My house is just that far off. Walk forward, cool down, settle as the system slows. The backyard a few feet away. Around the garden and towards the door and the machine cold of air conditioning is chilling my sweat. Inside, into the kitchen.
Air smells of aftermath.
My mother at the table, head buried in arms, hair a mess. I look at her, sitting there, she looks a me. I want to comfort her, put my arms around her, tell her everything's all right. And the sweat coursing over my body is potent, and hugging her may not be the best thing. I sit opposite her.