She had come home yesterday. The streetlights had flickered on the moment the station wagon pulled up into the driveway, followed quickly by a pair of small legs that jumped out from the backseat with beautiful ease and enthusiasm.

"Jaimy!" she cried, a slight soprano, as she fell into the awaiting arms of her best friend. "I'm home, I'm home," was all she could whisper as he laughed and cried and swung her around as best as he could. He was still only four foot five.

"Careful," warned her mother, who had turned to face the small reunion behind the talking parents. "We don't want to break her arm just after she's gotten back."

Of course not.

Followed by lemonade and ice cream. Citrus candles and saxophones on the radio. Good night's and don't stay up too late's.

Porches with the swing, budded blossoms poking up from the flower boxes, and two young friends braving their first midnight.

"It was scary," she said, staring past the railings and beyond the fireflies. "Everyone was sick."

Jaimy nodded and tried his best to understand, but to live with people sick all the time...

"You're brave," was all he said.

Smiling, she now turned to him. "Thanks for the roses you gave me. They were so beautiful."

Warm breeze. Blink.

"I didn't bring you those," Jaimy said, confused. "I think someone in your family did."

"Oh."

Warm breeze. Hand in his hand.

"Well, someday, when I grow up," he said, brushing stray hairs off her face, "I'll buy you a rose."