Leave a Light On(4)

Every evening, just before dusk, Margolotta lit the two blue lamps by the front door. They burned all night, every night, even when oil was scarce, even when they had been struggling the worst. It had been fifteen years, and still she walked out the front door and put a flame those lights every night.

“For guests,” she said, whenever asked. The roads weren’t safe to travel at night, and no guests came after dusk. But still, she lit the lamps. “For guests.”

On clear nights, she’d wait on the front porch, staring down the road. He’d promised he’d come back, and she’d promised she’d leave the light on.

written to May 28th’s Thimbleful Thursday prompt.