Page 153 of In the Air Tonight

“I will. Get some work done before you get fired.”

Smiling, he kisses me. “Hurry back. I already miss you.”

“No one has ever said the kinds of things you say to me.”

“That’s good to know. I’ll have to stay at the top of my game.”

“You’re doing great so far.”

“Let me know if that changes.”

“You’ll be the first to know.” I have to tear myself away from him when leaving is the last thing I want to do. “I’ll text you when I’m on the way back.”

“I’ll be here.”

I kiss him one more time before getting into his mother’s burgundy Volvo SUV where a lingering scent of something light and floral makes me miss a woman I’ll never meet. I want to know more about both his parents, so I’ll feel like I know them.

The drive to Ramona’s takes me over two bridges—one of them new and spacious, the other old and rickety. The old one freaks me out like it did when I was a teenager, and first driving over it to get to a soccer or lacrosse game.

I hated driving on that bridge then, and I hate it now. I also hate how early it gets dark now that Daylight Savings Time has ended. It’s already dark at five fifteen as I drive into the quaint town of Bristol, known for hosting the nation’s oldest Fourth of July parade. We went to the parade every year when we were younger, until we grew up and preferred time with our friends to family outings. Outings with all six of us seem like a million years ago now.

Ramona lives off Metacom Avenue, in a tidy neighborhood made up of raised ranches. Hers is painted white with blue shutters and mature landscaping. I park in the driveway, behind a silver minivan.

She greets me at the door, looking much as I remember her from high school—petite with short hair and wire-framed glasses. “Come in. It’s nice to see you after all this time.”

“You, too.”

Her home is right out of a decorating show. “This is gorgeous.”

“Thank you. It’s a bit of a hobby, but it’s not easy to keep it looking nice with three kids underfoot.”

“You’re very talented.”

“Aw, thanks. It keeps me from going crazy dealing with work and kids and all the other stuff.”

“What do you do for work?”

“I run a chiropractor’s office.”

“I bet that’s busy.”

“Sure is. Can I get you some coffee, tea, water or Diet Coke?”

“Water would be great. Thank you.”

She brings the water for me and a Diet Coke for herself to the table where we sit across from each other. “I really need to give this up,” she says of the soda, “but I’m addicted.”

“I used to be. I gave it up about five years ago.”

“I need to get serious about that, but we’re not here to talk about Diet Coke.”

“It was a relief to me to hear you’d come forward, too.”

“Same. Sitting on that info all this time was tough. What they did to her…”

“I know. It made me sick, but not sick enough to risk tearing up my own life to support her. I hated myself for that then, and I still do now.”

“I understand the feeling,” Ramona says with a sigh. “I agonized over it at the time, but I just kept reading the stuff they were saying about her and tried to imagine what it would be like if they were coming for me. I just couldn’t do it.”

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