Page 8 of Reckless Flames

The drive to Caleb’s school was a blur, my thoughts consumed by the person in the hoodie. Seeing Caleb, with his backpack slung over one shoulder and a bright smile to greet me, grounded me in the present.

“Hey, buddy,” I greeted him, ruffling his hair as he climbed into the car. “How was your last day at school?”

“We mostly just played games today, dad. It was so much fun.”

Caleb’s excitement was infectious, his chatter about school and friends filling the car as we made our way home. Tomorrow morning, he would be on a flight to visit his mother’s parents. The visit to his maternal grandparents, something he did a few times a year, was always a bittersweet affair. It was a connection to his mother, my late wife, who we’d lost too soon. The trips were a reminder of her, of the life we’d shared, and the gaping hole her absence had left in our lives.

Tonight was our last evening together for a few weeks, and I was on dad duty until tomorrow morning.

“So, when we get home, I’ll help you with your homework and—”

I didn’t expect to get far with the joke. It was interrupted with a shout, “Daaaad, it’s summer vacation now. I don’t have any homework!”

“Oh my goodness, what will we do then? I guess we’ll have to play a game or something. Well, that’s too bad. I know how much you love doing homework.”

Our conversation drifted into game choices for the evening, a dinner menu, and a discussion of his trip the next day to visit Grandma and Grandpa Norris. Our evening together went as planned and included packing a suitcase after dinner for the trip. Then it was bathtime, followed by bedtime and then story time. Caleb could read his own books perfectly well now, but story time was a tradition that neither of us were willing to forego just yet.

The next morning after breakfast and a goodbye hug from Anna, who would be going on vacation for the time that Caleb was out of town, we were soon on the way to the airport.

As I navigated the traffic, Caleb’s innocent joy at the prospect of seeing his grandparents contrasted sharply with the complexweb of emotions the trip evoked in me. It was a reminder of the past, of loss and love, and the uncertain path that lay ahead.

After parking in the airport garage, I walked Caleb to the airline counter where we met with the escort providing the Unaccompanied Minor service that I had arranged for with the airline. This was the first half of the service. The second half involved an escort accompanying him to meet his grandparents after the flight landed. I hugged him goodbye and was pleased to see his excitement for the visit undimmed by the journey ahead.

Driving back home, my thoughts were a tangled web of missing Caleb already, Sophie, the new house renovation, Sophie, and the person in the hoodie that seemed to be stalking her house.

Chapter five

Sophie

“Come on, Sophie, there must be someone special in your life,” Aunt Carol prodded, her eyes twinkling with the kind of mischief that only comes from years of matchmaking within the family. We were standing outside in the gentle sunshine of a late June day in the back yard where Madi’s bridal shower was being held.

I forced a smile, balancing a plate of finger sandwiches in one hand and my patience in the other. “Just my laptop and a looming deadline, Aunt Carol. That’s about as exciting as it gets these days.”

She clucked her tongue, clearly not satisfied with my evasion. “A pretty girl like you? Nonsense. Are all the single, young men in New York blind? And what about Ben, right here in FinchValley? My neighbor saw the two of you in Grumpy’s not too long ago.”

I felt a flush creep up my neck, the mention of Ben stirring a whirlpool of emotions I wasn’t ready to delve into, especially not here and not now. I explained how I had gone there with Madi and ended up with Ben, hoping that would put an end to the discussion.

Before Aunt Carol could launch into another well-meaning interrogation, Cousin Linda swooped up, her two toddlers in tow, effectively changing the subject. “Sophie, can you believe how big these two have gotten? Seems like just yesterday we were in high school, and now look at us!”

I smiled, genuinely this time, grateful for the distraction. “They’re adorable, Linda. Time really does fly.”

As the afternoon wore on, similar conversations played out with various relatives and old classmates, each encounter a delicate dance of deflecting questions and changing subjects. The undercurrent of curiosity about my personal life was relentless, bringing a steady stream of inquiries that felt more invasive with each passing moment.

It wasn’t until I found myself cornered by Mrs. Jenkins, my high school English teacher and the town’s unofficial gossip queen, that I felt my resolve start to crumble. “Sophie Wright! Congratulations on the book. It was very well written; I’m proudof you,” she began. Then her eyes sharpened as she followed that up with, “On a personal note, are you still breaking hearts and taking names?”

I laughed, a bit too loudly. “Hardly, Mrs. Jenkins. Just trying to meet my next deadline.”

“And what about after that deadline? Anyone special waiting to whisk you away for a well-deserved break?” she pressed, clearly not one to be deterred by vague responses.

I was saved by Madi, who appeared at my side, a knowing look in her eye. “Mrs. Jenkins, have you tried the quiche? I think they just brought out a fresh batch. I’ll grab you a plate.”

Gratefully seizing the opportunity to escape, I followed Madi back into the house, the errand in the kitchen offering a little break from the prying eyes and questions.

“Thanks for the rescue,” I murmured, pouring myself a glass of water from a pitcher on the counter.

Madi leaned against the counter, her expression softening. “I heard them, you know. The aunts, the old classmates. It’s like they’ve got nothing better to do than speculate about your love life.”

I took a sip of water, its coolness doing little to soothe the frustration simmering beneath the surface. “It’s like they think I’m incomplete or something, just because I’m not married with kids.”

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