Song: It'll all work out

By: Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers

Sitting in the green grass of her hometown, Claire bit into the fresh, juicy apple. Letting the water drip down her chin, she grinned.

This was how life was supposed to be.

The cicadas chirruped and squeaked around her as she closed her eyes and took in all of the sounds of her childhood.

Dogs barking.

Neighbors calling good wishes.

The wind whistling through the trees.

Cicadas and crickets conversing.

She almost wanted to cry with the beautiful familiarity of it all. Most of all, she had missed her family. The big, southern hello. The crowded, steamy kitchens—the loud cousins, aunts, brothers, sisters, grandparents, parents…so much to listen to. Some call it a headache. Claire calls it love.

And the food…Oh, the food. Nothing can top southern cooking. Everybody loved chowing down on momma's potato salad, chicken salad, tuna salad…nothing like the "salads" up north. It was all about grilling out in the yard, with the kids and the mosquitoes and the smoke and the beer and the popsicles. The house would be so full of family and friends it seemed alive, moving with the sound of laughter and kids screaming. Claire remembered squeezing through the bodies and the faces, faces she recognized…every one of them. And as she passed, they would call out to her,

"Claire Wilson! My, you have gotten so grown-uuuup, sweetie!" always dragging out a random syllable with that thick southern drawl, always paired with a toothy smile.