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Death of a Home

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RHONDA NELSON Death of a Home Rod and Justine Glazier and Richard Riley, their realtor, drove along winding country roads. It wasn't a perfect summer's day; it was cloudy, but it was nice enough. Justine chatted amiably. Maybe she talked too much, but she didn't want to allow any awkward moments in which Rod would say something wrong; and Richard was delighted with her chatter. He was a pleasant man in his sixties and had known Justine as a child growing up in the community. "So, how's Linda doing?" Justine asked Richard. Linda was his daughter and one of her childhood classmates. "Oh, she's doing fine," Richard replied. As he proceeded to bring Justine up-to-date regarding Linda's activities, Justine thought Rod was sulking. That didn't surprise her. In Utah, he hadn't liked her spending time with her friends. She didn't care that he was sulking; at least her conversation with Richard kept Rod quiet; he wouldn't swear or let his prejudices slip out. But Richard didn't know that Justine wanted Rod to be quiet. "Rod, Justine and Linda both played flutes in school. I remember them practicing together." "Um hum," was all Rod offered in return. Justine couldn't understand why he resented the time she spent with friends. As she and Richard talked, she wondered how Rod was going to react to their family's move to her home­ town—where there would be so many friends and family asking for her time. As they neared their destination, Justine observed, "Oh, this is the road that led to the church camp where I worked when I was younger." Then they rounded a corner and pulled into a short driveway. Justine was speechless for only a moment. "I know this house!" she exclaimed. "This is the Rose House! It belonged to the church camp when I worked there!" Justine loved the house; she loved it for the past she had with it. She loved it for the future it immediately offered. Memories of happy summer days at the camp ran in rapid succession through her mind. She felt

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