Page 13 of Thornhill Road

Andy was a pilot in the Air Force. He flew C-17s and loved it. I was incredibly proud of him, even if I wasn’t crazy about the places his work took him. He was currently stationed down in Texas, which felt like a world away sometimes; but he checked in on a regular basis, which always meant a lot to me.

We spoke a few minutes about the mundane.

Given what each of us did for a living, I was generally good with the mundane.

“So, how are things going with Gwen?” I asked, digging for the juicy stuff.

“They’re good.”

I shook my head, not at all satisfied with his answer, and probed, “Are things getting serious yet or…?”

“It’s still early to tell.”

I rolled my eyes. They’d been seeing each other for three months, and he still refused to call her his girlfriend. I didn’t know how the poor woman put up with him. It wasn’t that I thought he should be out ring shopping or anything, but the man wasn’t getting any younger. I wasn’t sure where his commitment issues came from, but they were large and in charge. He was the only one of his buddies who’d never been married.

Then again, he’d never been divorced, which wasn’t a bad thing.

“Listen, I’ve got a job coming up overseas,” he told me, changing the subject. “Not sure this time how long I’ll be gone. Could be a few days, could be a few weeks.”

“Oh, the uncertainty of it all,” I teased.

He laughed softly, saying so much without speaking a single word.

“We leave tomorrow. I’ll call you when I’m back.”

“You be careful.”

“Always am, Tess.”

“Well, I love you. Thanks for calling.”

He returned my sentiments, and we saidtalk to you laterbefore disconnecting.

My next call came from my bladder, which meant I finally got out of bed.

Two days a week,I worked the night shift. The best part of my Friday night schedule was that it wasn’t immediately followed by a day shift. This always put me in a particularly good mood when I left my place at eight. That night, my first stop was the house on Ramshorn Avenue.

When I pulled into Sharon’s driveway and saw Mitchell’s car and no sign of Lance, my mood got even brighter. It was Renee who opened the door when I knocked. The first thing she told me was Mitchell was at home with Emilia that night, while Bristol—their six-year-old—had come to visit with her grandma. They were fifteen minutes from the end of a movie, and that was reason enough for me to spend a little extra time chatting with Renee.

I loved families like the Jones’. It was so heartwarming to see the way they took advantage of every lucid moment they could find. It meant a lot to Sharon, I knew—but I was even more aware of how much it would mean to Bristol when she got older and all she had left of her grandmother were memories.

My visit at Sharon’s took a little longer than I anticipated, and it was a few minutes after ten when I was headed to my car. I was late for my visit to Thornhill Road, which could have potentially been the beginning of a long domino effect. As I started my journey north, I was so focused on trying to figure out how I could find ways to make up the time in my schedule throughout my shift, I wasn’t thinking about whether or not I’d see Mustang that night.

So, when I was three houses down from my destination and I saw a man and his motorcycle parked on the far side of Ed’s driveway, I almost forgot how to breathe.

He came?

He actually came.

I couldn’t believe it.

Even when I pulled into the spot right next to him, turned off my car, then stared at him through my driver’s side window, I couldn’t believe it.

He stared back at me, waiting, lit by the floodlight mounted above Ed’s garage door.

He was wearing a sleeveless graphic tee underneath his leather kutte, his arms folded casually across his chest. His black-jean clad legs were spread wide, his booted feet firmly on the ground as he leaned against the seat of his blue Harley. His hair, wind-blown from his ride, hung disheveled on either side of his forehead.

I wanted to run my fingers through it.

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