The drive was unremarkable, nothing but a blur of green and old, worn road for miles. Hours were filled with copious amounts of coffee, speeding down long straight stretches and singing, badly out of tune, to the playlist I had loaded onto my phone.

I slowed as signs of life began to dot my periphery, tractors sitting idle in the murky, wet fields. Houses that went from a patchwork of old decaying barns and trailers to slightly newer, tidy homes; the siding of these ones were missing the apparent mold and chipped paint of the former. A few miles more there was a flash of a speed limit sign signaling the arrival into civilization and then a large, faded sign that welcomed everyone to the town of Forks.

It was as I remembered, little if any changes had happened to the few stores and homes since the last time I'd been here.

Such was the curse of a small town I suppose.

The drive from town to the residential area my Oma lived in was short. When I stopped beside the curb of the little yellow house that I'd used to visit during my childhood, I flipped the visor down to give my makeup a once over, running a finger under each eye to smooth the smudged mascara and foundation that'd settled. Though it did little for the constant baggies under my eyes, the little makeup I did wear made me feel a little better about myself.

I ruffled my hair with an exasperated sigh. It was flat, the curls I'd tried to work into it with my flat iron this morning had already fallen out and my blond hair was back to being straight as a pin. Without a second thought I gathered it up into a messy ponytail and wrapped the rubber band I had on my wrist around it.

When I finally took the time to look out at my second home, I blinked.

My Oma's love of tacky lawn ornaments and ferns was evident. The two lone, eye-wateringly bright pink flamingoes that I had gotten her when I was six had somehow multiplied into a yard overcome with badly painted tchotchkes in all shapes and sizes. I eyed the two gnomes guarding her mailbox with their grotesquely cheerful faces in slight horror as I moved from the car and around them; their eyes seemed to follow me wherever I went.

Shuddering I turned my attention to the normal portion of Oma's house; the old teak rocking chairs that Papa Fritz had made and the six huge ferns hanging under the eaves of her porch.

Nostalgia seeped into me as I remembered when it was all of us – mom, dad, me and Presley – that used to visit. Before Papa fritz had passed. Before Oma and my mom had their fight. When Presley and I used to fight over who would get to sit in the extra rocking chair for just a moment before Papa Fritz would come to claim it and send us off into the yard to play while he and Oma drank their coffee and discussed whatever it was they did.

The creaking sound of the screen door opening brought my attention to my Oma as she stepped out onto the porch, smiling and waving at me. She was thinner, frailer then when I last saw her, but she was still Oma, still my beloved grandmother who had more bracelets and rings than she had fingers and room on her thin wrists for.

The long skirt she wore was denim, a turquoise belt slung low on her hips and the button down blouse that was tucked in it billowed in the wind, along with the wind chimes that hung between the ferns on her porch.

"You've dyed your hair again!" She called out as the screen door slapped against its frame when she stepped further out onto the porch.

I laughed because the last time I'd been here my hair had been a vivid red. I smiled at her mischievously, "No, you just don't remember what my natural hair color is."

She looked heavenward, no doubt asking Papa Fritz for the strength to deal with me before smiling back at me and waving me up, sending her bracelets clanking together, "Come here and let me get a look at you," she demanded as her wispy silver hair, that had been a lovely ashy blond before her sickness, blew across her gently lined face, "Oh, Delaney, you've gotten so tall!"

"Maybe you're just shrinking, Oma," I teased as I ran up the steps and into her arms. She laughed and slapped at my arm lightly.

She grabbed my shoulders and pushed me away from her, giving me a once over with her blue eyes. She grinned sadly, the emotion thick and shaky behind her words, "You're Papa would be so proud of you," and then she looked down, discreetly wiping her eyes as she pulled her skirt up to turn, clearing her throat and peering up at me with a gentle smile, "Well, come on, put your things in your room and come have some tea with me."

I nodded and breathed in a shaky breath before returning her smile and replying, "Sure."

I followed her inside through the living room and passed the wall of photos, cringing slightly at my middle school photos, and then to the back of the house. As I pushed the door open to the guestroom, I was taken back by the color that enveloped me and I couldn't help but smile, tossing my purse onto the twin bed before turning around to meet Oma in the kitchen.

She looked up as the door frame groaned from my weight as I settled against it. She set her old copper kettle on top of a burner as she asked, "Do you like the color I painted your room, Delaney?"

I pushed off the door frame to grab two mugs from the cabinet humming as I did, "Mhm." I ran my finger around the rim of my coffee cup, feeling the chip that'd been put there when it had fell to the porch. It had been Papa Fritz's and had somehow become mine shortly after he had died. I shuffled across the linoleum floor and set the cups down on the counter next to the stove and poked Oma in the shoulder, "You know you didn't have to change anything for me."

She dismissed it with a wave of her hand and moved around the kitchen, grabbing milk out of the fridge and sugar from the blue moon and stars canister for our tea, "Delaney," she began, moving back towards the now whistling kettle, pouring the boiled water into the mugs with steady hands I knew weren't there to stay, "You dropped everything to come take care of me."

She turned slightly, her face a funny mixture of both gratitude and frustration and pointed at me, "Which I still say was unnecessary." She turned around sharply, and I couldn't help but note that she must be having a good day for her body to be so responsive, to stir the tea. She sighed heavily through her nose as she set the kettle back on the stove, "I know how much you hate white walls and I wanted you to be as comfortable as possible here."

And just like that, my heart swelled knowing that she knew me well enough, loved me so much that she'd breach her own safe zone to actually go out and pick a color outside of white and its accompanying boring and bland counterparts. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, "Thanks, Oma."

She sniffed, clearly letting me know that it wasn't that big a deal, and turned to hand me my mug of tea, all the while herding me into the living room. As we settled in, Oma looked up at me with a guarded smile, "How's everyone?"

I shrugged, unable to look her in the eyes, and blew on my tea, "Mom and dad are ok, I guess. Mom wanted me to tell you hi, dad, a hug," I paused, "Presley's hit her overly dramatic teenage years and thinks no one understands her. She hates school, keeps skipping."

Oma frowned ignoring what I had said about my parents, "I knew she was having some problems with her grades but I never knew it was that bad."

I slumped back in the chair and took a small sip of scalding hot tea before settling it on my thigh. I sighed and drummed my fingers against the mug, "I tried to help. Gave her tips on homework and how to deal with her classmates but she didn't want to listen to me," I shrugged, looking at Oma in frustration, "I even offered to scare some sense into some of the kids that's been giving her troubles. She said no. I mean, what's the use of having a sister that's a senior and on the same campus if I can't flex some of my hard earned status?"

Oma pursed her lips, "Perhaps she wants to fight her own battles?"

I couldn't help the anger that knifed through me. I hated feeling helpless when it came to Presley but it was one of the many reasons I had wanted to come take care of Oma. If I hadn't, I'm sure I would have verbally eviscerated those kids, possibly even yanked them up by their collars to slap them around a bit and ruin my relationship with my little sister as I did so. I rubbed my forehead and sighed forcefully though my nose, "I just hope she doesn't wait too long, if that's the case."

There was a stretch of silence after Oma had hummed her response and I played with the ring on my middle finger, twisting it monotonously and calming my mind in the process. The pressing issue of my being here weighed against me as my anger faded, "When's your next session?"

Oma's eyes turned sluggishly up from her tea, bright blue eyes falling on my own. Her face was unconcerned but her voice held suppressed dread, "Two weeks."

I sat my mug down on the coffee table, "How bad is it?"

She plucked at the hem of her shirt and the sight of her hands startled me. I had noticed how frail she had gotten but it was the first time that I saw how much she had truly aged since she had begun chemotherapy. Her hands were so thin, knuckles pronounced and skin nearly translucent, "It takes about a week for the nausea to run its course, my strength about two after that."

She smiled sadly before shaking her head and changed the subject, "Now, the package you sent arrived before you did, it's in the closet in your room. If you still need a desk for your computer we can run to the market in town," she paused, brows furrowing before her eyes lit up, "Oh! I got that internet stuff set up last week!"

Relief flooded through me in the form of a huge grin, "Thank you so very much," I didn't know how long I could survive without the internet, "and I picked up a small desk before leaving Portland, I just need to assemble it."

"And what about school?"

"I have all my transfer papers in the car, just need to run up to the highschool to enroll."

She nodded, "We can go tomorrow that way you have the weekend to set up your room. How much stuff did you manage to pack in your car?"

I laughed thinking back to my mom making a quip about my love of tetris finally being put to use, "Every little bit of available space I had, I used."

She perked up, "Do you need any help unpacking?"

I shook my head, "Nah, there isn't anything that's so heavy that I need help."

Oma was pouting when she said, rather wistfully, "That's too bad, there's so many nice looking young men around here that I'm sure would love helping you out."

The next day saw the back seat of my car free of boxes and all my other crap, the trunk, not so much. But, it was time to go enroll in the high school and Oma was getting restless. So while I was looking at the mess inside my trunk in horror, she settled down in the passenger seat after a little wave. I just shook my head and closed the trunk lid. She was still arranging her ankle length bohemian skirt when I plopped down behind the wheel, "Ready?"

She nodded and patted the cracked dash of my car and said, "Onward!"

I laughed and put the car in drive, "Anywhere else after we get this sorted out?"

"The grocers," she smiled sheepishly, "I forgot to restock before you got here."

I snorted because she was just like my mom, "I know all too well how much you hate shopping," I flicked the blinker on before turning onto the road that the school was on and in a few minutes, I turned onto the driveway with the strange sense of coming home, "Do you know where the office is?"

She pointed to a building, the bangles on her thin arm jangling, "There."

Following her directions I pulled up beside a nice looking Acura, the beads of left over rain glinting off it. As I turned the car off and climbed out, Oma groaned as she levered herself out of her seat, "Getting too old," she grouched.

My shoes squelched against the wet asphalt as I turned the corner to the passenger side and hooked my arm for her to take, "No you aren't." She smiled, eyes shining as she grabbed the manila envelope off the dashboard. After she tucked her hand in the crook of my arm, I led her into the office.

The receptionist, red hair frizzed from the constant rain and eyes glazed over from staring at the computer screen before her, smiled tiredly and greeted us as we stepped inside, "What can I do for you?"

I glanced up at her and smiled, "Enrolling for the rest of the year," I replied as I moved Oma to a chair. She handed me the envelope as the receptionist commented to herself, "Another transfer, my, aren't we popular."

"Oh?" I heard Oma breath and the lady behind the desk laughed, "Yep, had another transfer just last week, Chief Swan's daughter," she said looking over the counter at Oma.

"Oh that's right, I completely forgot!" Oma said as she snapped her fingers, "I promised Charlie my famous apple pie as a welcome home present."

"So, apple pie stuff from the grocery store?" I asked as I handed my transfer papers to the receptionist.

"Yes," she nodded enthusiastically and I smiled at her energy, knowing that I wouldn't see it for a while after her next chemo session.

"So, Ms. Lee, you're all set here, come to the office tomorrow," I interrupted, "Monday, I still have some unpacking to do," and she nodded, "Ok, Monday, and get your schedule."

"So you don't need anything else?" I asked as I moved to Oma.

The receptionist leafed through some documents, licking her fingers every once in a while as she did, "Not that I can see."

I shifted towards the door, "Alright, I'll see you Monday morning."

And with that done, Oma and I terrorized the local supermarket. She had way too much fun in the motorized scooter.