Denver and the crowds, working through the issues that plagued him on long stretches of straight, flat roads. He would drive in silence for an hour or two or however long he needed to clear his mind, then he’d tune his radio to a classical music station, turn around, and head back to town.
Today he’d taken an unexpected path. Something had happened as he’d stopped for a traffic light in front of the Porsche dealership. His wife’s challenge had echoed in his memory one too many times, and his prudence and judiciousness flew right out the window. When the light changed, instead of going straight he’d turned into the lot, and half an hour later he’d purchased the car right off the showroom floor.
“Just effin’ watch me,” he murmured as he navigated a switchback at nine thousand feet. Rather than head east, he’d gone west into the mountains and tested his new ride on two-lane roads. Instead of riding in silence in order to think, he’d played Rod Stewart on the stereo. Loud.
He’d tried not to think at all.
When he finally turned back toward Denver, he’d made no decisions, discovered no answers, but while driving in the mountains he had found a sense of calm. He could almost see why Ali chose to escape to Eternity Springs. Almost.
As he returned to their home, he wondered if he’d find her car parked in the garage, her suitcase back in her closet, her homemade red sauce simmering on the stove. It would be her peace offering to him. His wife habitually tried to solve problems with food. It was a wonder that his family members didn’t have serious weight issues.
She had no way of knowing that each time she plied him with a delicious meal after one of their fights, she reinforced his doubts about their marriage. His unhappiness continued to grow with every meal until finally her spaghetti made him nauseous. Never mind the fact that the taste of it was right out of the Italian neighborhoods of heaven.
He idled at the intersection for a moment, bracing himself before he turned onto his street. Glancing toward his house, he spied a vehicle in his driveway, though it wasn’t Ali’s car. His son Chase’s truck was parked in the circular drive where Ali’s BMW had sat earlier that day. Mac muttered a curse beneath his breath.
The young man sat on the front porch steps bouncing a tennis ball on the strings of a racket. It was typical Chase. He spent every free minute in a competition of one sort or another, made with whatever objects were at hand. How many times could he bounce the tennis ball without missing? How many pebbles could he toss into that target drawn in the dirt? The boy had been born to compete, and he liked nothing more than to win.
Unfortunately, his competitive drive came with a quick temper. At twenty-one he still allowed it to rule him too often. Mac sighed, sensing that he was about to see an example of that temper.
He pulled the Porsche into his drive and parked behind Chase’s truck. The young man slowly rose, his eyes rounding as he saw his father climb out of the sports car.
“Dad, why are you driving a Porsche?”
“Hello, son.”
“Is it yours?” Chase stepped away from the porch and walked toward Mac, his gaze shifting from Mac to the car, then back to Mac again. “Did you buy it?”
Calmly Mac answered, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”
Temper flashed in Chase’s eyes, and at his side his fists clenched. “Mom covered for you, didn’t she? You are cheating on her! You’ve betrayed my mother. So who is she, Dad? Some hot young defense lawyer looking for a bit of judicial action?”
Mac walked toward the front door. “Let’s spare the neighbors and go inside to do this, Chase.”
“Fine by me. I tried to go inside already, but my keydidn’t work. I’ve been waiting on the porch for two hours. You must have called a locksmith the minute Mom left. Guess it’d be embarrassing to have your wife and children walk in on you and the new honey.”
“Stop
Today he’d taken an unexpected path. Something had happened as he’d stopped for a traffic light in front of the Porsche dealership. His wife’s challenge had echoed in his memory one too many times, and his prudence and judiciousness flew right out the window. When the light changed, instead of going straight he’d turned into the lot, and half an hour later he’d purchased the car right off the showroom floor.
“Just effin’ watch me,” he murmured as he navigated a switchback at nine thousand feet. Rather than head east, he’d gone west into the mountains and tested his new ride on two-lane roads. Instead of riding in silence in order to think, he’d played Rod Stewart on the stereo. Loud.
He’d tried not to think at all.
When he finally turned back toward Denver, he’d made no decisions, discovered no answers, but while driving in the mountains he had found a sense of calm. He could almost see why Ali chose to escape to Eternity Springs. Almost.
As he returned to their home, he wondered if he’d find her car parked in the garage, her suitcase back in her closet, her homemade red sauce simmering on the stove. It would be her peace offering to him. His wife habitually tried to solve problems with food. It was a wonder that his family members didn’t have serious weight issues.
She had no way of knowing that each time she plied him with a delicious meal after one of their fights, she reinforced his doubts about their marriage. His unhappiness continued to grow with every meal until finally her spaghetti made him nauseous. Never mind the fact that the taste of it was right out of the Italian neighborhoods of heaven.
He idled at the intersection for a moment, bracing himself before he turned onto his street. Glancing toward his house, he spied a vehicle in his driveway, though it wasn’t Ali’s car. His son Chase’s truck was parked in the circular drive where Ali’s BMW had sat earlier that day. Mac muttered a curse beneath his breath.
The young man sat on the front porch steps bouncing a tennis ball on the strings of a racket. It was typical Chase. He spent every free minute in a competition of one sort or another, made with whatever objects were at hand. How many times could he bounce the tennis ball without missing? How many pebbles could he toss into that target drawn in the dirt? The boy had been born to compete, and he liked nothing more than to win.
Unfortunately, his competitive drive came with a quick temper. At twenty-one he still allowed it to rule him too often. Mac sighed, sensing that he was about to see an example of that temper.
He pulled the Porsche into his drive and parked behind Chase’s truck. The young man slowly rose, his eyes rounding as he saw his father climb out of the sports car.
“Dad, why are you driving a Porsche?”
“Hello, son.”
“Is it yours?” Chase stepped away from the porch and walked toward Mac, his gaze shifting from Mac to the car, then back to Mac again. “Did you buy it?”
Calmly Mac answered, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”
Temper flashed in Chase’s eyes, and at his side his fists clenched. “Mom covered for you, didn’t she? You are cheating on her! You’ve betrayed my mother. So who is she, Dad? Some hot young defense lawyer looking for a bit of judicial action?”
Mac walked toward the front door. “Let’s spare the neighbors and go inside to do this, Chase.”
“Fine by me. I tried to go inside already, but my keydidn’t work. I’ve been waiting on the porch for two hours. You must have called a locksmith the minute Mom left. Guess it’d be embarrassing to have your wife and children walk in on you and the new honey.”
“Stop
Similar Books
