He offered me more wine, not wanting to be rude to my host, I allowed him to refill my glass one last time. Recalling his question, I thought of my answer. Somehow, I found myself sharing what was going through my mind with him.
"Standing out there brought me back to the time I had lived in that house. Not exactly that one, but what used to be my home before it burned down." I started with the beginning.
A home is where your heart is. That was how my dad described it. He told us that it was not what he built but what was inside that was important. The people who lived in that house. Now, my home was with Mom and Aunt Brie.
Closing my eyes, recalling the things that I remembered. "You see. After the fire, my mom and I moved out and lived with my aunt in her house."
"What happened to that one?" He asked. His face was serious, but I could see that his mind was trying to assess my story.