; a hint of sawdust mixed with cologne.

"…I will make you a deal, when I die, I'll leave you all my shirts."


Melanie shakes the other life from her mind and gets up from the chair, leaving the glass behind and asks him how his morning has been as they go inside.

Jarod launches into a long story about a humorous young boy with a broken arm and his repeated attempts to rid himself of his cast. Melanie smiles and laughs on cue while they lunch and half an hour later Jarod drives off again.

The smile fades from her eyes as he rounds the corner; with nothing else to do she retrieves the bottle he has left on the counter. By tonight she will be feeling friendly enough to go out, by the time she arrives home from the latest charity event she will be drunk enough to believe it's Tommy she will wake up beside tomorrow.